Pos trobars plans
Es volguz tan
Fort m'er greu s'i non son sobrans:
Car ben pareis
Qi tals motz fai
C'anc mais non foron dig cantan,
Qe cels c'om tot jorn ditz e brai
Sapcha, si·s vol, autra vez dir.
Mos ditz es sans,
Don gap, ses dan.
Per tal joi soi coindes e vans,
Qe mais val neis
Desirs q'ieu n'ai
D'una qe anc no·m ac semblan
(pels sainz c'om qer en Verzelai!)
D'autre joi c'om puesca jauzir!
Son ben aurans!
C'ar, per talan
Solamen, so francs et humans,
De dir ves leis
Ben, ni·m fas gai.
Qe·m val si per lieis trag mal gran?
Si lo mal q'en trac no sap lai,
Mi eis voil d'aitan escarnir.
Ben so trafans
Q'eu eis m'engan,
Car dic aiso tan qe vilans!
– cals pros me creis
S'ieu lo mal trai
Per leis, s'il no sapia l'afan?
– no m'es doncs pros e be no·m vai
Si·m pens qe tan ric joi desir?
Mos volers cans
Qe·m sal denan
Me fai creire qe futz es pans.
Tan aut mespreis
Mon cor, car sai
Q'enfol. M'aurei donc faz l'efan?
– Tot voll cant vei. – Respeit segrai.
– Respeitz loncs fai omen perir.
Con vauc torban!
Soi serrazis o crestians?
Qals es ma leis?
Non sai. Qe jai
Me posca, de so qe·il deman,
Et atrestan tost, Dieus, si·l plai,
Co fes vin d'aiga, devenir.
Pauc soi certans!
(ves qe·us reblan,
Domna.) de vos so molt londans!
Anc no·m destreis
Amors tan mai;
Per q'ieu non creiria d'un an
C'aissi·us ames per negun plai,
Si bes no m'en degues venir.
Astrius e ma chanso vos man,
Qe dos sautz si rics ar essai;
Lo ters aut on plus pot om dir.
Since plain style
is so much in vogue,
it'll grieve me if I don't excel in it:
for one would expect
him who writes such words
as never before had been put to music
to be otherwise able, if he wishes, to sing
what people sing and cry every day.
My writing, of which I boast,
is sensible and harmless.
I am pleasant and vain because of a joy
such as even
the desire it consists of,
– that for a woman who hasn't even ever looked like she'd like me,
by all the saints one seeks in Vézelai –
is worth more than any other joy one could enjoy.
I'm rather insane.
Since now, out of desire
alone, I am earnest and kind
in writing about her
good things, and I gladden myself with it.
What does it avail me, if I suffer great ills for her sake?
If she doesn't know, there [where she is], about the ills I suffer,
I am making a fool of myself, so far.
I am a traitor indeed
for I deceive myself
by saying that, just as a churl would.
– What advantage accrues to me
if I suffer
for her, if she doesn't know my anguish?
– isn't it, then, valiant and doesn't it avail me,
just thinking that I desire such a noble joy?
My doggone desire,
which mounts before me,
makes me believe that wood is bread.
I despise myself
so much because I know
I'm going insane. Should I have acted like a child, then?
– I want everything I see. – I shall keep expecting.
– A long expectation makes one die.
How troubled I am!
Am I Saracen or Christian?
Which is my belief?
I don't know. Now
may god, if he pleases, as fast as
he turned water into wine,
grant me what I long for.
I have little certitude!
(I court you, as you see,
lady.) I am far away from you!
Never before did Love have me
so much in its grip;
so that I wouldn't believe in a year
that I could love you so unconditionally
if no good were to come from it.
I send you Astrius ad my song,
for I now attempt two fine leaps,
the third [being] as high as one can possibly tell.