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Escotatz, mas no say que s'es
Senhor, so que vuelh comensar.
Vers, estribot, ni sirventes
Non es, ni nom no·l sai trobar;
Ni ges no say co·l mi fezes
S'aytal no·l podi'acabar,

Que ia hom mays non vis fag aytal ad home ni a femna en est segle ni en l'autre qu'es passatz.

Sitot m'o tenetz a foles
Per tan no·m poiria layssar
Que ieu mon talan non disses:
No m'en cujes hom castiar;
Tot cant es non pres un pojes
Vas so c'ades vey et esgar,

E dir vos ay per que. Car si ieu vos o avia mogut, e no·us o trazia a cap, yenriatz m'en per fol. Car mais amaria seis deniers en mon punh que mil sols el cel.

Ja no·m tema ren far que·m pes
Mos amicx, aisso·l vuelh prejar;
S'als obs no·m vol valer manes
Pus m'o profer'ab lonc tarzar;
Pus leu que selh que m'a conques
No·m pot nulh autre galiar.

Tot ayso dic per una domna que·m fay languir ab belas paraulas et ab lonc respieg, no say per que. Pot me bon'esser, senhors.

Que ben a passatz quatre mes,
(oc! e mays de mil ans so·m par)
Que m'a autrejat e promes
Que·m dara so que m'es pus car.
Dona! Pus mon cor tenetz pres
Adossatz me ab dous l'amar.

Dieus, aiuda! In nomine patris et Filii et spiritus sancti aiso, que sera, domna?

Qu'ieu soy per vos gays, d'ira ples;
Iratz-jauzens me faytz trobar;
E so m'en partitz de tals tres
Qu'el mon non a, mas vos, lur par;
E soy fols cantayre cortes
Tan c'om m'en apela ioglar.

Dona, far ne podetz a vostra guiza, co fes n'Ayma de l'espatla que la estujet lay on li plac.

Er fenisc mo no-say-que-s'es,
C'aisi l'ay volgut batejar;
Pus mays d'aital non auzi jes
Be·l dey enaysi apelar;
E dig·l, can l'aura apres,
Qui que s'en vuelha azautar.

E si hom li demanda qui l'a fag, pot dir que sel que sap be far totas fazendas can se vol.

Listen, but I don't know what it is,
gentlemen, that I want to start:
it is not verse nor estribot
nor a sirventes: I can't give it a name;
and I don't know how I might write it
if I weren't able to finish it

in such a manner that one never saw a similar one, made by a man or by a woman, either in this age or in the other one that has passed.

Although you think it foolish of me,
I still can't resist
expressing what I think;
one ought not to blame me for it;
I don't give a damn about all that exists
as opposed to what I see and watch,

and I shall tell you why. It is because, if I had begun, and never reached a conclusion, you would consider me a fool. It is because I would better like to have six sous in my hand than a thousand suns in the sky.

Let my friend never fear to do something
that would grieve me: I endear him;
if he doesn't want to aid me in my need,
let him offer to help me after much tarrying;
for none can deceive me with more ease
than her who has conquered me.

I mention all this because of a lady who keeps me languishing, for all her nice words and for all my long waiting. I don't know why. Could she be good for me, gentlemen?

A good for months have passed
(yes, and they feel like a thousand years to me)
since she granted and promised me
that she'd give me what I most desire.
Lady, since you keep my heart in thrall,
sweeten its bitterness for me.

God, help me! In the name of the father, of the son and of the holy spirit, what will it be, lady?

For I am, for your sake, gay, then full of wrath;
sad-happy you make me sing;
and I have, for your sake, left three women
who have no equal but you in this world;
and I am a maddened, courteous singer
whom people call a jester.

Lady, you can do what you want with it, just like Dame Ayma did with that shoulder bone, which she stuck where it pleased her best.

Now I finish my I-don't-know-what
for I have decided to christen it so;
since I haven't heard of such a thing before
I had indeed to call it this;
and whoever wishes to enjoy it
may repeat it, when he has learnt it.

And if anybody asks him who has composed it, he can say: the one who can well take care of all business when he wants.

Note: this poem is a mockery of Guilhem de Peiteu's Farai un vers de dreit nien.