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S'il cors es pres, la lengua non es preza;
Donx dir puesc ieu so qu'ieu meils volgra far.
Mais ieu poirai m'en en Dieu fïansar,
Et aprop Deu, m'en fi en mon Jotglar:
Qu'en els ar es tot del meu desliurar.

Fols, dir ho ai, sitot unc pauc vos peza;
Ogan d'aiso vos pot hom apelar
Qar de vostra dona que·us te tan quar
Per nuilha re tenetz pres son jotglar.
Dieus afol cel que·us ensenhet amar!

Senher en Fol! (Es paraula corteza)
Las! quan per me fauc madona plorar!
Que m'avetz tout tres mes, so puesc comdar;
Tuit devon dir – fe que dei mon Jotglar! –
Que vos etz sel que fai donas raubar!

Fol, per mon cap, en qu'es sa cresma meza,
Non a tan fort raubador sobre mar,
Que drutz raubatz, e donas faitz plorar.
Non agratz pro raubat en mon Jotglar?
Voletz donx mai? No·n avetz pro, so·m par.

Fol, deme·us prec, qar merce vos ai queza
Que no·m volcsetz del tot adreiturar,
C'ab sol mon dreg no·m podetz ben paguar:
Si per dreg fos, non agratz mon Jotglar.
Ja·us crezet ill de si eussa donar.

Fol, e·l sie·us det, qu'en vos s'es de tot meza,
E vos detz leis – e non es ges ben dar
Pos tan val mais; ben l'i devetz tornar.
Qu'als non mi da c'apela son jotglar,
Et tot ab mi non lo podetz egar.

Sitot ab mi no'us hi podetz egar
Si mi·l rendetz, ie·us en farai fin far.

Even though my body is in thrall, my tongue is not;
therefore I can say what I'd rather do.
But I shall be able to trust god with this,
and after god, I trust my Joglar:
for all [my hope] of freedom is with them.

Fool, I'll say it, although it may somewhat grieve you;
from now on one can call you this
for you keep, for no reason, imprisoned the jongleur
of your lady, who holds you so dear.
May god harm him who taught you love.

Lord Sir Fool (it is a kind word),
woe is me when I make my lady weep for me!
for you have locked me away for three months, if I can count;
all shall say – by the faith I owe my Joglar –
that you are the one who steals from ladies.

Fool, by my head, which was anointed by her,
there is no fiercer pirate at sea,
for you steal lovers, and make ladies weep.
Haven't you stolen enough in my Joglar?
Do you demand even more? You won't get any advantage from it, I'd say.

Fool, I beg a tiny favour of you,
for I have already conceded that you do not give me all my due,
for by merely giving me justice you wouldn't be able to repay me:
if the matter were settled according to right, you wouldn't have my Joglar.
She never intended to give herself to you of her own will.

Fool, she gave you her treasure, by committing herself to you,
and you reciprocated: it isn't fair bargain,
since she is worth so much more; you ought indeed to compensate her.
For she doesn't give me (whom she calls her jongleur) any more
and you certainly can't compare to me.

Although you cannot compare to me in this matter,
if you give her back to me, I'll do a fine deed for you.