Franc de raison, esclave de fureur,
Je vay chassant une fere sauvage,
Or' sur un mont, or' le long d'un rivage,
Or' dans le bois de jeunesse et d'erreur.
J'ay pour ma laisse un long trait de malheur,
J'ay pour limier un trop ardent courage,
J'ay pour mes chiens l'ardeur et le jeune âge,
J'ay pour piqueurs l'espoir et la douleur.
Mais eux, voyant que plus elle est chassée,
Loin, loin, devant plus s'enfuit elancée,
Tournant sur moi leur rigoureux effort,
Comme mastins affamés de repaistre,
A longs morceaux se paissent de leur maistre,
Et sans mercy me traînent à la mort.
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Researcher for this page: David Wyatt
This text was added to the website: 2014-08-02
Line count: 14
Word count: 107
Clear of reason, a slave of madness,
I chase and chase a savage Beast
Now over hills, now along riverbanks,
Now in the woods of youth and error.
I have as my leash a long line of misfortunes,
I have as my limed twig too passionate courage,
I have as my dogs passion and youth,
I have as beaters hope and sadness.
But when they see that the more she is pursued,
The further before them, far far off she bounds in flight
Turning on me their strenuous efforts,
Like famished mastiffs eager to eat
They feast themselves with great bites of their master,
And without mercy drag me to my death.
