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Una chansoneta fera
Voluntiers laner'a dir;
Don tem que m'er a murir
E far l'ai tal que sen sela.
Ben la poira leu entendre
Si tot s'es en aital rima;
Li mot seran descubert
Al quec de razon deviza.

Bo·m sap car tan m'apodera
Mos cor que non puesc sufrir
De mon talan descubrir;
C'ades puech a plena vela
(qui que veya joy dissendre)
Per que no·y puesc nulh'escrima
Trobar, ans m'ai trop suffert
De far parer ma conquiza.

Pus ma dona m'es tan vera
(trop miels qu'ieu no·il sai grazir)
S'ieu quier als, tostems m'azir!
Dieus en ira·m met'ab ela
O·m fassa que be·m tanh pendre
Per la gola d'una sima:
Pro m'a dat sol lieys no pert;
Dieus m'a pagat a ma guiza.

Ben saup lo mel de la cera
Triar, e·l miels devezir
Lo iorn que·m fes lieys ayzir;
Pus, cazen clardat d'estela,
Sa par no·s fay ad contendre
Beutatz d'autra, si be·s lima,
Ni aya cor tan asert
De be s'aribar en Piza.

Domna, can mi colc al sera,
La nueyt (e tot iorn) cossir
Co·us pogues en grat servir:
Cant ieu·m pes, qui·m fer ni·m pela
No·m pot far en als entendre;
Mos cors de gaug salh e guima,
Tan ay en vos mon cor sert
E ma voluntat assiza.

Domna, si no·us alezera
Mos cors, lay on yeu dezir,
Res plus tost no·m pot aucir;
Si·m tarza, pensatz de tela
Al cor c'om no·s pot defendre!
Que·l vida m'es aytan prima
Soven ay gaug e m'espert
E·m pes: "Mala l'ai conquiza!"

Doncx c'ay fag tan long'espera
Que aysi·m degues murir?
Mas un iorn m'es vis que·m tir
Un an. Lo pretz d'una mela
Non tenc si no·m pot car vendre!
Dreitz! Per que mos cors m'ensima
C'ades m'estai l'uelh ubert
Vas sela part on l'ay viza?

Deu prec tan de mort m'escrima
Donna, e m'aia suffert
Tro qu'ie·us embraz ses chamiza.

Qui trob'amor ses escrima
Ja non deu planher si pert
Domna qu'es vayra e griza.

I shall gladly write a little
song, [one] easy to sing,
of which I fear that I shall die:
so I shall write one such as it conceals its meaning.
One will be able to understand it plainly,
albeit it is in similar rhyme;
the words will be evident
to one who divides them reasonably.

It feels good, for my heart
so overpowers me that I cannot stand
not revealing my intentions,
for now I can, with no restrictions
(whoever may see joy decaying),
so that I can't find any
disguise, rather I have endured too much
not showing my conquest off.

Since my lady is so true to me
(so much more so than I can thank her for)
if I ask for something else, I shall hate myself forever!
May god sow discord among us
or let him make me indeed deserve to be hanged
by the neck from a tree-top:
he has given me [all] good, if only I don't lose her;
god has rewarded me my own way.

He knew well how to part the honey
from the wax, and chose the best,
the day he had her made for me;
since, in the shedding starlight,
no other woman's beauty is made
her match, however polished it may be
or however set her heart may be
to achieving the prize.

Lady, when I lie down in the evening,
I ponder all night and day
how can I serve you to your satisfaction;
I muse so much that if one hits me or tears my hair away,
he can't turn my attention elsewhere;
I leap and bound out of happiness,
so much my heart and my desire
are fixed in you.

Lady, if I don't please you
there where I wish to,
nothing can kill me quicker;
if it is delayed for me, think that fabric
can't protect one's heart;
for I cherish life so much
that often I am happy, and lose myself
and muse: "I have won her to my misfortune!"

Then, why have I waited so long
[only] to have to die this way?
But a day seems to me to drag
for a year. I am not worth
a minnow if I can't resist!
Right-ho! But why am I exalted
[just] for standing now with my eyes open,
facing the places I have seen her in?

I pray god to shield me from death,
lady, and to have kept me
until I embrace you without a vestment.

He who finds love without a decoy
should not complain if he loses
a lady whose colours are mutable.