Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, BALLAD OF PROVERBS, by FRANCOIS VILLON

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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

BALLAD OF PROVERBS, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: Goats scrape so long they spoil their bed
Last Line: We call out christmas till 'tis here.
Alternate Author Name(s): Montcorbier, Francois De


GOATS scrape so long they spoil their bed,
Pitchers till split to wells are ta'en,
Iron is heated till 'tis red,
And hammered till it bursts in twain.
Man's worth, just how the child we train;
Who travel far will disappear,
Ill bred will ill through life remain,
We call out Christmas till 'tis here.


Men jest till power to laugh has fled;
Who leans on others, hopes in vain;
Waste leads to want is truly said;
One bird in hand beats chance of twain.
God's love doth love of Church sustain;
Much giving is to borrowing near;
The wind shifts till it brings the rain;
We call out Christmas till 'tis here.


Dogs lick the hands by which they're fed;
Songs run till all the tune retain;
Fruit kept too long does mould o'erspread;
Towns long besieged the foes will gain;
Who wait too long no luck obtain;
With over haste you get not near;
By clutching long you overstrain;
We call out Christmas till 'tis here.


Prince! fools live on till wit they gain;
Men voyage till they homeward steer;
Those cheated long from rogues refrain;
We call out Christmas till 'tis here.

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