| |
|||
| prosody | miscellaneous |
Quan l'aura doussana bufa, E·l gais, desotz lo brondel, Fai d'orguoil cogot e bufa E son ombriu li ramel! Ladoncs deuri' hom chausir Verai' amor ses mentir C'ab son amic non barailla. Jovens triatz non a vida, Que ferit l'an dui cairel Malvestatz e Cobeida, Lainz entre·l cor e·l fel! Et es ne greus ad issir, Que no s'en laissa garir D'avolez' e de nuailla. E·l jelos bada e musa E fai badiu badarel, Car qui l'autrui con capusa Lo sieu tramet al mazel, E qui l'estraing vol sentir, Lo sieu fai enleconir E·l met en la comunailla. Ges non viu de manna dreicha Cum fetz lo trips d'Israel, Flaira fum qui non s'apreicha, E·l tornes en bufarel, Ni li plus non volon dir Vertat, tant volon mentir, Per conseill de garsonailla. Laig torn' en ufanaria Dompneiar ist cornudel, Mantenon la drudaria E·il tol' e·il vesto·l capel! Pois no m'en aus esclarzir Ni mon talan ademplir, An puois co·is pot, Dieus m'en vailla! |
When the gentle breeze blows and the jay, under the arbour, are puffed and mocking out of pride, and the branches are shady, then one should choose a true love with no deception who doesn't argue with her friend. The finest Youth doesn't have long to live because two quarrels have hit it, Wickedness and Lust, stuck between the heart and the liver, and they are difficult to take out, for it doesn't let Cowardice and Laziness heal it. And the jealous wonders and gapes and takes silly idling up, because whoever grates another's cunt sends his own to the market, and whoever wants to taste a foreign one, makes his own a delicacy and puts it out to the public. Sure, I don't live of straight manna, as did the tribes of Israel. He [only?] smells the smoke who does not approach, and then gives it back by blowing and most do not want to tell the truth, so eager they are to lie by advice of the raffle. These cuckolds turn–an ugly thing!– womanizing into boasting; they keep a facade of courtesy: they take its hat, then put it back on! And since I dare not clarify this nor fulfil my desires: may things go as they can and god help me! |
Metrical pattern: 376f