Classic Poem

S ATYRE SECOND .

COGNOIS you this fascheux, against which the asset
Aboye shamelessly like a dog to the Moon?
And who would wish it seems in the course destourner
By importunity an outrageous speech:
In a foolish malice in his soul he grieves,
When the favor of Roy's favorites oblige.
A man, whose name is hardly knowne,
On countrie estranger newly come,
The blind fortune running his wheel
Tira without thinking of a mud rut
Despite all the envy above misfortune,
On insolent greedy credit value:
And we allow it, and François endure
To its own size despens cestus him hard.
Our Princes autresfois estoient more daring;
Where lies the virtue of aujourd'huy once?
Learn as you sçais malicious harm live
A fortune of gold, and the other is copper;
The fate of the laws we do sçauroit force,
That his compass is droict, we can not distort.
We all come from heaven to possess the land;
Favor opens to some, to others tightens,
A necessity that Heaven establit
Dishonored one, other establit:
An often ignoble rich inherited property,
The other in the hospital is full of merit.
To find the best, it would be necessary choose,
Do not believe that. Gods are so full of leisure.
Encor infamous estoit if each marked with a sign,
That all virtues fisting find unworthy
Kings in which the gods have happiness,
Enrichiroient tousjours the merit and honor:
If the soul of the Gods is after the same court,
If it displeases them is named vice
Kings who are their son and lieutenants icy,
Can judge the good and bad too.
And without my flater Roy, I find very strange
A vulgar ignorant and pulled out of the mire,
Against his majesty monster offensive,
Below its actions concerning the curious eye.
As for me I deemed a good setting for
Most chetif that helps to Roy,
Quoy that tousjours very poor, despised Igniting
On my mind the desire encor has nothing Gaigne:
A man three days of silk, and gold covers
Noise bothers her coach the Louvre;
Estranger is a happy mocked the French,
He thousand following, provided I am not.
I wish them the bold in my mood,
I am not afraid to fail it, although my Muse die:
My freedom says it all, without naming toutesfois
A futile bitterness ones I want blasmer.
Also never expect that I will face laughing
On to that safe I sçaurois escrire.
Those fools are really selling a good word
Hundred shots bastons that actually give a fool;
Slaves imprudent their bad mood
Do sçavent meditate towards it desplaise.
Against some of pasquins I made icy,
And sçaurois suffer insults too.
The God inspires me to a small flame,
Who is fit to receive ny blasme:
I mesdisance the hay and can not consent
Of Gaigner with barely a sad repentance.
Everyone who sees my verses, if the eyes of a man,
Know his portraict how we are appointed.
Who does LICT my satyr, he is not reprimanded,
Many are in fascheront who I thought would ay.
Who hates her too ugly ugly face,
There ought never look at the picture:
Who fears Estre resumed, he has only to hide
And my purpose here is not to Fascher.