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Adam pensoit estre fort bien caché,
Quand il se meit ainsi souz le figuier.
Mais il n’y a cachette où le peché
Aux yeux de Dieu se puisse desnier.
Se vante donc, qui voudra s’oublier,
Que Dieu ne void des hommes la meschance.
Je croy qu’à rien ne sert tout ce mestier,
Qu’à se donner à tout peché licence.

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UBI ES

Where are you?

lxv.

Ingens ficus erat, qua se contexerat Adam,
Jam reus, ac sperans, posse latere Deum:
Frustra. quae haec igitur corruptae insania menti?
Impietas quaerit quod lubet ut liceat.

It was a big fig tree, where Adam had concealed himself, now as a guilty man, but hoping to be able to hide from God. In vain; are these things therefore the madness of a corrupt mind? Faithlessness wants what is desired to be allowed.

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