Ballade contre les Anglais (Ballad Against the English), 1429

Ballade contre les Anglais (Ballad Against the English) is a short verse found by early twentieth century historian, Paul Meyer. It was amidst a collection of French manuscripts that Meyer found in Italy. It has no attribution nor date, but Meyer places it in 1429 after Orléans and before the coronation in Reims.

Sources:

• BALLADE CONTRE LES ANGLAIS (1429) by Paul Meyer, Romania, Vol. 21, No. 81 (1892), pp. 50-52 (3 pages)
  • also reprinted digitally at: Ballade contre les Anglais (1429) - Persée by Paul Meyer.

Ballade contre les Anglais

anonyme, c. 1429

Ariere, Englois couez, ariere!
Vostre sort si ne resgne plus.
Pensés deu treyner vous baniere
Que bons Fransois ont rué jus
Par le voloyr dou roy Jhesus,
Et Janne, la douce pucelle,
De quoy vous estes confondus,
Dont c'est pour vous dure novelle.

De tropt orgouilleuse maniere
Longuemen vous estes tenus;
En France est vous[tre] semet[i]ere,
Dont vous estes pour foulx tenus.
Faucement y estes venus,
Mès, par bonne juste querelle,
Tourner vous en faut tous camus,
Dont c'est pour vous dure novelle.

Or esmaginés quelle chiere
Font ceulx qui vous ont soustenus
Depuis vostre emprisse premiere.
Je croy qu'i sont mort ou perdus,
Car je ne voys nulle ne nus
Qui de present de vous se mesle,
Si non chetis et maletrus,
Dont c'est pour vous dure nouvelle.

Pour vous gages, il est conclus,
Aiés la goute et la gravelle
Et le coul taillé rasibus,
Dont c'est pour vous dure nouvelle.

Ballade against the English

Anonymous, c. 1429

Away, English cowards, away!
Your fate no longer reigns.
Think of hauling off your banner,
Which good Frenchmen have hurled down,
By the will of King Jesus
And Joan, the sweet Maid,
By whom you are confounded—
For you, this is bitter news.

With far too arrogant a bearing
You have long held yourselves;
France is now your burial ground,
For which you are rightly deemed fools.
You came here falsely,
But by a good and just quarrel
You must all turn back snub-nosed,
For you, this is bitter news.

Now imagine the faces
Of those who once supported you
Since your first undertaking.
I believe they are dead or lost,
For I see no one at all
Who now takes up with you,
Except wretches and miscreants—
For you, this is bitter news.

As your wages, it is decreed:
May you have the gout and the gravel,
And your neck shaved by the razor—
For you, this is bitter news.

Translation by ChatGPT