Pois l'inverns d'ogan es anatz
E·l douz temps floritz es vengutz,
De moutas guisas pels plaissatz
Aug lo refrim d'auzels menutz!
Li prat vert e·il vergier espes
M'ant si fait ab joi esbaudir,
Per qu'ie·m sui de chant entremes.
Totz lo segles es encombratz
Per un albre que·i es nascutz,
Autz e grans, brancutz e foillatz,
Et a meravilla cregutz,
Et a si tot lo mon perpres
Que vas neguna part no·m vir,
No·n veia dels rams dos o tres.
Empero aissi es levatz,
E vas totas partz espandutz
Que lai d'outra·ls portz es passatz
En Franss' et en Peitau vengutz!
Qu'ieu sai qu'el es en tal defes,
E dic ver, segon mon albir,
Qu'en tenra sa verdor jasses.
E per so s'es enrazigatz
Car greu sera mais abatutz!
Que la razitz es Malvestatz,
Per que Jovens es confondutz,
E tornatz en tal contrapes
Per cels qui·l degran obezir,
Que tant non cridon c'us l'ades.
Meravill me de poestatz
On a tans joves e canutz,
Comtes e reis, et amiratz
E princes en l'albre pendutz!
Mas lo latz escarsetatz es
Que lor fai si lo col flaquir
C'us non esperetz ja·is mogues.
Jovens fo ja bautz apellatz,
Mas aras es si recrezutz
Que jamais non er tant honratz
Per que Jois li sia rendutz,
C'Avoleza l'a si conques
C'anc de pois no·n poc erebir
Que·is parti de lui Dreitz ni Fes.
Loncs temps a que no·l fo donatz
Sai entre·ls baros mentaugutz!
Faiditz es e loing issillatz!
En lai on el es remasutz,
Marcabrus li manda per mes
Que no·il calia tant fugir,
Que jamais, no, sai sera pres.
Non puosc sofrir qu·als moilleratz
Non diga lor forfaitz saubutz!
Non sai la cals auctoritatz
Lor mostra c'om los apel drutz!
Semblan fant de l'ase cortes,
C'ab son seignor cuidet bordir,
Cant lo vic trepar ab sos ches.
De tals sa·n vei enrazigatz,
Los fols, e·ls savis deceubutz
Per los acropitz penchenatz
Que tot jorn demandon salutz,
E demandon aco per ces!
C'anc nuills francs hom non dec sofrir
C'aitals gastaus fumos tengues.
Since the Winter of this year is gone
and the sweet flowery season has come,
I hear, by the hedges, in many
ways, the refrain of the small birds;
the green meadows and the thick orchards
have filled me with such joy
that I have set my mind to singing.
All the space in the World is taken
by a tree that was born in it,
high and large, branching, leafy
and grown so wondrously;
and it has taken over everything, so
that, wherever I may turn,
I see two or three of its branches.
But it is so lofty
and spread to all sides
that, from there, beyond the ports, it has crossed
into France and come to Peitau;
and I know it is in such an enclosure,
and I tell the truth, according to my knowledge,
that it will remain green forever.
And it is so rooted
that it will hardly ever be felled.
For its root is Wickedness,
by which Youth is confounded
and finds such opposition,
from those who should obey it,
that they don't even cry out for someone to come rescue it.
I wonder about the powerful:
there are many, young and hoary,
earls and kings and admirals
and princes, hanging from the tree;
but the noose is Stinginess,
which makes their neck so flaccid
that not one of them can hope to budge.
Youth was once called bold,
but it is now so degenerated
that it will never be honoured enough
for Joy to be returned to it,
because Cowardice conquered it so
that it has never been able to deliver itself
since Right and Faith have left it.
For a long time, nothing has been given to it,
here, by the known barons!
It is dispossessed and exiled far away!
And, where it took refuge,
Marcabru tells it by messenger
that it did not need to flee so far,
for it will never be caught here.
I cannot help but tell the married men
about their known infamy:
I do not know which authority
shows them that they are called lovers!
They look like the courteous donkey
who wanted to frolic with its master
when he had seen it playing with his dogs.
I see, here, rooted people,
fools and wise men alike, deceived
by neatly combed crooks;
these ask, every day, for greetings
and demand a fee on that!
And never would an honest man suffer
to maintain such perfumed stewards.