5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 175 180 185 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 225 230 235 240 245 250 255 260 265 270 275 280 285 290 295 300 305 310 315 320 325 330 335 340 345 350 355 360 365 370 375 380 385 390 395 400 405 410 415 420 425 430 435 440 445 450

77. Le Songe Saint Valentin Il est grant aise de panser, Se ce n’estoit que pour passer Aucune fois l’eure d’un jour. Bien met le corps en grant sejour, En grant repoux et en grant aise Le panser, qui le cuer apaise. Panser puit homme jour et nuit Ce qui lui plaist ou qui lui nuist. Que ja nul ne pourra sçavoir C’il panse fouleur ou sçavoir Tant qu’il meisme le descouvre Ou par parole ou par euvre. Et si fait au cuer grant soulas, Quant ungs homs est pesans ou las Et il veult prandre son repoux. Il puit panser sur tel propoux Qu’en son propoux s’endormira. Et, en dormant, il songera Aucune chose merveilleuse, Bonne pour lui ou dangereuse, Aussi com je feis, au matin, Le jour de la saint Valentin. Celle nuit avoie voillié, Car mon cuer m’avoit travaillé Pour plusieurs diverses pansees, Qui ne sont pas toutez passees. Si m’avint que je m’endormis Sur un lit ou je m’estoie mis. Et me sembloit en mon dormant Q’un rubis et un diamant, Le jour devant, leissié avoie En un vergier, et lez devoye, Ad ce matin, aler cherchier. Mais quant je vins prés du vergier Ou cuiday trouver mez anyaux, Je vy dedens pluseurs oyseaulx, Blans et noirs, privés et sauvages, Sors, muéz, nyais et ramaiges, De bois, de champs et de riviers, De maisons et de colommiers. Petiz et grans, tous y estoient, Et devers la mer y venoient Oyseaulx de diverses fassons. Illec faisoient leurs parssons. Chascun y choisissoit son per Qui veist l’un l’autre apper, Bec et bec, masles et femelles, Ilz se embrassoient dez elles Et alignoyent leur plumectez. Lez doulcez avec lez doulcetes, L’un prés de l’autre se jognoyent Et au souleil se pourrygnoient. Et seulz qui savoient chanter Vouloient leur mestier hanter. Le roussinol et la maulvis Se taisoient moult envis, Dessus tous ouyr se faisoient. Et les columbeaux se baisoyent. Chascun faisoit en sa maniere Ce qui lui sembloit que bon yere. Et bien se sçavoient aisier, Fust de regard ou de baisier, Ou de tout se que l’un sçavoit Qui a l’autre plaire devoit. A leur samblant apparoit bien Que chascun estoit liéz du sien, Car ilz avoient souffisance Et de tieulx biens grant habondance. Entre eulx tous estoit assise L’aigle, qui tenoit sa justice Et faisoit a chascun raison, Selon le jour et la saison. L’aigle tenoit son per prez d’elle. Celle parsson estoit moult belle, Car tous estoient deux et deux. Moult me plaisoit la vie d’eux Et leur desduit que je veoye, Et de ce grant soulas avoie Qu’il me sembloit, en mon couraige, Que j’entendoye leur langaige, Dont j’estoie moult confortéz. Et si estoit mon confort telz Que j’oubliay mes anelés Pour escouter les oyselés Et pour ouyr ce qu’ilz disoient. Si entendy bien qu’ilz usoient, Trestous lez ans, a celle feste, Que chascun d’eulx, teste pour teste, Choisist a per en son degré Cellui qui mieulx lui vient a gré. Et font ensemble leur demour, Pareille de cuer et d’amour, Jusques a la fin de l’annee. Et quant la saison est finee, Qu’il veul, il puit son per changier Et choisir autre sans dangier. Entre eulx n’en est nulz dangier. Mais soit faucon ou esprevier, Sacre, gerfaut ou mylion, Ou oyselet d’autre fasson, Certez ceulz font faulceté Qui premier brisent l’amictié. Ne le teigne nul a mençonge. Or vueil retourner a mon songe. En mon dormant m’estoit advis Entre lez autres que je vys Un oyseil assis sur un pin Qui sembloit faucon pelerin. D’ellez, de chief et de coursaige, De piés, de bec et de plumaige, De long, de gros et de largeur, De siege, des yeulx, de haulteur Tresbien le faucon ressembloit, Hor pres que tiercelet estoit. Car de ce me prins je bien garde. Ly oisel faisoit sur sa garde,nobr> En sus des autres tout seulet, Sans longes et sans chappelet. Mais il avoit entour ses piés Bonnes campanez et beaulx giés. L’aigle, qui bien l’apparcevoit, Comme celle qui cler y voit, Le fit devant elle venir Pour la coustume maintenir. Et se lui dist, sans plus targier: «Pour quoy vien tu si regarder Nostre fait et nostre conseil, Ce choisir n’en veulx un pareil, Ainsy comme ses autres font Qui si entour assemblé sont?» «Aigle, fait il, pour Dieu mercy! Saichés de vray que j’ay chosy Si bien, si bel et si apoint Que autre choisir ne vuel je point, Et se ne puis, pour nul avoir, Cellui que j’ay choisi avoir. Ja soit mon affaire petis, Si sui je dez oiseaulx gentiz, Et ne sui mie si estrange Que vouler vueille pour le change. Le change ne m’est bel ne gens. Je fus jadis privéz dez gens Et, se je puis, encor seray. Doulent sui que je mesarray, Mais j’avoie de mal envie. Se sçavoir voulez de ma vie, Saichez de vray que j’ay esté Plus d’un yver et d’un esté En la garde d’un gentilhomme. Nul besoing est que je le nomme. Mais il m’a fait et apris, Et tient mains bons oyseaulx de pris, Faucons, tiercelés et laniers, Voulans, reclamez et maniers, Qui tresbien et haultement voulent, Quant il fait bon temps et ilz veulent. Entre tous ses faucons a un, Et silz n’est mie du commun, Mais est des autres despareil, Tout ainsy comme le souleil Est despareillié de la lune. Cilz oyseaulz a telle fortune Qu’il est aimez et chier tenuz Devant tous autrez plus que nulz. Tant par est beaul et bien voulant Que chascun lui est bien vueillant. Il est en tous ses fais certains Et a vouler le plus haultains, Et non obstant sa grant haultour, Jamais ne feroit un faulx tour. Tant scet a point de l’elle batre, seul fait plus que vint et quatre, Soit pour heron ou pour riviere. Rien ne part s’il veult qu’il ne fiere, Sans son corps trop esvertuer. Mais il n’a cure de tuer, Ains tient tout en subjection. Car sa noble condition Est de vouler tousjours plus hault. Ja ne sera le jour si chault Que de l’aler plonger ait cure, Tant par est de noble nature. De sa bonté ne fault parler Pour bien vouler et revoler: Il n’est oyseil qui mieulx l’endure, En tant comme le monde dure. N’il n’est besoing que on le hue, Car il est tousjours vers la nue. Et si part malart ou cercelle Ne oyseil qui par force d’ale Vueille contre le vent vouler Pour soy cuidier a eulx sauver, Cil la le fait tantost remectre, Puisqu’il s’en vueille entremectre, Soit de haulteur ou soit de tois. Et puis si leur est si courtois Qu’il ne lez fiert ne ne mehaigne. Ou il ne veult ou il ne daigne, Mais lez prent on vifz a la main. Bien voule au tart et mieulx au main. Bien fait d’esté et mieulx d’iver. Jamais ne trouve temps diver. Et si n’aimme change n’esor. Il n’i a tel mué ne sor. Cil a tous les autrez passéz. Point n’est de bien faire lasséz, Tant est gentil et vertueux, Le bon, le bel, le gracieux. Bien pert qu’il est de bon affaire, Car il n’est nul plus debonnaire, Plus doulz ne de meilleur coustume. Et porte la plus belle plume Que nul oysel puisse porter. C’est un desduit a deporter De lui regarder seulement, Sans avoir plus d’esbatement, Soit a l’ostel ou soit au champs. Il n’est nul oysel mieulx sachans De bien savoir faire son droit, Grasieusement et a droit. N’oncques ne vis si doulz regart De nul oyseil, se Dieu me gard, Ne qui tant feust polis et net En tous lez lieux ou il se met. Et s’on le veult lorrer ou paistre, Il scet mieulx sez drois que son maistre. Le bien de lui et la beaulté Ne vous auroye pas compté Entre cy et deux ans entiers, Mais je vous diray voluntiers En quel point j’ay mon temps usé. Si me tiendrez pour excusé De ce que cy pareil ne quier. Autre chose ne vous requier. Saichez de vray que cel oysel Que lez gens tiennent a si bel Et a si bon et a si doulx, C’est cil que j’ay choisi sur tous, Ja soit ce qu’il ne le scet pas. Car je feroie grant trespas Et grant folie et grant oultrage Vers un oysel de son paraige, Se pour mon par le demendoie. Tel ne sui que fere le doye. Mais pour ce que la norriture Ne puit apaisier ma nature, Ne restraindre le grant desir Que j’ay qu’il me vousist choisir, Et, d’autre part, j’ay grant paour Que ce ne fust pour mon peyour S’il le pouoit appercevoir, Si que pour faire mon devoir Et tous sez perilz eschever, Sur espoir de confort trouver, Je me suis un poy essouréz, Et mon cuer lui est demouréz Qui, nuit et jour, de lui ne part, Ne choysir ne vueil autre part. Jamais autre ne choisiray. Pour lui ma franchise larray Et tout le desduit du bosquaige. Si me remectray en servaige, Soit sur le poing ou soit emmue, Sans ce que jamais m’en remue. Il ne m’en chault par quelle voye, Mais que souvent dez ieulx le voye. Quar je n’ay plume mehaingnee. Quant je sui en sa compaignie, Je suis en parfaicte plaisance A regarder sa contenance. Et a veoir ce qu’il scet faire, Que riens ne me pourroit meffaire. Tant ayse suy quant ad ce vient Que de mon mal ne me souvient. Et se j’eusse cogneu Le divers temps que j’ay eu Et celluy que, jour et nuit, ay, Depuis que de luy m’esloignay, Saichés bien que par nul party De luy ne me feusse party. Mais onques, en tout mon vivant, Senty n’avoye si avant Quelle douleur est d’esloignier Ce qu’on aime de cuer entier. Or l’ay si avant esprouvé Que maint mal jour y ay trouvé, Et bien cognois qu’amour lointainne Est de doulour rente certainne. C’est mort de soy enamorer, Qui vuelt longuement demourer Sans revenir la ou il ayme. Souvent convient que las se clame, S’il n’a cuer d’acier ou de fer, Car c’est un dez tourmens d’enfer, Sans reppoux et sans finement. Je le sçay de droit sentement. A brief parler et le voir dire, C’est bien de tous lez maulx le pire. Et pour ce je retourneray Le plus briefment que je pourray. Or vous ay tout compté mon estre, Si ne vueil plus entre vous estre.» Lors s’escria a haulte voix: «A Dieu vous commens; je m’en voys.» Il print son voul et s’envoula, Et l’aigle qui premierz parla Dist, quant elle l’ost escouté, Que bien avoit son fait compté Et que loiaulment se pourtoit L’oysel qui d’eux se departoit. De celluy fait plus ne parlerent, Mais tuit a un coup s’envolerent, Ainsy comme il me sembloit. Chascun a son per s’asembloit En voulant parmy le pais, Et je, qui remains esbais Et euz du jour dormy partie, M’esveillay sur leur departie, Et me retournay sur mon lit, Gisant a moult peu de delit, Car lez oyseaulx que je songoie, Qui d’amour ont douleur et joye, Me firent, en songent, entendre Que moult petit font a reprendre Les gens, se ilz veulent amer. A tort lez en puit on blasmer, Mais qu’il droit faire leur vouldroit Ja nulz ne lez en blasmeroit. Lez oyseaulx a leur gré choisissent, Et lez gens pour aimer eslisent La ou leur plaisance s’acorde. Dont bien souvent y a discorde, Car a l’un plaist, a l’autre non. Chascun quiert ce qui lui est bon. Maiz quant bon accort y arive, Il n’est nul qui si aise vive Comme font cez gens amoureux, Tant sont lez desduis savoureux. L’amour des gens fait a parer, Autre ne cy doit comparer. Amour est chouse naturelle, Mais elle ne sera ja telle, Si loial ne si bien servie, Ne tant a son droit assouvye, Qu’entre lez oyseaulx et les bestez Qui n’ont point de sens en leurz testez, Et ne doubtent paour ne honte, Et de dongier ne tiennent compte, Mais vivent sans entendement. L’amour dez gens est aultrement. Gens ont le sens cler et loyal Pour congnoistre le bien du mal, Et si scevent, par voye bonne, Garder le bien quant Dieu leur donne, Et se le mal leur fault souffrir, Aussy le sevent ilz couvrir Et porter en humilité. Quant gent ont mal, c’est grant pitié. Tant de biens vueil a cellez gens Qui en amer usent leur temps, Que, de leur grief et de leur dueil, Me vient souvent la larme a l’ueil, Et si m’antre par my lez vainez La remenbrance de leurs painez, Qu’a poy me fait le cuer partir Dez maulx qu’ilz leur convient souffrir. En se penser ou lors estoie, M’estoit advis que je sentoie, Ainsy que par pitié dou lour, En partie de la doulour Et du mal que sez amans ont, Quant ilz aiment du cur parfont Et sont loing en estranges terrez, Pour suir voyaiges ou guerres, Et ont lez cuers en grant cremour Pour doubtance de long demour, Ne pour chose qui leur desplaise. Le temps retourner ne lez leisse, Mais leur est Fortune contraire, Quant ilz ont volunté d’eulx traire Celle part ou leur cuer lez tire, Et paour de ce les martire Qu’ilz ne scevent au revenir A quoy leur fin pourra venir, Ne plus que faisoit ly oyseaulx Qui tant estoit ferme et loiaulx. Telz gens ont moult poy de confort, Se Espoir ne lez soustient fort. Dez oyseaulx ne tiens je plus plait, Mais du mal des gens me desplet, Ja soit ce que je ne suy mye Nesun de ceulx qui ont amie, Et si ne suy n’aimé n’amis, Ne oncquez ne m’en entremis, Ne pas ne me vueil acointier A moy mesler d’autruy mestier. Car trop me tenroit on pour nice, Se je prenoie tel office Ou je ne sçay chanter ne lire, Fors ainsy que par ouy dire. Mais, non obstant ma grant simplece, Tant est navré qui Amours blesse, Que j’ay pitié de tous amans, Soyent englois ou alemens, De France né ou de Savoye, Et prie a Dieu qu’il lez avoye Et conforte a leurs besoings, Nommeement ceulx qui sont loings De la ou leur cuer est assis, Dont mains sont tristes et pensis. Et si requier au Dieu d’Amours Qu’il vueille savoir leurs clamours Et ouir les pleurs et les plains Et les regars dont ilz sont plains. Et face lez cuers souvenens A cez damez de leurz amans, Et leur envoie bonnez nouvellez A ellez d’eux et a eulx d’ellez, Et les face brief retourner Et tous leurs fais a bien tourner. Et quant ilz seront revenus, Pour si loiaulx soient tenus Que envieux ne mesdisans Ne leur puissent estre nuisans, Mais leur soit mis en habandon D’amour le gracieux guardon, Pour avoir parfaitte plaisance Et chascun jour en acroissance A honneur et au bien des damez Et au plaisir de toutes femmes Qui sont amiez ou amees, Si que ja n’en soient blasmees. Et tous ceulx qui amans se clament Aient joye de ce qu’ilz aiment, Selon l’estat de leur service, Gardans lez drois et la franchise Et tous les poins de loiaulté Devant promis ou creanté. Ne ja au Dieu d’Amours ne plaise Que loial cuer perde sa place Par nul nouvel entrevenant. Ce ne seroit pas advenent. Je ne leur puis de plus aydier Fors seulement de souhaidier Aussi comme pour moy feroye, Se es las d’Amours me feroye Ou maintez gens ont esté prins, Qui, en eulz prenant, ont aprins A sçavoir aimer de cuer fin. Veés cy de mon songe la fin.

77. The Saint Valentine’s Dream It is very comforting to think, Even if it is only to pass Occasionally the time of day. It puts the body in great rest, In great repose and at great ease — Thinking, which calms the heart. A man may think, day and night, What pleases him or what does him harm. For no one will ever be able to know If he thinks folly or wisdom Until he himself makes it known Either by speech or by action. And yet to the heart it does great solace When a man is depressed or tired And he wishes to take his rest. He can think about such things That in his thoughts he will fall asleep, And while sleeping, he will dream Some marvelous thing, Good or difficult for him, Just as I did, in the morning, The day of the feast of Saint Valentine. That night I had lain awake, For my heart had troubled me With many different thoughts Which haven’t entirely gone away. Yet it happened that I fell asleep Upon a bed on which I lay, And while I slept, it seemed to me That the day before I had left behind A ruby and a diamond In a garden, and I had to go That morning to look for them. But when I came near to the garden Where I thought to find my rings, I saw within a great many birds, White and black, tame and wild, Fledgling, molted, nestlings, tree dwelling, From the woods, the fields, and the rivers, From houses and from dovecotes. Small and large, all were there, And from the sea there came Birds of many different sorts. There they were forming into pairs. Each one there chose its mate As they saw each other in the open. Beak to beak, male and female, They embraced each other with their wings And they aligned their feathers. The gentle with the gentle, They joined, one next to the other, And they stretched out to the sun. And those who knew how to sing Wanted to display their skill. The nightingale and the redwing Kept silent much against their will; They made themselves heard above the rest. And the doves kissed one another. Each one did in its own way What it found to be good. And well did they know how to please, Whether by a look or by a kiss, Or by anything that one knew That would give pleasure to the other. By their appearance it certainly seemed That each was happy with his own, For they had just what they wished And a great abundance of such good. Among them all there was seated The eagle, who dispensed justice And gave each one what was right According to the day and season. The eagle had her mate beside her. The pairing up was very beautiful, For all were arranged two by two. Their way of life greatly pleased me, And their joy which I saw, And from this I had great pleasure, For it seemed to me, in my heart, That I understood their speech, By which I was greatly comforted. And my comfort was so great That I forgot about my rings In order to listen to the birds And to hear what they were saying. Thus I learned that they were accustomed Every year at this celebration That each of them, one by one, Should choose as a mate from within its rank The one who was most pleasing to it. And together they make their dwelling Identical in heart and love, Until the end of the year. And when the season is ended, Whoever wishes can change its mate And choose another without refusal. Among them there is no reluctance. But whether falcon or sparrowhawk, Saker, gerfalcon, or kite, Or bird of some other sort, Certainly they commit falsitynobr> Who first breach the bond of friendship. Let no one consider it a lie. Now I want to return to my dream. As I slept, it seemed to me That among the others, I saw A bird perched upon a pine That seemed to be a peregrine. In wings, in head, and in body, In feet, in beak, and in plumage, In length, in weight, and in size, In its perch, its eyes, its height, It closely resembled a falcon, Except that it was a tercel. For of this I took careful notice. This bird was keeping watch All alone above the others, Without a tether and without a hood, But it had around its feet Fine bells and beautiful straps. The eagle, who was well aware of it, As she who sees clearly, Had it come before her In order to uphold the custom. And thus she said, without delay, “Why do you come thus to observe Our proceedings and our council, If you do not wish to choose a mate Just as these others do Who are assembled all around?” “Eagle,” it said, “For God’s mercy, Know for a truth that I have chosen So well, so beautifully, and so perfectly That I do not want to choose another, And yet I cannot, for anything I own, Have the one that I have chosen. Even though my rank is low, Yet I am one of the noble birds, And I am not at all so strange That I want to engage in any ruse. Change is neither fair nor noble. I used to be domesticated, And if I can, I will be again. I am sorry that I escaped, But I had a great desire for pain. If you wish to know about my life, Know for truth that I have been For more than a winter and a summer In the possession of a nobleman. There is no need for me to name him. But he brought me up and taught me, And he owns many good birds of worth, Falcons male and female, Flying, called back, and held in hand, That fly very well and very high When the weather is good and they so wish. Among all his falcons there is one, And it is not at all ordinary But it is different from the others Just as much as the sun Is different from the moon. This bird has such fortune That it is loved and held dear More than any, before all others. It is so fair and flies so well That everyone wishes well for it. It is sure of itself in all it does, And it is the highest to fly, And despite its great altitude, It would never make a false turn. So well does it know how to beat its wings It alone does more than twenty-four, Whether for heron or water fowl. Nothing escapes if it wishes to strike, Without straining its body too greatly. But it does not care to kill; Rather it holds all in subjection. For its noble condition Is to fly always higher. Never will the day be so hot/nobr> That it desire to dive down from its course, It is of so noble a nature. There is no need to speak of its goodness In flying out or flying back. There is no bird that does it better For as long as the world lasts. And there is no need to urge it on Because it is always up in the clouds, And if a mallard or kestrel takes to flight Or a bird that by force of wing Wishes to fly against the wind Thinking to escape from them, It quickly makes it return to place, Because it wishes to intervene, Whether from the height or from the roof. And yet it is then so courteous to them That it neither strikes nor injures them. Either it doesn’t want to or doesn’t care to, But they are taken in hand alive. It flies well late and better early; It does well in summer and better in winter. It never finds the weather variable. And it does not care for ruse or flight. There is no molted bird or fledgling like it. It has surpassed all the others. It is never tired of doing well, It is so noble and virtuous, The good, the fair, the gracious one. It is very clear that it is of high rank, For there is none more gracious, More gentle, or of better disposition. And it wears the most beautiful plumage That any bird could wear. It is a delight to enjoy Just looking at it Without any other pleasure, Whether at home or in the field. There is no bird that is wiser In knowing how to do what it ought, Graciously and properly. Never did I see so gentle a look From any bird, so help me God, Nor any that was so polite and clean In every place where it goes. And if one wants to train or teach it, It knows what is right better than its master. Its virtue and its beauty I couldn’t have described to you If I took two whole years, But I will tell you willingly In what way I have spent my time. Then you will consider me excused For the fact that I do not seek its equal here. I don’t ask anything else of you. Know for truth that this bird That the people consider so beautiful And so good and so gentle, Is the one that I have chosen above all, Although it does not know it. For I would commit a great offense And great folly and great presumption Towards a bird of its descent, If I asked for it as my mate. I am not worthy to do so. But because my upbringing Cannot subdue my nature Nor restrain the great desire That I have for it to choose me, And, on the other hand, I greatly fear Lest it turn out worse for me If it could perceive it, Thus in order to do what I must And to avoid all of these perils, In the hope of finding comfort, I have taken flight for a while, And my heart has remained behind, Which night and day never parts from it, Nor does it want to be anywhere else. Never will I choose another. For it I will give up my freedom And all the delight of the woods. And I will return to captivity, Whether on the fist or in the cage, Without ever leaving there again. It doesn’t matter to me by what means, As long as I often see it with my eyes. For I have never hurt a feather. When I am in its company, I am in complete pleasure In looking upon its countenance And in seeing what it can do, So that nothing could harm me. I am so content when I come there That I do not remember my pain. And if I had known The ups and downs that I have had And that which I have, by night and day, Since I separated from it, Know well that on no account Would I have parted from it. But never, in all my life, Had I felt so much before What a sorrow it is to be apart From the one that one loves with all one’s heart. Now I have experienced so much since then That I have had many a painful day, And I know well that love from afar Is a sure payment of sorrow. It is death to be in love For the one who wishes long to remain Without returning there where he loves. Often must he call himself miserable Unless he has a heart of iron or steel, For it is one of the torments of hell, Without respite and without end. I know it as a true feeling. To speak briefly and to tell the truth, It is easily of all pains the worst. And therefore I will go back Just as quickly as I can. Now I have told you all my condition And I wish no longer to be among you.” Then it cried out in a loud voice, “I commend you to God; I take my way.” It took to flight and flew away, And the eagle who spoke first Said, when she had listened to it, That it had told its story well And that it behaved loyally, The bird that departed from them. Of this matter they spoke no further, But all at once they flew away, So as it seemed to me. Each one joined with its mate In flying throughout the country, And I, who remained troubled And had slept a part of the day, Awoke with their departure, And I turned over in my bed, Lying with very little joy, For the birds of which I dreamt, Who have grief and joy in love, Made me understand, in dreaming, That humans do little to reproach If they wish to love. Wrongly can one blame them for it, But whoever would do them justice Would not blame them for it at all. The birds choose according to their will, And people choose to love There where their pleasure is in accord. Then very often there is discord, For it pleases one and not the other. Everyone seeks what is good for himself. But when harmony is achieved, There is no one who lives in such ease As do these people who are in love, So delightful are the pleasures. Love causes people to seek one another. Nothing else can compare to this. Love is a natural thing, But it will never be such, So loyal nor so well served, Nor carried out so properly, As among the birds and the beasts, Who have no sense in their heads, And who aren’t afraid of fear or shame, And take no account of disdain, But live without understanding. Love among humans is otherwise. People have sense, clear and loyal, In order to know good from bad, And thus they know, by good means, How to preserve the good that God gives them, And if they must suffer wrong or pain, They also know how to hide it And bear it with humility. It is a great pity when people have pain. I wish so much good for these people Who spend their time in loving, That, because of their grief and sorrow, A tear often comes to my eye, And then enters into my veins The remembance of their pains, Which causes my heart to break a little Because of the woes that they must suffer. As I was in this thought, It seemed to me that I felt, As if out of pity for them, A portion of the sorrow And of the pain that these lovers have, When they love from deep in their heart And are far away in foreign lands To go on trips or undertake wars, And have their hearts in great dread For fear of a long stay, And for anything that might displease them. Time does not allow them to return, But Fortune is against them When they have the wish to go There where their hearts pull them, And fear of this makes them suffer, For they do not know upon returning What their destiny will be, Any more than did that bird Who was so firm and loyal. Such people have very little comfort If Hope does not strongly sustain them. I speak no further of the birds, But the pain of humans troubles me, Although I am not at all One of those who have a lover, And thus I am neither beloved nor a lover, Nor did I ever get involved in it, Nor do I wish to get to know How to meddle in another’s business. For one would consider me too silly If I took up such a rite Where I do not know how to sing or read Except from what I have heard. But despite my great simplicity, So wounded is the one Love hurts That I have pity on all lovers, Whether they be English or German, Born in France or in Savoy, And I pray to God that he keep them And comfort them according to their need, Especially those who are far away From the place where their hearts are set, For which many are sad and pensive. And thus I ask the God of Love To please be aware of their cries And to hear their weeping and lamenting And the looks of which they are full. And that he make the hearts of these women Mindful of their lovers, And that he send good news To each of them about the other, And that he make them come back quickly And turn their situation to good. And when they have returned, Let them be held so loyal That the envious and the slanderers Not be able to do them harm, But that the gracious rewards of love Be granted to them in abundance In order to have perfect pleasure And every day in greater amount, To the honor and to the good of the ladies And to the pleasure of all women Who are lovers or beloved, In such a way that they are not blamed. And may all those who call themselves lovers Have joy of the ones they love, According to the degree of their service, Preserving the rights and the freedom And every point of loyalty Formerly promised or affirmed. And may it never please the God of Love That a loyal heart lose its place Because of any new acquaintance. That would not be right. I cannot help them any further Except only to wish What I would wish for myself If I placed myself in the bonds of Love Where many people have been caught, Who, on being captured, learned To love with a pure and noble heart. This is the end of my dream.

(see note) (t-note) (t-note) (see note) (see note) (t-note) (see note) (see note) (see note) (see note) (see note) (see note); (t-note) (see note) (see note) (t-note) (t-note) (see note) (t-note) (t-note) (t-note) (see note) (see note) (t-note) (see note) (t-note)