Ballad Written for a Bridegroom

 …from the quills of the dead white poets


Francois Villon (1431 – 1463)


 At daybreak, when the falcon claps his wings,

 No whit for grief, but noble heart and high,

 With loud glad noise he stirs himself and springs,

 And takes his meat and forward his lure draws nigh;

 Such good I wish you! Yea, and heartily

 I am fired with hope of true love’s meed to get;

 Know that Love writes it in his book; for why,

 This is the end for which we twain are met.


 Mine own heart’s lady with no gainsayings

 You shall be always wholly till I die;

 And in my right against all bitter things

 Sweet laurel with fresh roses its force shall try;

 Seeing reason wills not that I cast love by

 (Nor here with reason shall I chide or fret)

 Nor cease to serve, but serve more constantly;

 This is the end for which we twain are met.


 And, which is more, when grief about me clings

 Through Fortune’s fit or fume or jealousy,

 Your sweet kind eye beats down her threatening

 As wind does the smoke; such power sits in your eye.

 Thus in your field my seed of harvestry

 Thrives, for the fruit is like me that I set;

 God bids me tend it with good husbandry;

 This is the end for which we twain are met.


 Princess, give ear to this my summary;

 That heart of mine your heart’s love should forget,

 Shall never be: like trust in you put I:

 This is the end for which we twain are met.


 Somewhat more modern and more realistic view:


Single -



Married -



Divorced -


About Avadoro Worden

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2 Responses to Ballad Written for a Bridegroom

  1. Sue Powell says:

    Oh dear!

  2. Kevlar Stephen says:

    My situation exactly. The modern one.

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