Posthumous Poems/Ballad of the Fair Helmet-Maker to the Girls of Joy: From Villon

by Algernon Charles Swinburne

BALLAD OF THE FAIR HELMET-MAKER
TO THE GIRLS OF JOY

FROM VILLON

Now think hereof, fair Gloveress,
 That wast my scholar constantly,
And you too, Blanche the Cobbleress,
 'Tis time to walk now warily,
 Take right and left; I pray you, see
Ye spare no man in any place;
 For old girls keep no currency,
No more than coin cried down for base.

And you, my dainty Flesheress,
 So light in dance of heel and knee,
And Winifred the Weaveress,
 Despise not low your master free;
 Ye too must shut up shop, all ye
When ye wax old and bleak of face;
 Of no more use than old priests be,
No more than coin cried down for base.

Take heed too, Joan the Hatteress,
 That no fiend lime your liberty;
No more, fair Kate, the Spurrieress,
 Bid men go hang or pack to sea;
For whoso lacks her beauty, she
 Gets scorn of them, and no good grace,
Foul age takes no man's love for fee,
 No more than coin cried down for base.

Girls, hearken and give heed to me,
 Why thus I wail and weep my case
'Tis that I find no remedy,
 No more than coin cried down for base.

1872.