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S'ieu ar endevenia
En far chanson plazen,
Meravilla seria,
Tan mi vai malamen.
Voluntiers m'en sofrira
De dire cossi·m vai
Que no m'en descobrira;
Mas l'amoros e·il gai
Dirian: "E que fai?
Meravillas n'avem tuich gran.
Segon so qu'era gais antan,
Cossi pot esser que non chan?"

C'una dompna·i servia
De bon cor lialmen,
Tan qu'en bon pretz l'avia
Poiad', era dissen.
Con o poirai far d'ira?
Car lei, cui servit ai
De bon cor, o servira,
Desam, car o forfai.
Car atressi s'eschai
Qu'ill aia blasme del engan,
Cum pretz an cellas que ben fan.
Pero iratz sui de son dan.

Dirai n'una feunia,
C'om iratz non a sen,
Contra ma cortesia:
Pero, car no m'es gen,
Si pogues, la·n cobrira;
Mas ja non l'amarai,
Puois ill eissa s'azira.
Sabetz cal conort n'ai,
En que·m conortarai?
Eu n'aic de bels plazers enan.
Qu'ill agues mas un sol talan!
Sa foudatz m'en fai dir aitan.

Mi e·l bon pretz c'avia,
A perdut veramen
E·l ben c'om li dizia.
Gardatz c'a mal l'en pren!
Que qui la vi, ·s plevira
Antan e mais en lai
Que ja mais non faillira.
Et ieu com o farai?
Cossi m'en vengarai?
Puois tan m'a faich mentir lauzan
Que s'ie·n dic de mal atretan
Aco·m sera plus malestan.

A dompna taigneria
Grans viutatz d'onramen
E de faitz carestia.
Tant can ten son joven,
Vezer pot, quand se mira,
Cum de beutat li vai;
Pero si non cossira
En valor, ill dechai,
Car sa beutatz s'en vai
Et ill reman ab pel ferran
Dolenta, car a viscut tan
Ab plus simple sen d'un enfan.

Lausengador, deserenan
Digatz so que·us er a talan,
Qu'ieu no·i puosc aver pro ni dan.

Enueios, mais ai de talan
De trobar dompna ses enjan
Que vos de prez, cui amaz tan!

If I now managed
to write a pleasant song
it would be a marvel,
so badly it goes for me.
I would gladly endure
to tell how it is going
for it would not reveal me;
but the loving and the joyous
would say: "What does he do?
We are all greatly astonished.
Seen he was so happy before,
how can it be that he doesn't sing?"

For I was serving a lady
wholeheartedly and loyally
so well I had uplifted
her good virtue, [which] now decays.
How could I do this with sadness?
Because her, whom I have served
wholeheartedly, and will serve,
I unlove, because she deserves it.
For it is, anyway, fitting
that she is blamed for the deceit
the same way that those who do good earn virtue.
But I am still sad that she comes to harm.

I'd say an ill thing about her,
for a saddened man has no consideration,
against my [usual] courtesy:
still, while she is not agreeable,
if I could, I would cover her;
but I'll never love her
for it's her who hates herself.
Do you know which consolation I have,
with which I'll console myself?
I have beautifully enjoyed her before.
If she only had a single will!
Such are the things her folly makes me say about her!

She truly has lost
me, and the good virtue she had,
and the good [advice] one gave her.
See how she's turned for the worse!
For he who saw her last year
and much before would have sworn
that she would never fail.
And what will I do, me?
How will I take revenge on her?
For she has made me lie, by praising, so much
that if I talked ill of her as much
it would be [even] more improper.

What suits a lady is
great honourable courtesy
and parsimony of actions.
As long as she keeps her youth
she can see, whenever she looks at herself,
how her beauty is doing;
but if she doesn't care for
valour, she spoils,
for her beauty goes
and she remains, with grey hair,
regretful that she has lived so long
being simpler than a child.

Slanderers, now
say all you wish
for neither good nor bad can come of it to me.

Meddlers, I care more
to find a lady with no deceit,
than you do for virtue, which you love so much!