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Patz passien ven del Senhor
que per nos pres carn e moric;
volc nos rezemer del sieu sanc
que·l fossem ver, fizel amic;
per so ja us non s'en estanc
que usquecx vas Luy non corra.
Que Dieus nos dona tal conort,
qu'el segle fals, fallit e mort
nos mostra patz per sa doussor
que fa als bos los mals jauzir
e·n patz ab patz patz obezir.

Per aquesta n'aurem major
patz e vulhatz qu'om vo·n prezic:
ges non es, ni er, ni fon anc
en ergulhos cor, fellon, ric;
per qu'ieu sospir soven e planc,
quar non pessam plus abora
q'us a l'altre no fezes tort
ni agues ira ni desconort,
mas fezes l'us a l'autr'amor
e cum pocsem a Dieu servir,
quez Elh nos denhe aculhir.

Regart deu aver e paor
qui sap so qu'Elh per nos suffric;
vol que siam humil e franc,
perdonem a nostr'enemic
per so que de Luy no·ns aranc
peccatz que fort brama e plora
quar li premier li son estort;
non y a un tan gran ni fort,
si ca layns, qu'ab gran dolor
no·l fasson ardre e blezir
selhs que·ns fan peccar e falhir.

A nulh home no fan honor
ni de lur obra non jauzic
que no·l tornon d'aut bas, el fanc,
si co feiro·l premier antic;
e ja no cug traspas ni manc,
tart o temps, qu'a mala hora,
qui diable sec, non l'aport.
De cobezeza·ns planton ort,
de sobre totz mals lo pejor,
per que·ns podem greu d'elhs partir,
qui ben no s'en sap escrimir.

Peccatz a tan doussa sabor
per que Adams lo pom trazic:
del dreg just fey fals, clop e ranc
cobezeza, que·l ne partic,
qu'elh era assis en tal banc
ja no saupra mals que·s fora.
E a donat estranh deport,
ir'e trebalh e desconort,
a selhs qu'intran el bollidor
don jamais non poiran yssir.
Pensem nos quo·y poirem guerir!

Sans Pauls dis: «Pus temps nos socor,
ja us de ben a far no·s tric».
Qu'el sieu sant, clar, paradis blanc
Jhezu Crist, que anc no mentic,
nos apella, enans que·l tanc.
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Corram lai on tug li doctor
s' acordon que·y podem venir
ab ben far et ab mal gequir.

Trichat seran li trichador
que anc mal per pieitz n'an gequic:
no·y aura riu, vouta ni tanc
als perjurs fals qu'an fe falhic
que tot denan lor no s'enplanc,
ni engans que no·ls encorra.
Selh el fanc cai qu'a lo sen tort
del diable, quar ab sa sort
lo n'a portat a deshonor
que anc no·l laisset repentir
en vida ni quan dec murir.

Dombredieus prec yeu et ador
qu'Elh nos lais el sieu renc venir,
ab sos angils cans novelhs dir.

Qu'al comte Raimon volha honor
et forsa dar per enantir
Pretz, en que totz lo mons se mir.

Comte, rey et emperador
avem luy per Pretz enardir,
ab patz enantir et sofrir.

Lasting peace comes from the lord
who took on flesh and died for us;
he wished to redeem us with his blood
so that we'd be true, faithful followers;
therefore, may nobody get tired
of running towards him.
For god gives us such comfort
that the treacherous, corrupt and decaying,
he shows us peace through his sweetness,
which makes the good endure the ills
and observe peace in peace and with peace.

For this peace, we'll have a greater
one and let one preach to you about it:
it isn't, won't be and ever wasn't, ever,
a proud, felonious, haughty heart;
for this I sigh and often weep:
for we don't worry anymore in time
that we'd wrong each other
nor that we'd cause sadness and malevolence,
and rather how we'd bring love to each other
and how we could serve god
so that he'd stoop to welcoming us.

He has to have regard and reverence,
who knows what he suffered for us;
he wants us to be humble and earnest,
and to forgive our enemy
so that he doesn't set on us
the devil [?] that brays and shrieks loudly
because the best are wrenched away from him;
and there is no one so big or strong that,
if he were to fall there, they wouldn't, with great
pain, make him burn and char,
those who makes us sin and fail.

They don't honour anybody,
nor is there anyone who enjoyed their works
without being turned from high to low, in the mud,
as they did with our first ancestor;
and may he who follows the devil not believe that,
through dodging or lack,
sooner or later, in the evil hour, he doesn't get him.
They plant in us a garden of greed,
the worst of all evils,
so that we can hardly get rid of them,
unless one can shield oneself well.

Sin has such a sweet taste;
that's why Adam ate the apple:
greed made a treacherous, corrupt
and rotten [man] of a righteous one, whom it swayed
while he was sitting on such a bench
that he'd never have known what evil would be.
And it has given an odd disport,
sadness and torment and despair,
to those who enter the boiler
which they'll never be able to exit.
Let's think how we can save ourselves!

St. Paul says "As long as time is with us,
let's not hesitate in doing good."
And in its saintly, clear, white paradise,
Jesus Christ, who did not ever lie,
calls to us, before securing it.
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Let's run there where all the sages
agree that we can go
by doing good and renouncing evil.

The traitors will be betrayed,
for they have left bad for worse:
there shan't be torrent, crag nor snag
that wouldn't present itself in front
of the treacherous perjurers who didn't keep their word,
nor deception that doesn't occur to them.
He falls in mud who has his sense corrupted
by the devil: with his hellish guile,
he has led him to dishonour
and didn't let him repent
in life nor on his deathbed.

I pray god almighty and beseech him
to let us come into his realm
and intone new songs with his angels.

May god give the count Raimon
honour and strength to enhance
virtue, for all the world to look up to.

We have him as a count, king
and emperor to defend virtue,
keeping and enhancing peace.

Note: Console yourself: this is the bottom line. No poem on this site is even remotely as boring as this one. Not even Cadenet's.