To Wish the Jealous Husband Killed
Today there went most excellently
with Rhys, to protect the generous,
brothers in faith and foster-brothers
4 and relatives of mine (I feel longing's sharpness),
from the South to fight the French,
Mary will save them,
proud hawks of noble stock with dented weapon-adornments,
8 noblemen, comrades in battle.
That son of satire, there is a drone
with you, men, if you allow it,
a friendless enemy
12 to the girl's poet and to all the poets of the world.
He is an eye (bequeather of distress)
and a ear upon a hundred hedges,
and a dull-minded horn full of lying deceit,
16 and the girl's punisher and her catchpole.
Call to mind all the times, for fear of a grim sad death,
I've fled from him in the past,
that hollow elder-basket,
20 with his kinsfolk like swarming crowds.
May he have in his hand a pile
of devil's dung, he and his kin.
If he, a woman's hindrance,
24 gets onto the wild grey ship alive on a vicious tide,
she won't stay calm for long,
[with] the shape of her sail filled with brine.
May her head-dress be the gleaming white current,
28 Gascon mare of the fair channel.
She will not travel, she will not sail,
hole-riddled girl, whilst that scoundrel is inside her.
May he be shoved, that beaver's arse,
32 overboard across the side.
Generous wave, the salt-sea's wing,
I would be indebted to you,
sea-shore's niece, wonder of a great design,
36 don't allow that wretched old man back.
May the ocean's stream-arrow, ebb's piercing maid,
suck him to her, a feast for nine waves.
From wave to wave, a quicksand bird,
40 if the black bold man gets to France,
[of] all the tight traps that there are,
may a snare be the death of him.
Think (hasten the matter)
44 of killing him, do me good,
and don't let that hollow boat of a man
banish me on account of the jewel of the South.
You, crossbowman, hurry,
48 launcher of good timber,
and cast with the short-stirruped bow
and shoot, why should you care if he becomes angry?
Pierce the thief in his temple,
52 may the dream be wretched and easy.
Strike, don't miss in any way,
from the crossbow pierce him with a second blow.
Recognize, you straight-weaponed bowman,
56 his stiff, short-bristled beard.
His staying there fills us with joy,
may a dozen misfortunes befall him!
That unkempt beard, fennel in a heather bush,
60 some day soon it would be good if he were taken away.
The poet's free, and this is a fine thing,
may he never return to his home.
If the snout of the Jealous One - full of envious intent,
64 that surly face - attempts to return,
as his enemy would wish (a resounding cry)
may the black thief come home.