All French folk, whereso'er ye be,
— Who love your country, sail and sand,
From Paris to the Breton sea,
— And back again to Norman strand,
— Forsooth ye seem a silly band,
Sheep without shepherd, left to chance —
— Far otherwise our Fatherland,
If Villon were the King of France!

The figure on the throne you see
— Is nothing but a puppet, planned
To wear the regal bravery
— Of silken coat and gilded wand.
— Not so we Frenchmen understand
The Lord of lion's heart and glance,
— And such a one would take command
If Villon were the King of France!

His counsellors are rogues, Perdie!
— While men of honest mind are banned
To creak upon the Gallows Tree,
— Or squeal in prisons over-manned;
— We want a chief to bear the brand,
And bid the damned Burgundians dance.
— God! Where the Oriflamme should stand
If Villon were the King of France!

ENVOY

Louis the Little, play the grand;
— Buffet the foe with sword and lance;
'Tis what would happen, by this hand,
— If Villon were the King of France!