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Engleski prijevod pjesama dviju flamanskih pjesnikinja koje su živjele u 16. stoljeću. 

Anna Bijns

OH LORD, ENLIGHTEN THE BLIND

IN THIS NEW YEAR

Pious Christians living in these times of ours
Carry in their heart a heavy cross
When they see the Holy Church's
Miserable state. Who is there to blame?
In all states you see unveiled abuse,
Blind people running loose in every land.
Some speak like those who haven't seen the light:
‘Who or what shall we believe?’ And they say more:
‘Where at last shall the Church’s children flee?’
Leaders with clear vision are sorely lacking.
Illuminate your Church with new lights, Lord,
To guide the blind onto your paths
And divert them from their evil ways,
Since from blindness many maledictions stem.
Will you nourish your people with your grace
And confound those who combat truth
In public and in private.
Oh Lord, enlighten the blind
In this new year.

[...]

Who’s ever witnessed greater blindness?

For every mind a faith — or so it seems;

My heart groans, it weeps.

Although God's word is in abundance sown,

People are deafened by heretics’ din

And hardly ever does good fruit grow from it.

All is infected with heresy’s putrid air,

The vilest of all plagues.

Oh Christians young and old, beware of this,

Because the east is festering, and so is the west.

The world is near its end. False prophets

Spit new venom every day,

And each thinks his view is best.

’T is time that good Christians should renounce

Body and goods, shun family and friends,

And lift their hearts in prayer to God,

Repeating with one voice:

Oh Lord, enlighten the blind

In this new year.

[...]

A shrewd spirit has been unleashed,

Inciting laymen to meddle with the scripture

And rave as they please.

But among each other, they mostly quarrel.

Each thinks himself a teacher with a new and special find

(Whispered in his ear by demons from hell).

How many loony women and as many fools can't you find

Who mistake renegade monks, jackals for all I care,

For learned men! Monks who used to seriously read

What they now deride! Who harass real preachers!

Oh Lord, will you cut down these useless weeds

Whose fruits send many souls to hell's torment.

With Mohammed I consider these chaps at par.

They mix their poison with the gospels.

More ferocious wolves never roamed in sheep's clothing,

Causing devotion and God's service to knuckle under.

And this is but too true.

Oh Lord, enlighten the blind

In this new year.

CONCLUSION

All good Christians, be on your guard,

Now diligently pick up your arms.

Note humbly your shepherds’ admonitions

And you, too, will be counted among Christ’s flock

But you shepherds especially: don't fall asleep,

It’s your job to keep the wolf out of the pen;

In prayer be brave, like faithful fellows.

Now dedicate yourselves to virtue, lords, as examples to the Church.

Should good words edify, good works teach even more.

(izvor)

Katharina Boudewijns

A FINE AIR ON THE HOLY SACRAMENT

Erring Calvinists, convert now, all of you

Doubters of the Sacrament Divine;

Let yourself be taught what is true,

Let not blindness your sight confine;

But the eyes of your soul now open wide,

See how you've been led astray.

The devil over your soul will ride,

For forsaking the ancient way.

Wherefore is your doubt so great

That you believe the crafty fiend,

When Jesus’ truth inviolate

By wicked villains is demeaned:

By apostates, wastrels low,

Loose monks who’ve fled their native parts,

Anxious to preach and also to grow

Unbelief and folly in men’s hearts.

You erring people, I beg you, see

That you have fallen into death's tomb:

Return again to the Holy Church,

All flock now to your dear mother's womb;

She'll receive you full of grace

As her well-beloved child.

Do penance and her cause embrace,

Confess all to her humble and mild.

She'll make those strong and console

Who ask her to soothe their malaise;

Through the mother’s spiritual role

God the Father is honoured always.

That truth now all over you'll hear,

Of lies she’s banished the taint.

Unblock your unbelieving ears:

The miracle maketh the saint.

Fly, all you ministers of hell;

Woe to those who follow you.

You've taunted many with your spell;

Their sins had deserved those plagues, it’s true.

But your realm could not endure for long

And like a stench it’s now passed away.

Catholic burghers, don't grieve for too long,

Our faith will survive for many a day.

Be gone, you tyrants, foul rebel crew,

Who all of our churches have rent;

Now your actions all of you rue,

Deniers of God in His sacrament.

You evil people, shake and despair,

Since you've blasphemed against God's way;

With false lies and visions of air

You've led your people astray.

(izvor)