[Footnote 32: The popularity of this ballad is accounted for by the circumstance of the Prince of Béarn, Henry II. d'Albert, having been made prisoner with Francis; he was, however, more fortunate than the king, for he made his escape. The original runs thus:-- THE CAPTIVITY OF FRANCIS I. Quan lou Rey parti de France, Counqueri d'aütes pays, A l'entrade de Pavi Lous Espagnols bé l'an pris. "Renté, renté, Rey de France, Que si non, qu'en mourt ou pris," Quin seri lou Rey de France? Que jamey you nou l'ey bist." Queou lheban l'ale deoü mantoü Troban l'y la flou de lys. Quoü ne prenen et quoü liguen Dens la prison que l'an mis. Dehens üe tour escure, Jamey sour ni lue s'y a bist; Si nou per üe frinistote.... U poustillou bet beni. "Poustillou qué lettres portis Que si counte tà Paris?" "La nouvelle que you porti Lou Rey qu'ere mort ou pris." "Tourne t'en poustillou en poste, Tourne t'en entà Paris. Arrecommandem à ma femme Tabé mous infants petits. "Que hassen batte la mounede, La qui sie dens Paris, Que men embien üe cargue Por rachetam aü pays." The chorus is usually at the end of each verse--"La lyron, la lyré," or "doundoun, doundone."] The following is also a favourite ballad on the battle of Coutras and the death of Joyeuse, the magnificent favourite of Henry III., whose contemptuous remark on his effeminacy was the cause of his exposing himself in the _mêlée_. The episode of the fate of Joyeuse is an affecting one in the life of the valiant and generous Henry of Navarre. The treasure was immense that was taken from the gorgeous army destined to overthrow the harassed Huguenots, but literally cut to pieces by the stern and bold, though ragged warriors. The gold, silver, and jewels that were brought to Henry's tent, after the victory, were heaped on the floor, and the dead body of the beautiful and admired Duke de Joyeuse was brought to him. Henry turned away, sick at heart, and commanded the corpse to be covered with a cloak, and removed carefully; and desired that all the spoil should be divided amongst the soldiers; holding it beneath him to accept any: nor could he restrain his tears at the sight of so much carnage of those whom he looked upon as his subjects. THE DEATH OF JOYEUSE. Between La Roche and Coutras Was heard our battle cry; And still we called--"To arms! to arms!" Our voices rent the sky. Our king was there with all his men, And all his guards beside, Within, the Duke de Joyeuse, And to the king he cried: "Oh, yield, King Henry, yield to me!"-- "What simple squire art thou, To bid King Henry yield him, And to thy bidding bow?" "I an no simple squire, But a knight of high degree; I am the Duke de Joyeuse, And thou must yield to me."