But if Douay and Ghent, and Lille and Bruges
Had Power, soon vengeance would be taken on it;And this I pray of Him who judges all.
Hugh Capet was I called upon the earth;From me were born the Louises and Philips,By whom in later days has France been governed.
I was the son of a Parisian butcher,What time the ancient kings had perished all,Excepting one, contrite in cloth of gray.
I found me grasping in my hands the reinOf the realm’s government, and so great powerOf new acquest, and so with friends abounding,
That to the widowed diadem promotedThe head of mine own offspring was, from whomThe consecrated bones of these began.
So long as the great dowry of ProvenceOut of my blood took not the sense of shame,’Twas little worth, but still it did no harm.
Then it began with falsehood and with forceIts rapine; and thereafter, for amends,Took Ponthieu, Normandy, and Gascony.
Charles came to Italy, and for amendsA victim made of Conradin, and thenThrust Thomas back to heaven, for amends.
A time I see, not very distant now,Which draweth forth another Charles from France,The better to make known both him and his.
Unarmed he goes, and only with the lanceThat Judas jousted with; and that he thrustsSo that he makes the paunch of Florence burst.
He thence not land, but sin and infamy,Shall gain, so much more grievous to himselfAs the more light such damage he accounts.
The other, now gone forth, ta’en in his ship,See I his daughter sell, and chaffer for herAs corsairs do with other female slaves.
What more, O Avarice, canst thou do to us,Since thou my blood so to thyself hast drawn,It careth not for its own proper flesh?
That less may seem the future ill and past,I see the flower-de-luce Alagna enter,And Christ in his own Vicar captive made.
I see him yet another time derided;I see renewed the vinegar and gall,And between living thieves I see him slain.
I see the modern Pilate so relentless,This does not sate him, but without decretalHe to the temple bears his sordid sails!
When, O my Lord! shall I be joyful madeBy looking on the vengeance which, concealed,Makes sweet thine anger in thy secrecy?
What I was saying of that only brideOf the Holy Ghost, and which occasioned theeTo turn towards me for some commentary,
So long has been ordained to all our prayersAs the day lasts; but when the night comes on,Contrary sound we take instead thereof.
At that time we repeat Pygmalion,Of whom a traitor, thief, and parricideMade his insatiable desire of gold;
And the misery of avaricious Midas,That followed his inordinate demand,At which forevermore one needs but laugh.
The foolish Achan each one then records,And how he stole the spoils; so that the wrathOf Joshua still appears to sting him here.
Then we accuse Sapphira with her husband,We laud the hoof-beats Heliodorus had,And the whole mount in infamy encircles