V (3)

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December was come, the month of long dark nights. Ulenspiegel sang:

“Monseigneur Sa Grande Altesse

Takes off his mask,

Eager to reign over the Belgian land.

The Estates Spaniardized

But not Angevined

Deal with the taxes.

Beat upon the drum

Of Anjou’s thwarting.

“They have within their power

Domains, excise, and funds,

Making of magistrates

And offices as well.

He hateth the Reformed

Monsieur Sa Grande Altesse,

An atheist in France

Oh! Anjou’s thwarting.

“For he would fain be king

By the sword and by force,

King absolute in all.

This Monseigneur, this Grande Altesse;

Fain would he foully seize

Many fair towns, yea, Antwerp, too;

Signorkes and pagaders rise early,

Oh! Anjou’s thwarting!

“’Tis not upon thee, France,

That this folk rushes, mad with rage;

These deadly weaponed blows

Fall not upon thy noble body;

And they are not thy offspring

Whose corpses in great heaps

Choke the Kip-Dorp Gate.

Oh! the thwarting of Anjou!

“No, these are no sons of thine

The people fling from the ramparts.

’Tis the High Highness of Anjou,

The passive libertine Anjou,

Living, France, on thy very blood,

And eager to drink ours;

But ’twixt the cup and lip....

Oh! the thwarting of Anjou.

“Monsieur Sa Grande Altesse.

In a defenceless town

Cried, ‘Kill! kill! Long live the Mass!’

With his handsome minions,

With eyes wherein gleams

The shameful fire, impudent, restless,

Lust without love.

Oh! the thwarting of Anjou!

“’Tis they that are smitten, not thee, poor folk,

On whom they weigh with tax,

Salt tax, poll tax, deflowering,

Contemning thee, making thee give

Thy corn, thy horses, thy wains,

Thou that art a father to them.

Oh! the thwarting of Anjou!

“Thou that art a mother to them,

Suckling the misbehaviour

Of these parricides that sully

Thy name abroad, France, that dost feast

On the savours of their glory

When they add by savage feast.

Oh! the thwarting of Anjou!

“A floret to thy soldier crown,

A province to thy territory.

Give the stupid cock ‘Lust and battle’

Thy foot on the neck.

People of France, people of men,

The foot that treads them down!

And all the peoples will love thee

For the thwarting of Anjou.”

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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