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A Ballade of Known and Unknown Matters
[Editor’s Note: One of the things we know less than we do others is how to translate French. And so, to translate another of Mons. Villon’s refrains, “We cry you mercy, every one.”]
I’m not a simp; I’m not a joe;
I’m on when cream is full of flies.
By what they wear I always know
A lot about these dressy guys.
I know the black from sunny skies;
I know a staller from a pep;
I know the phony from the prize—
But to myself I am not hep.
I’m on when cream is full of flies.
By what they wear I always know
A lot about these dressy guys.
I know the black from sunny skies;
I know a staller from a pep;
I know the phony from the prize—
But to myself I am not hep.
I’m jerry to the fashions, bo;
I cop the clerics by their ties;
I know the chieftain from Poor Lo,
And cherry tarts from blueb’ry pies,
I know the con men and the Cys;
I know “Both gates!” and “Watch your step!”’;
I know the Bourbons from the ryes—
But to myself I am not hep.
I cop the clerics by their ties;
I know the chieftain from Poor Lo,
And cherry tarts from blueb’ry pies,
I know the con men and the Cys;
I know “Both gates!” and “Watch your step!”’;
I know the Bourbons from the ryes—
But to myself I am not hep.
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