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Canso do'ill mot son plan e prim
fas pus era botono'ill vim,
e l'aussor sim
son de color
de maintha flor,
e verdeia fuelha,
e'ill chan e'ill bralh
sono a l'ombralh
dels auzels per la bruelha.

Pels bruelhs aug lo chan e'l refrim
e per qu'om no m'en fassa crim
obri e lim
motz de valor
ab art d'Amor
don non ai cor que'm tuelha;
ans, si be'm falh,
la sec a tralh,
on plus vas me s'orguelha.

Re no val orguelh d'amador
qu'ades trabuca son senhor
del luec aussor
bas el terralh
per tal trebalh
que de joi lo despuelha:
dreitz es lacrim
e ard'e rim
se quel d'amor janguelha.

Bona dona vas cui azor,
ges per erguelh no vau allor,
mas per paor
del devinalh
don jois trassalh
fauc semblan que no'us vuelha,
qu'anc no'ns jauzim
de lur noirim:
mal m'es que lor o cuelha.

Si ben vauc per tot ab esdalh,
mos pessamens lai vos assalh,
qu'ieu chan e valh
pel joi que'ns fim
lai o'ns partim,
don soven l'uelh me muelha
d'ir e de plor
e de dussour,
car pro ai d'Amor que'm duelha.

Ar ai fam d'amor don badalh
e non sec mezura ni talh;
sols m'o engualh
qu'anc non auzim
del temps Caim
amador mens acuelha
cor trichador
ni bauzador;
per que mos jois capduelha.

Dona qui qu'es destuelha,
Arnautz dreg cor
lai o'es honor
quar vostre pretz capduelha.

Songs whose words are sweet and easy
I write, now that the willows bud,
and the highest peaks
wear the colours
of many flowers,
and the leaf is green,
and songs, and cries of birds
echo in the shadow
of the loom.

Through the loom I hear the song and refrain
and, so that none can blame me,
I work and file smooth,
skilled lines
with the art of Love,
from which I have not such a heart to depart;
instead, when it spurns me more,
I follow its trail,
even if it avoids me.

Lover's pride is worth nothing;
instead, it throws its lord
from the highest place
down to the ground
with such a torment
that it strips any joy from him:
it is right that he weeps
and flares and burns,
who Love does mock.

Good lady, whom I adore,
it's not out of pride I turn elsewhere,
but for fear
of the curious ones
by whom joy is shaken;
I pretend I don't want you,
since we never enjoyed
their delicacies:
I don't like to gather for them.

Whersoever I go wandering,
my thought assails you,
because I sing, and have any worth
out of the joy we gave each other
where we parted,
because of that my eye oftens gets wet
out of sadness and longing
and of sweetness,
since I have enough to complain with Love.

Now I'm hungry for love, and sigh
and I don't follow measure nor rule;
it only rewards me
that never was heard,
from the time of Cain
a lover who less than me hosts
a false
or deceitful heart;
for that my joy's at its highest peak.

Lady, no matter who sways,
Arnaut runs straight
where honour is,
since your worth keeps it at its highest peak.