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66. Balade: «Car quanque voy ne me fait que desplaire» Dolent de cuer et triste de pensee, Plain de soucy, d’ennuy et de tourment, Sans riens veoir qui me plaise n’agree, Et sans avoir joye n’esbatement, Et sans espoir avoir n’allegement Suy et seray sans faillir, main et soir, Jusquez a tant que j’aye le pouoir Que vo beaulté je puisse regarder, Ma belle dame, a qui mez yeux donner Ont fait Amours et mon cuer sans retraire, Et se brief n’est, il me fauldra finer, Car quanque voy ne me fait que desplaire. Ne il n’est heure qui soit en la journee Qui ne me dure assez plus longuement Qu’en vous veant ne feroit une annee. Or regardez se je vis lielment; Certez, nennil! n’Amours si durement Oncquez ne fist a nul homme savoir Que c’est d’amer et d’estre sans avoir Celle c’on aime, dont me fault deporter. Mez crueux maulx m’en fault mains endurer. En gré le vueil, puis qu’il le me fault faire, Sans bien avoir, ne veoir n’en parler, Car quanque voy ne me fait que desplaire. Ne jamais joye ne me sera donnee Jusquez a tant que par vous doulcement Soit ma doleur en pitié regardee, Et que je voye ce qui si asprement Donne a mon cuer le mal qu’i porte et sent Et qui me fait en toute heure douloir. C’est vo beauté, car sen sez biens avoir Nulle leesse je ne puis recouvrer, Pour tous lez biens c’on pourroit deviser. Car nulle rien ne me pourroit tant plaire Sans vous veoir, qui me peust conforter, Car quanque voy ne me fait que desplaire. Belle princesse, en qui maint mon espoir, Par qui mon cuer est mat, pensiz et noir, Moy qui suis voostre, vous prie et vueil prier Qu’il vous plaise moy vouloir envoier, Pour adoulcir le mal qu’il me fault traire, De vo doulx cuer ung gracieux penser, Car quanque voy ne me fait que desplaire.

66. Ballade: “For whatever I see only displeases me” Sorrowful in heart and sad in thought, Full of care, of difficulty, and of torment, Without seeing anything that pleases or satisfies me, And without having any joy or mirth, And without having any hope or relief I am and will be without cease, at morn and eve, Until the time that I have the power That I might look upon your beauty, My beautiful lady, to whom Love and my heart Have caused my eyes to be given, without repeal, And if it is not soon, I will be forced to die, For whatever I see only displeases me. Nor is there any hour in the day That does not last for me considerably longer Than, in seeing you, would last a year. Now behold if I live happily: Surely not at all. Nor did Love so harshly Ever cause any man to know What it is to love and to be without possessing The one he loves, which I must do without. I must endure my many cruel pains. I wish it willingly, for I am forced to do so Without having, seeing, or speaking of any reward, For whatever I see only displeases me. Never will any joy be given to me Until the time my sadness is beheld By you, gently and with pity, And until the time I see that which so sharply Gives to my heart the pain it bears and feels And which causes me to grieve at every hour. That is your beauty, for without its benefit, I cannot recover any happiness For all the good that one could imagine. For nothing at all could please me so much That it could comfort me without my seeing you, For whatever I see only displeases me. Beautiful princess, in whom rests my hope, For whom my heart is sad, pensive, and dark, I who am yours beseech you and wish to pray That it please you to want to send to me, In order to soften the pain that I must bear, A gracious thought from your gentle heart. For whatever I see only displeases me.

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