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Emperaire, per mi mezeis,
Sai quant vostra proeza creis,
No·m sui jes tarzatz del venir,
Que Jois vos pais e Pretz vos creis,
E Jovens vos ten baud e freis
Que fai vostra valor doucir.
Pois lo fills de Dieu vos somo
Que·l vengetz del ling Farao,
Ben vos en devetz esbaudir!
Contra·ls portz faillon li baro,
Li plus de conduich e de do,
E ja Dieus no·ls en lais jauzir
Mais en cels de lai es remas
Ad ops d'Espaigna e del vas,
En devetz ben l'afan soffrir,
E·ls Sarrazis tornar atras,
E de l'aut orguoill forvenir,
E Dieus er ab vos al fenir.
Als Amoravis fai conort
Per las poestatz d'outra·l port
Qu'ant pres una tel' ad ordir
De drap d'enveia e de tort,
E ditz cadaus qu'a sa mort
S' fara de sa part desvestir.
Mas de lai n'ant blasme li ric
C'amon lo sojorn e l'abric
Mol jazer e soau dormir.
E nos sai, segon lo prezic,
Conquerrem de Dieu per afic
L'onor e l'aver e·l merir.
Trop s'en van entr'els cobeitan
Aicill que vergoigna non an,
E·s cuion ab l'aver cobrir!
Et ieu dic lor, segon semblan,
Que·l cap derrier e·ls pes denan
Los coven dels palaitz issir.
Per pauc Marcabrus non trasaill
De Joven, can per aver faill,
E cel qui plus l'am' acuillir,
Quan venra al derrier badaill,
En mil marcs non dari' un aill,
Si li fara la mortz pudir.
Ab la valor de Portegual
E del rei Navar atretal
Ab sol que Barsalona·s vir
Ves Toleta l'emperial,
Segur poirem cridar : reial
E paiana gen desconfir.
Si non fosson tant gran li riu
Als Amoravis for' esquiu!
E pogram lor o ben plevir,
E s'atendon lo recaliu
E de Castella·l seignoriu,
Cordoa·il farem magrezir.
Mas Franssa Peitau e Beiriu
Aclina un sol seignoriu,
Venga sai Dieu son fieu servir
Qu'ieu non sai per que princes viu
S'a Dieu no vai son fieu servir.
Emperor, I know,
me, how your prowess increases:
I certainly did not delay my arrival,
since Joy feeds you and Virtue makes you grow,
while Youth keeps you healthy and proud
because it increases your valour.
Since the son of god summons you
to avenge him on the Pharaoh's line,
you must be delighted.
Come to port, the barons falter,
those with the best entourages and gifts.
May God keep them from enjoying them!
But, since those from there hesitate
to rescue Spain and Sepulchre,
you need to bear the all the brunt,
and drive the Saracens away
and crush their haughty pride.
In the end, god'll be with you.
It encourages the Almoravids,
the attitude of those beyond the sea,
because they have begun to weave a fabric
that will drape with envy and wrong,
and each says that they'll strip him of his share
only at his death.
But, there, it's the rich who take the blame,
they love fun and safety,
soft beds and sweet sleep.
And we, here, obeying the preaching,
will conquer, by god's judgement,
honour, riches and glory.
They mingle their lusts too much,
those who have no shame,
and think their fortune insures them.
And I tell them, as it seems to me,
that it is with their head before their feet
that they'll have to leave their palaces.
Marcabru is almost beside himself
because of Youth, when wealth makes it fail.
And he who loves the most to amass it,
when he is at his last breath,
wouldn't give a garlic for his thousand marks,
so much death will make them stink[?].
With the valour of Portugal,
and with the king of Navarre too,
provided that Barcelona turns
towards the imperial Toledo,
surely we could cry: "Royal!"
and vanquish the pagan people.
If the rivers weren't so swollen,
it'd be a bad time for the Almoravids
and we could well assure them that,
if they are waiting for the return of the warmth
and the coming of the Lord of Castile,
we will relieve them of the weight of Cordoba.
But France, Poitou and Berry
are subject to a single lord:
let him come here and pay his fief to god.
For I don't know why a prince should live
if he doesn't go pay his fief to god.