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Lo vers comenssa
A son veil, sen antic!
Segon l'entenssa
De so qu'ieu vei e vic,
N'ai sapienssa:
Don ieu anc no·m jauzic!
Greu puosc abric
Trobar ses malvolenssa,
Mais en baro.

Tant creis durenssa
C'alegr' en son li ric!
Avols cossenssa
Fai sobremontar tric!
Sofren sofrenssa
Esdevenon amic,
Al ver afic,
Segon la penedenssa
N'auran perdo.

Non sai que faire,
Tant fort sui entrepres,
Qu'entorn l'araire
Si fant villan cortes,
E' il just pechaire
De so qu'en lor non es.
Si m'ajut fes,
Tals mil en auzetz braire
C'anc res non fo.

Ges no m'esclaire,
Ni o farai d'est mes,
Ni o dei faire
Pels fills que fant laides!
Trop tem mal traire
Per atendre sordeis!
Mout nais espes
Malvestatz de sa maire
Senes razo.

Lo cors m'esglaia,
Ja non o celarai,
Amors veraia
Trob'ar greu fina sai,
Qu'en lieis non aia
C'a falsedat retrai!
Contra·l savai
Es leu amors savaia
E bon' al bo.

Mout pretz m'en aia
D'amor que no mesfai,
Qu'es ver' e gaia
Contra·l ver amic gai,
Tant cant vol braia
Lausengiers et abai,
Qu'ieu sai on jai
L'amors que no s'esmaia
De lor sermo.

Qui ses bauzia
Vol Amor albergar,
De cortesia
Deu sa maion jonchar!
Get fors feunia
E fol sobreparlar!
Pretz e donar
Deu aver en bailia,
Ses ochaio.

C'Amors s'embria
Lai on conois son par.
Blanch' e floria
E presta de granar,
Ses fellonia
Fai contr' amic ausar!
Ops l'es que·is gar
Cel cui bon' Amors guia,
De mespreiso.

Jovens someilla,
Greu prendra mais revel,
E par qu'espeilla
Lo seignor Daucadel,
Tot jorn conseilla
Ab son dous caut morsel!
Prop del tessel
Malvestatz li pendeilla
Al capairo.

Dolors m'esveilla
De fresc e de novel,
Cals meraveilla
Que greu trob qui m'apel
Malvestatz treilla
E Jois torn'en paissel,
Al plus isnel
Fer tal vetz lonc l'aureilla
Qu'el non ditz no.

D'aquest flagel
Marcabrus si coreilla
Ses compaigno.

The piece begins
on an old tune of ancient wisdom;
according to my understanding
of what I see and what I saw,
I know it well,
which has never done me any good.
I can hardly find shelter,
without ill intentions,
especially among the barons.

The hardship grows so much
that the rich are happy.
Their unhealthy tolerance
makes cheating run loose.
Suffering [the same] suffering,
they become friends;
at the last judgment,
having done penance,
they will get forgiveness.

I do not know what to do,
so much I'm astounded
that, around the plough,
the peasants act as gentlemen
and the just as guilty
of something they didn't do.
God help me:
you hear thousands of people hollering
about things that never existed.

It certainly, doesn't brighten me,
nor will it, this month,
nor should it,
because of the sons' misdeeds;
I fear too much to be looking for trouble
to get to the vile.
Malice born
rather thick of its mother
without reason.

My heart is full of horror:
I will not hide it any more.
True love
finds it hard to apply itself [?] to a noble person [?]
who doesn't have in himself
something resembling falsehood.
To the wicked,
love is easily wicked
and good to the good.

I must value much
love that doesn't misbehave,
which is true and cheerful
towards a true and cheerful friend.
Holler as much as he pleases
the slanderer, and bark,
for I know where lies
the Love that doesn't budge
from her words.

He who, without lies,
wants to welcome love
must strew
his home with courtesy!
Throw out felony
and foolish overtalking!
Virtue and largesse
he must have at hand,
without excuses.

For Love hastens
there where he recognizes as his peer.
White and blooming
and ready to sprout branches,
without felony,
it rises its friend high [?].
One who is guided by good Love
must guard himself
from error.

Youth slumbers
and will hardly wake.
It seems to mirror
the Lord Daucadel,
consorting all day
with his sweet, hot piece [?]!
Close to the hook,
wickedness hangs
from his bonnet.

Pain awakens me
again and right away.
What wonder,
if I hardly find who calls me?
Wickedness spreads like a cling vine
and Joy is turned into its prop
and [Malice] knocks, at such moments,
the most agile man about the ear,
so that he never says no.

Against this scourge,
Marcabru rages
without a companion.

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