| prosody | miscellaneous |
El so que pus m'agensa De Mon Rabey, Vos diray com comensa Un ric torney, Que fo fag en Proensa. Qui mielhs o fey Vos diray ses bistensa, C'om mens de mey Non cobri ni non jensa Malvat domney. Perdutz fo, qui que.l vensa, El garlambey Mans destrier de valensa, Mas yeu no vey Qui planha la falhensa. Gen fe la comensansa Lo don del Baus! E, qui.l ver en romansa, Ac sos chivaus Gran gol' e grossa pansa E semblet braus, Si que.l jorn en balansa Juys lo vassaus, Qu'en Raimon ab sa lansa Lo mes el raus, Rainoart, ses doptansa, Que.l caval claus! E.n Guilhem per semblansa No se.n fes maus, Ans quer alhor enguansa. En la cocha feria Vi tot premier Dragonet, que sezia Us en destrier Pauc, mas poder avia Gran e sobrier! Mas un pauc de feunia L'a son corssier, Que l'a tolt gualhardia Et alegrier! Per so.n cazec lo dia Lai el gravier! Mas non planh la falhia Del cavayer Qu'es de sa companhia. Lo coms cuy fon Belcaire Venc al sembel Desus un destrier vaire, C'om ten per bel! E.n Pos fo sos justaire, Qui que.n gragel, De Monlaur, o que.n laire, Que.l gastinel Li saup jen de jotz traire Fresqu' e novel! E.l coms no.y dona gaire, Car pus isnel N'a conquis de bon aire, Que cre s'ensel Trop mielhs per justa faire. Barral, sel de Marcelha, Vi gent armat Sul destrier c'a la selha Negr' e.l pel plat, E val be mil tans celha Sel d'en Lobat. Sel de Vila.l redelha, Que l'ai trobat Lay desotz una trelha Tot enpachat, C'a pauc no.l desparelha Del saur pomat! E.n Barraus s'escabelha Coma neyat, Pueys rete.l per l'aurelha. Si vi en la telena En Pons justar De Mondrago, c'a pena O aus comtar, Qu'ieu lo vi en l'arena Jos trabucar, Que, tota s'asta plena, Lo fes tombar Us escudiers, quen mena Lo ros liar Magre, cuy par la vena Gross' al colar! E.n Pos no s'esfelena De recobrar, Ans quer alhors estrena. Jen venc en la batalha Lo dons garnitz De Meolho, ses falha, Qui.l ver en ditz! E fo pus gras que calha Sos arabitz! Ab Nicolau s'engalha, Que.l fon aizitz, ........................................ ........................................ Que.l mes jotz la ventalha Lo cal que nitz, Si c'anc no.n restet malha! E.l dons en ritz, Pueys ditz que no li.n calha. Jen vi en la mesclanha Mon Avengut Sus en caval d'Espanha, C'a trop tengut! No sap qui.l se guazanha, Qu'el l'a perdut ........................................ ........................................ Que lay part Alamanha Son esperdut Li trey d'una companha! Mas non aug brut Ni home que.ls en planha, Car so vencut Lay en la terr' estranha. |
To the most delightful melody of Mont Rabey, I'll tell you how began a magnificent tournament that was held in Provence. Who fared best, I'll tell you without delay, since no man ever less than me covered or embellished an ill courting. Lost were, no matter who won the tournament prize, many precious steeds, but I see no one lamenting the loss. Well begun the lord of Baux and, to tell the truth plainly his horse had large jaw and big belly and looked ill-tempered, so that that vassal's life hung by a thread that day; since Sir Raimon, with his lance threw him into the rushes (Raimon Rainoart, of course) so that the horse stopped. And sir Guilhems, apparently, was unharmed and even seeked compensation elsewhere. In the forefront of the melee, I saw, before all, Dragonet, who was riding a steed that was small, but had vigour great and superb! But a bit of felony still has, his mount that has taken his spirit off him along with his mirth! For this the day turned to even worse! But they don't lament the fall of the knight those that are his friends. The count who held Belcaire moves to the field on a motley steed thought of as beautiful! And sir Pos jousted with him, (whoever may growl at this) sir Pos of Monlaur, (whoever may bark at this) who skillfully took from under him the colt which was fresh and young. And the count doesn't argue since more quickly he has won some other one of good ancestry which he thinks bears his saddle too much better to care for tournaments. Barral, the one from Marseilles, I saw well armed on the steed that has its eye-brow dark, and sleek its fur and its eye-brow alone is worth a thousand times the horse of sir Lobat. The man from Vila captured him, as I have found him there, under a net all entangled, so that he was almost parted from his dappled sorrel! And sir Barral struggled like a drowning man, then held it by the ear. Then I saw, within the fence, jousting, sir Pons of Mondrago, and I hardly dare tell of it because I barely saw him entering the arena when, square, with his lance a squire unhorsed him! one who brings his reddish horse of mixed fur, lean, its vein visible, bloated, on the neck! And sir Pons didn't endeavour to recover: instead went and found his fortune elsewhere. Well approached the fight the apparelled lord of Mévouillon, without a flaw, in truth! Fatter than a quail was his Arab! He was met by Nicolaus who was prepared for him ............................... ............................... and he placed under his ventail [this line is incomprehensible] so that no mail was left! And the lord laughed then said he didn't mind. Noble, I saw in the melee my Avengut on a Spanish horse which he kept too long! I don't know who gained it since he has lost it .............................. .............................. Yonder, somewhere in Germany met misfortune three of a group! But I hear no rumours nor man to lament their loss because they are vanquished there, in that foreign land. |