prosody | miscellaneous |
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. |