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Bel m'es quan la rana chanta
E·l sucs pueja per la rusca,
Per que·l flors e·l fueilhs e·l busca
E·l frugz reviu en la planta,
E·l rossinhols crid'e brama
Sa par qu'a per joi conquisa,
Ples d'orgueilh car el no sen
Freg ni gel ni glaz ni bisa.

Non aus so que m'atalanta
Dir d'una gen que·s fa cusca,
Cui Malvestatz franh e frusca!
Qu'entre mil no·n trueb quaranta
De cells cui Proeza ama.
Qu'en un castell l'an assiza
E trazon i ben ab cen
Peiriers cill qui l'an revisa.

Pres es lo castells e·l sala,
Mas qu'en la tor es l'artilla
On Jois e Jovens e silla
Son jutjat a pena mala!
Qu'usquecs crida "Fuec e flama!
Via dinz e sia prisa
Degolem Joi e Joven
E Proeza si' aucisa."

Senher, ben hi a gran tala
Si mor ses fill o ses filha
Retengam per meravilha
Lo bec o l'ongl' o l'ala,
Quar de pauc albr' eis grantz rama
Quan bona pugn' i es misa,
Per qu'ieu n'esper e n'aten
Lo frut aprop la semisa.

Non vueilh far paraula lonja:
Preza es la francha causa
E non troba fin ni pauza
Si no·s met reclus' o monja,
E pos chascus la derama
E las denz li franh e brisa,
Leu non i trueb mas paren
De Portogal tro en Friza.

Duc e rei senes messonja
Ll'an primier la boca clausa,
Qu'ill fan de pauc fag gran nauza
Quar Donars lur fai vergonha!
Tan tem quecs que falha trama
Per qu'en lur cortz non es visa
Copa ni enaps d'argent,
Mantells vairs ni pena griza.

Maritz qui l'autrui con grata
Ben pot saber que·l sieus pescha
E mostra com hom li mescha,
Qu'ab eis lo sieu fust lo bata,
Et aura·n tort si s'en clama,
Car drech e racos deviza
Que qui car compra car ven,
Ar, segon la lei de Piza.

D'aqui nais l'avols barata,
Ric cui mortz e Dieus descresca
Qu'us non fai condug ni tresca!
Non sia lauzenja plata
Cell qui sa maisnad' afama!
Cest vest la blancha camiza
E fai son seinhor sufren
E ten si dons a sa guiza.

Alegretz, folls, en qual quiza
Cujas far d'avol valen
Ni de gonella camiza.
Antz co·s pot? Levan cazen
Qual gonella qual camiza.

I like the time when the frog sings
and the sap raises up by the bark,
through which the flowers, leaves, buds
and fruit come alive again in the plant,
and the nightingale cries and calls
his wife, whom he has conquered through Joy,
full of pride, because it does not feel
cold nor frost, ice nor gale.

I dare not speak, of which I have great desire,
about a strain which goes bad
and that Malice breaks and tears;
amidst a thousand, I don't find forty
of the kind that loves Lady Prowess.
for they have besieged her in a castle
they attack with well a hundred
stones, those who hate her.

Taken are the castle and hall,
the tower alone resists,
this is where Youth, Joy and her
are condemned to a cruel punishment!
because each shouts "Fire and flame!
Let's go in and take it!
Let's slit Joy's and Youth's throats
and put Prowess to death!"

Lord, it is a great pity
if she dies without son or daughter!
Let's keep, as a relic,
the bill or nail or wing
because large branches come of a small tree
when one takes good care of it.
Thus I hope for, and expect
the fruit after sowing.

I will not drivel on:
she is trapped, the noble thing,
and she can't hope for end or break
unless she becomes a recluse or nun.
And then, everyone tears her,
hits and breaks her teeth;
I don't know a relative of hers
from Portugal to Friesland.

Dukes and kings –it is no lie–
were the first to close her mouth,
for they make much ado about very little
because they are ashamed to give!
They so much fear that the weft gives
that, in their courts, one sees
neither cup nor silver goblet,
cape of vair nor grey squirrel fur.

A husband scratching another's cunt
may well know that he fishes out of his pond,
and shows how he is deceived,
for he beats himself with his own stick,
and he'd be wrong if he complained,
because law and reason decide
that whoever buys high sells high,
now, according to the law of Pisa.

Hence arise the despicable trafficking.
Rich, may death and god ruin you,
for you don't like dalliance and dancing!
One must not give conventional praise
to one who starves his household;
that one wears the white shirt,
makes of his lord a cuckold
and lets his woman do as she pleases.

Alegret, you fool, in which manner
would you turn a coward into a valiant,
and a jerkin into a shirt?
But how can it be? In rising or in falling,
as is jerkin, so is shirt.