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En abriu, s'esclairo·il riu contra·l Pascor,
E per lo bruoill naisso·il fuoill sobre la flor!
Bellamen, ab solatz gen, e·m conort de fin' Amor.

Qui a drut reconogut d'una color
Blanc lo teigna, puois lo deigna ses brunor!
C'amors vair' al mieu veiair' a l'usatge trahidor.

Denan vos fara semblan bon per meillor,
Per servir gen, a talen mal per pejor!
Vers es, per ben fait, cap frait e mainz laisitz per honor.

Dieus maldiga amor piga e sa valor!
Per sa lecha pren delech' al bevedor,
Qui trop beu plus que non deu lo vins li tol la vigor.

Si l'amia non crezi' enganador
Lauzengier ni mal parlier acusador,
Sieus seria, si·m volia, ses bauzi' e ses error.

Puois qu'ieu vei qu'ella non crei castiador,
Anz de totz malvatz pren patz, cals la groissor
A la den torna soven la leng' on sent la dolor.

Denan mei n'i passon trei al passador,
Non sai mot tro·l quartz la fot e·l quinz lai cor.
Enaissi torn' a decli l'amors e torn' en negror.

Aquist con son deziron e raubador,
Tuit cill gartz i clamon partz et ill en lor,
E qui mieills fa sordeitz a, cum de l'agnel an pastor.

A dur auzel tol la pel cel qui escorja voutor.

In April, the streams become clear towards Easter
and, in the forest, leaves are born on the flower;
beautifully, and with nice disport, I comfort myself with a pure love.

She who has a lover of a definite colour:
let her consider him white, and then stoop to keep him unless he is tarnished,
for a variable love, in my opinion, has treacherous habits.

In your face, it will pretend to be good, if not better,
to serve honourably, [but] it leans towards bad, if not worse!
It is true: for [each] good deed, heads are broken in many places and many people denigrated.

May God curse piebald love and its value:
The drinker relishes in its vice!
He who drinks far more than he should, has wine take away his vigour.

If my friend did not believe a deceiver,
slanderer or ill-talking accuser,
I would be hers, if she wanted me, without felony and without lies.

But I see that she doesn't believe those that censure her
and instead has made her​ peace with all the wicked, just as the tongue
ever turns to the swollen, aching tooth.

Before me, three come by in the passage.
I don't say a word until the fourth fucks her, and the fifth runs there.
This way, love degrades and turns into darkness.

These are full of lust and robbers.
All these bad companions claim their share and those call them,[?]
and he who does best, fares worst, as shepherds fare with lambs.

He takes a tough bird's skin, who flays a vulture!