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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 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.