"The rain has soaked us, washed us: skies
Of hot suns blacken us, scorch us: crows
And magpies have gouged out our eyes,
Plucked at our beards, and our eyebrows.
There’s never a moment’s rest allowed:
Now here, now there, the changing breeze
Swings us, as it wishes, ceaselessly,
Beaks pricking us more than a cobbler’s awl.
So don’t you join our fraternity,
But pray that God absolves us all."
From Ballade des Pendus ("Ballad of the Hanged") - François Villon (1489)http://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/French/Villon.htm
Image: The Hanged Man at the Bell - Felicien Rops (1867)