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Ben sai e conosc veramen
Que vers es so que.l vilas di,
Que nuils hom, qu'es dins son aizi,
Trobe tot so que vai queren,
E s'anc non ac malanansa
No sap que s'es benestansa;
Mas adoncx l'es totz sos deleitz doblatz
Quan sap l'aize salvatge,
E n'ama mais tot so dins son estatge.

Mas d'ome.m meravill fortmen,
Que sap mals e bes autressi
E sap com va.l cars al moli,
E pot viure onradamen,
Com pot far tan gran enfansa
Que suefra tal malestansa
Que an per mar; mas als dezamparatz,
Que non an peins ni gatge,
Lais tot aquo, e fas autre viatge.

Que.ill mermes . . . . son cozen
El anar: d'autrui o de si
A gran regart ser e mati
Em poder d'aigua e de ven,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Et es tot jorn en balansa,
Et a.i vestirs rovillos e moillatz,
E gens d'avol linhatge
Dir l'aun enueg e faraun li outratge.

E qui mal tra e peitz aten
Ja de be no.ill fassa hom fi,
Ans ha regart per tot aqui
On vai, ni perte ribamen,
E ja no.ill tengron fiansa
Ni sagramen ni fermansa,
Ans, si podon, li sera.l sieus panatz;
Ges ieu no tenc per sage
Ric c'o persec, ans fai doble folatge.

Qu'ieu pretz mais jazer nutz e gen
Que vestitz josta peleri,
E mais aigua fresca ab bon vi
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . .que ransa,
E mais joia que pezansa,
E bos manjars e palafres assatz
Que bescueitz ab auratge,
E bels ostals mais que port ni ribatge.

Per qu'ieu m'en part, s'anc n'aic talen
De l'anar ni anc abeli,
E qui.s vol, segua aquest traï
E garde levan e ponen;
Qu'ieu am mais estar en Fransa,
On ha mais joi et onransa,
Et ab totz vens ieu penrai vas totz latz
En luec ferm alberguatge,
E cui plaira, segua aquest viatge.

I know well and truly recognise
that there is truth in what the peasant says:
that any man who stays at home
finds everything he seeks abroad,
and if he never suffered unease,
he doesn't know what ease is.
But therefore his pleasure is doubled
when he lodges in a wildly unpleasant manner
and he loves the more what his house contains.

But I greatly marvel at how a man
who knows bad and good equally well
and knows the way of the world,
and can lead an honourable life,
could act so childishly
as to go through all the discomforts
of crossing the sea. But let the wretched
who have neither pledge nor asset,
have it all: I take a different path.

For . . . . would lessen . . . . his smarting pain
by journeying abroad: either for himself or for others,
he is worried morning, noon and night,
at the behest of sea and wind,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
and he is in danger each day,
and his clothes are stained and soaked,
and people of vile descent
annoy and harass him.

And when one fares badly, and expects worse,
don't expect anyone to help him:
instead, he ought to worry wherever
he goes, and the shore is not for him;
towards him people don't keeps to their word,
nor to their vows and pledges;
instead, if they can, the will despoil him of his rights;
I don't consider wise
a rich man who pursues this: rather, he commits a double folly.

For I prefer lying naked in a pleasant place
than clothed and next to a pilgrim,
and fresh water and good wine more
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
than rancid . . . . . .,
and joy more than worries,
and good food and many a palfrey
more than ship biscuit between tempests,
and fair dwelling more than harbour or shore.

So I renounce, if I ever wished for it,
going on the seas:
let he, who will, follow this way of life
and peer eastwards and westwards [for signs of wind];
for I like more to remain in France,
where one finds more joy and honour,
and whatever wind may blow, I'll take, towards all cardinal points,
lodging on dry land,
and let he, who likes it, make that journey.

Note: of uncertain attribution.