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78. Le Livre Messire Ode Je vueil ung livre commencier Et a ma dame l’envoyer, Ainsi que je lui ay promis, Ou seront tous mes faiz escripz. Non pas tous, maiz une partie Diray de ma mellencolie. Amours, par vostre bon vouloir, Vous a pleu moy faire savoir Que je choisisse une maistresse. Choisy l’ay plaine de jeunesse, De biens, de beaulté acomplie, De doulceurs et de chiere lie. Son regard est doulx a merveille. Sur toutes est la non pareille, Et pour ce l’ay voulu choisir, Esperant que deusse advenir Au haultain bien des amoreux. Maiz trop me trouve angoisseux Par hardement de trop parler, Car dit luy ay tout mon penser, Cuidant qu’il m’en deust estre mieulx. Mais Reffuz, le tresenvieulx, Est contre moy de sa puissance. Dangier d’autre costé s’avance Et y est quant g’y doy venir. Lors ne sçay je que devenir. Quant a elle cuide parler, Emprés elle huche Dangier, Et Reffuz est d’autre cousté. En ce point suis je gouverné. Adoncq je n’ose plus mot dire. Maiz plus me plaist son escondire Que d’avoir tous les autres biens Du monde qui point ne sont miens. Jusqu’a la mort la veuil servir Et toutes errieres bannir De moy pour elle seulement. Sien en vueil estre ligament, A la servir de cuer et d’ame, Loyaulment, comme seulle dame Et maistresse de mon vouloir. En ce point je veuil remanoir, Ne jamaiz ne m’en vueil lasser Pour nul que j’en puisse endurer, Esperant q’un temps qui vendra Sa voulenté retournera Et aura pitié de mes plains Et de mes maulx dont je me plains. Maiz l’actente me fait languir Et trespiteusement fenir Par Desir, qui m’art et enflamble. Souvenir avec lui s’assemble. Penser me font a sa beaulté, Et par ces deux suis gouverné. Devant me prennent et derriere. Perdre me font souvant maniere. Je pense quant deusse parler. Je ne puis boire ne menger, Tant suis de s’amour entrepris. Amours, pour quoy me suis je prins A desirer ung si grant bien? Ma mort vueil et pour mort me tien. Je ne vaulx nesq’un homme mort, Car homme qui est sans confort Ou monde ne peult riens valoir. Helas! ou est allé Espoir Qui m’a promis moy conforter? Il ne me devoit point laissier. Ainsi le m’avoit il promis. C’est le meilleur de mes amys. Je sçay bien, quant il revendra, Qu’a moy tresfort il tancera De moy ainsi desesperer, Maiz je ne sçay quel tour tourner, Tant me destraint ma maladie. Je suis en mortel resverie, Et croy que je feusse ja mort, Ne feust ung poy de reconfort Qui par Espoir m’est venu dire Que j’ay tort de moy desconfire Ne de mener si dure fin, Ne d’estre a desespoir enclin. Et dit, se je puis endurer, Ma douleur verray retourner En joye bien prochainement, Et que des biens treslargement J’auray d’Amours, quoy que nul die. Loyaulté me sera amye Et m’aydera a avenir Au treshault bien que je desir. Et ainsi comme je pensoye Et en espoir me confortoye, Je m’allay sur ung lit gecter Pour moy ung petit reposer, Et meiz peine de moy dormir, Maiz je ne poz, pour Souvenir, Dormir ne reposer vrayement. Et lors que je meiz mon pensement A commancier une ballade, Et la fiz comme homme malade Et enregistray en mon livre, Et, s’il vous plaist, la povez lire Balade Desconforté de joye et de leesse, Raemply de dueil et de plains doloreux, Triste, pensif, desgarny de leesse, Desesperé de tormens amoureux, Tout esloingné de tous plaisirs joyeulx, Maintenant, plus que je ne pourroye dire, De tous tormens suis accueilly du pire. Actains me truiz de douleur et de rage. Sans franchise me suis trouvé en servage, Tant que j’en sens mon cueur ardoir et frire. De plus en plus ay de maulx l’eritage. J’ay le rebours de ce que je desire. Souffreteux suis en ma jeune jeunesse De ce qu’amant doit estre desireux. Plus n’en diray, bien sçay ce qui me blesse. Dolant seroye d’estre si maleureux Que chascun sceust mon meschief ennuyeux, Dont j’ay trop plus que ne pourroye escripre. Ung seul chemin desroye mon couraige, Me fait languir et passer ce passaige. Qu’en dictez vous? Me doibt il bien souffire? Qu’en diray plus? En la fleur de mon eage, J’ay le rebours de ce que je desire. Dangier m’assault, Reffuz me nuyt et blece. Ung jour je suis trop merencolieux Et l’autre jour Espoir me fait promesse Que maugré tous, il me fera joyeux. En ce maintain me fault devenir vieux. Contre Fortune nul ne puet contredire, Soit droit, soit tort, soit plaisance ou martire. Plaisant folye m’a gardé d’estre saige. Riens ne m’y vault, escu, pavas ne targe. Bien suis gardé de chanter ne de rire, Tant que j’en diz a haulte voix par rage: «J’ay le rebours de ce que je desire.» Jeune et gente, ma tresbelle princesse, De garison ne quier chemin n’adresse Se non par vous qui estez mon droit mire. Alegez moy de tous mes maulx du pire. Et ne souffrez que die plus par rudesse, «J’ay le rebours de ce que je desire.» Quant j’euz ma balade achevee Et en mon livre enregistree, Je reprins a mener mon dueil, Disant a Amours: «Dessus le sueil Je suis de l’Ostel de Tristesse. Dangier m’assault, Reffuz me blece. Contre eulx je ne me puis deffendre. Pieça a eulx m’eust falu rendre Ne fust Espoir qui me conforte. De bien servir tousjours m’enhorte, Mais mon mal si fort me constraint Et de douleur suis si estraint Que durer gueres ne pourroye. Amours, fault il que je soye Banny du Danjon de Leesse, Moy qui suis en fleur de jeunesse? Ayez pitié de ma douleur Et de ma piteuse clameur. Ne souffrez que je soye deffait Quant pour vous ay empris ce fait. Envoyez Pitié et Humblesse Hastivement vers ma maistresse Luy prier qu’a moy secourir Il luy plaise, par son plaisir, Car oncques serviteurs, par m’ame, Ne servy plus loyaulment dame Que j’ay vouloir de la servir En tous estaz, et obeir A tous ses bons commandemens. C’est mon dieu; a elle m’atens De moy faire vivre ou mourir Ou trespiteusement languir, Lequel que bon lui semblera. Car mon cueur ne contredira Riens qui d’elle soit ordonné. En ce point est ma voulenté. Et se je meurs en la servant, De mon ame luy faiz presant. Je ne luy ay plus que donner. Dame des dames, seulle sans per, Vostre serf suis et serf me tien. Regardez se vous ferez bien De moy ainsi laisser fenir Par faulte de moy secourir.» Ainsi que m’aloye complaignant Et ma douleur ramantevant Comme ung homme en resverie, Enceint de dure maladie, Someil me prist, si m’endormy. En mon dormant, ung songe fy, Et en mon songe me sembloit Qu’emprés moy ung jardin avoit Bel et plaisant et gracieux, Enceint d’arbres, couvert de fleurs. Es arbres les oyseaulx chantoient, Et en leur chant se desduisoient. Le lieu estoit bel a merveilles. Les chemins estoient de treilles, Et entre deux, de pavillons. Et de parquez, carréz et bellons, Avoit assez, plains de flouretes, Blanches, yndes et vermeilletes. De preaux praslez d’erbe vert Estoit tout le chemin couvert. La m’allay, ce me fut advis, Mectre en lieu ou mieulx je choisiz Qu’on ne me peust aparcevoir Pour mieulx mon dueil ramantevoir. Et la recommançay ma plaincte, Et fez, en façon de complaincte, Une qu’ay cy mis en escript Affin que mieulx m’en sovenist. Complainte Mon dieu, ma dame, ma maistresse, A vous me plains de ma tresgrant ardour Du mal d’amer qui si tresmal me blesse Et ja tenu m’a long temps en langour. Et me complain, plain de douleur et plour, A vous, maistresse, que je clains plus qu’amye Et clameray tous les jours de ma vie. Confortez moy que j’aye allegement. Du tout me mect en vostre jugement: Jugiez de moy comme juge et partie. Et se me plains et tourmente et crie, Pardonnez moy, je vous prie humblement, Car j’ay ung mal qui si tresfort me lie Qu’avoir leesse ne pourroye nullement Ne reconfort qui m’aide aucunement A conforter mon ennuy doloreux. Que vous diray? Je suis si angoisseux, Je ne viz mie; je ne foiz que languir. Si vous supplie, quant me fauldra fenir, Priez pour moy, s’il vous plaist, amoureux. Et faictes duel, tous jeunes cuers joyeux, Que pour amer et servir loyaulment Fault que deffine en plours et plains piteux, Et sans avoir secours aucunement Fors que d’Espoir, qui dit certainement Qu’i m’aidera a oster le martire Que mon cuer sent. Maiz il n’est q’un seul mire Qui mon courroux peust mectre a plaisant vueil. Pour ce duray, tout en menant mon duel. Qu’en puis je maiz se je me tiens de rire? Et se je faiz semblant d’avoir grant ire, Si poise moy, si m’en peusse tenir. Maiz ma douleur me va de pire en pire. Pour ce me fault souspirer et gemir. En languissant voy qu’il me fault finir, Et dit mon cueur qu’en langueur finera Et que du tout leesse laissera. Maiz ains qu’il meure, diray a ma maistresse: «Dame sans per, pour vous laisse leesse. Faictes de moy tout ce qu’il vous plaira. «Qu’a tousjours maiz mon vouloir si sera De vous servir, en ce point est mon vueil, Ne jamaiz jour ne s’en despartira, En esperant que vostre riant oeil Et la doulceur de vostre bel acueil Aient pitié de mon piteux tourment. Mes griefz douleurs passeray simplement, Et en chantant ung chant tresdoloreux, Dy et diray ou que soye, en tous lieux, Je sui tousjours en vo commandement.» Bien estre y doy, sans faire changement, Du tout en tout, comme a la nom pareille D’onneur, de bien, de plaisance ensement. Pourtant souvent en penser me resveille, Et en pensant souvent je me merveille De la douleur que me fait endurer, Veu que pieça luy ay voulu donner Mon cueur, mon corps, sans faire departie. A la servir mect tout mon estudie. C’est mon vouloir, c’est mon loyal penser: De la servir, honnourer et doubter A tousjours maiz, tant que j’auray duree. La clameray, sans nulle autre excepter, Dame et maistresse et de moy seulle amee. En ce vouloir feray ma destinee, En esperant qu’en puisse valoir mieulx. De plus en plus je vueil estre soingneux De la servir de toute ma puissance. En actendant que j’en aye allegrance, Suis et seray adés plus envieulx Que puisse faire son vouloir en tous lieux, Tant que son vueil me vueille retenir Son serviteur. Lors doubleront mes jeux Et tornera desplaisance en plaisir. Ja a grant temps que ne faiz que languir Et que pieça suis en telle langour En actendant que, par sa grant doulceur, Elle me vueille aucun confort donner. Sans despartir, tousjours la vueil clamer Mon tresdoulx cueur et ma loyalle amour. Soiez piteuse et plaine de doulceur, Dame sans per, de tous biens acomplie. Aiez pitié de la tresgrant ardour Du mal d’amours qui ainsi fort me lie. Venez vers moy dire: «Je te deslie.» Autre que vous ne me peult conforter. De moy povez a vo gré ordonner. Ja a grant temps que je suis en servage Tant que j’en pers force, couleur, et langage. En soupirant me souhaide en la mer! Dictes s’ay tort de moy desconforter Et en plourant, de maudire ma vie. Car oncq amant ne souffrist tel amer Comme je faiz. Je ne sçay que je die! A vous me rens; ne me desertés mie! Mon cueur, mon corps, du tout je vous presente, Piteusement, loing de joyeuse sente. Treshumblement je vous viens requerir Que me vueillez vo servant retenir, Tresbelle, bonne, jeune, joyeuse, gente. Ma complaincte ne puis plus soustenir, A dire vray, que la mort si me chasse Tresardanment, maiz je me vueil tenir Garny d’Espoir, lui priant qu’il pourchasse Envers ma dame mon bien, et qu’il deschasse Du tout en tout de moy la desplaisance. Ravy je suis sans avoir soustenance. Je ne sçay plus que puisse devenir. Tout gemissant et plain d’ardant desir, En souppirant, j’ay delaissié plaisance. Ainsi que ma plainte escripsoie Et en mon livre la mectoye, Je viz venir tres liement Ung qui chantoit joyeusement. De sa chanson les diz estoient: Chançon Je me doy bien tenir en joye, Quant je voy chascun souffreteux Et des bien d’Amours douloreux, Moy qui ay ce que desiroie. Souhaidier mieulx je ne pourroye. Je passe les autres eureux. Je me doy bien tenir en joye, Quant je voy chascun souffreteux. Je souhaide que je vouldroie A trestous loyaulx amoreux Dames pour les faire joyeulx. Tant qu’est a moy, ou que je soye, Je me doy bien tenir en joye, Quant je voy chascun souffreteux Et des bien d’Amours douloreux, Moy qui ay ce que desiroie. Aprés qu’il eust dit sa chançon, Il escouta ly osillon Qui chantoient tresdoulcement. C’estoit ung grant esbatement. Et se print a faire ung chappel Qui fut, ce me semble, tresbel, Car assez eut de quoy le faire. De fleurs y avoit mainte paire. Sur sa teste tantost le mist Et puis sur l’erbe s’assist Et commença une balade. Faicte n’estoit d’omme malade. La balade ycy trouverez. S’il vous plaist, lire la pourrez. Balade Je mercy Amours et ma dame Qui me tiennent en tel leesse, Car ung seul desplaisir, par m’ame, N’ay en moy de nulle tristesse. Je ne sens douleur ne detresse. Des amans suis le plus eureux. Qu’est ce que d’estre douloreux? Quant a moy, je ne le sçay mie, Mais d’esbatre suis tressoingneux. Je n’ay nulle autre maladie. Pour ce escript sera sur ma lame Quant Mort sera de moy maistresse Que loyaulment, sans nul diffame, Ay servy tousjours ma princesse Trestous les temps de ma jeunesse, Sans estre de mal angoysseux Et de nulle riens envieux. Jugiez: n’ay je pas bonne vie D’estre tousjours ainsi joyeulx? Je n’ay nulle autre maladie. Se plaigne qui veult et se clame De Dangier, Reffuz et Destresse. Je ne les loe ne les blasme, Car point ilz ne me font de presse. Bel Acueil conduit ma deesse, Doulx Regard gouverne ses yeulx, Et mes amys y sont tous deux. La loyaulté n’est point faillie. Doy je pas bien dire en tous lieux: Je n’ay nulle autre maladie? Prince amoureux, Dieu gard mon ame Et mon corps des faulx envieux, Et doint a tous vrays amoureux De plaisance la seigneurie, Car, quant a moy, se m’aist Dieux, Je n’ay nulle autre maladie. A son semblant, il n’estoit mie Assailly de mellencolie Ainsi que suis pour le present. Car s’il y vint joyeusement, Il s’en va plus joyeulx assez. De mener joye n’est lassez. Il ne craint maladie ne mort. En s’en allant s’efforçoit fort De chanter, maiz tost fust en bois, Entendre ne pouoie sa voix. Lors reprains ma douleur a plaindre Piteusement et sans me faindre De crier a Amours mercy Et a ma belle dame aussi.         Maiz je ne sçay qu’ilz en feront, Ne se de moy mercy aront. Ilz me peuent de tous poins deffaire Ou en pou d’eure me reffaire, Lequel que bon leur semblera, Car mon vouloir ne changera Pour mal que je puisse endurer. Et, pour mieulx semblant demonstrer Que trop m’est dure ma penance, Vestu de noir, par desplaisance, Me suis, sans prendre autre couleur, Jusques a tant que ma douleur Cessera et viengne en leesse Pour le vouloir de ma maistresse. Et tant suis de mon deuil content Et me plaist tant en me blessant, Quant je pençay que c’est pour celle Qui sur toutes est depareille. «Adoncq, dy je a par moy, amis, N’es-tu content de t’estre mis A celle ou tous biens habonde, Fleur de beaulté de tout le monde? Par bien servir tu advendras Aux biens que tu demanderas.» Ainsi me sert une heure Espoir. L’autre me quert sus Desespoir. Desir m’assault et me fait guerre. Souvenir souvant me fait braire Et dire: «Helas! quant reverray je Ma dame, ne quant parleray je A sa plaisant belle beaulté? Mes yeulx seront en obscurté Et piteusement languiray Jusques ad ce que la verray. Quant y seray, ce sçay je bien, Son vouloir ne sera le mien. Ainsi ne sçay je lequel faire D’y aler ou de moy retraire.»         Lors pensay que je escriproye Et que mes lectres lui envoyroie. Lectres Mon dieu, ma dame, ma maistresse, A vostre tresplaisant jeunesse Me recommande autant de foiz Que l’on pourroit mectre de poix L’ung sur l’autre jusques aux cieulx, Tresdesirant de bien en mieulx Oyr de voz doulces nouvelles, Priant Dieu qu’elles soient telles Que vous soyez tousjours en joye, Car ainsi le desireroye. Et s’il vous plaist de vostre humblesse, Oyr ma piteuse destresse, Vueillez sçavoir, ma redoubtee Et ma dame tresbien amee, Que mon cueur ne fait que languir, Plaindre, plourer, souvant gemir, Tant ay mis mon vueil fermement A vous servir tresloyaulment De cueur, de corps et de pensee. Si vous supply, ma seule amee, Que soit vostre doulx plaisir De moy faire ung pou rejoir. Si chanteray treslieement. Je vueil chanter joyeusement Et monstrer par joyeulx semblant Que j’ay espoir d’avoir leesse Et que, du gré de ma maistresse, J’auray des biens treslargement. Faictes moy de mercy present, Belle et douce bien acomplie. Faictes moy faire chiere lie. Nulle que vous n’en a pouoir. Faictes moy devestir le noir Et me revestés de leesse. Ne me souffrez plus en tristesse. Remectez en joye mes plains. A vous seule servant me clains, Vous suppliant treshumblement Que me tenez vostre servant. Lors auray de richesse assez, Car jamaiz ne seray lasséz De vous cherir, servir et craindre. Jamaiz nul jour ne me vueil faindre D’acomplir vostre bon vouloir, Vous faisant, ma dame, savoir Qu’il me semble qu’auriés tort De souffrir que j’eusse la mort, Vous qui me povez secourir. Or en faictes vostre plaisir, Car se je muir, je dy, par m’ame, Car c’est pour la plus belle dame Qui marchast oncques dessus terre. Pour Dieu, ne vous vueille desplaire, Mon dieu, ma dame, mon seul mire, Se m’enhardiz de vous escripre. Je ne sçay si m’en avendra Pis ou mieulx, lequel ce sera. Et pour ce plus pour le present Ne vous escripz de mon torment, Maiz je prie Dieu de tresbon cueur Que joye, santé et honneur Vous doint et des biens a largesse, Et voulenté que vostre humblesse Si ait pitié de ma clamour, Affin que cesse ma doulour. Escript au lieu que vous dira Cellui qui les vous portera. Quant j’euz toute ma lectre dicte, Close, seellee et escripte, Je pensay que je l’envoyroye Tout au plus tost que je pourroye Vers ma dame hastivement. Lors appellay tout maintenant Ung mien tresloyal serviteur Que j’aymoie de tout mon cueur, Qui autrefoiz avoit esté Vers celle ou est ma voulenté, Et lui diz que tantost alast Vers ma dame, et se hastast Bien a haste de retourner, Et s’a elle pouoit parler, Qu’il luy requist treshumblement Qu’amaindrir voulsist mon tourment Et abaisier mes piteux plains Et la douleur ou je remains. Mon serviteur de moy partist Et lui diz qu’il luy souvenist De ce que dit je luy avoie. Adonc print a aller sa voye La ou il s’en devoit aler. Seul demouray en mon vergier Et a par moy diz: «Beaulx doulx dieux, Seray je courroucé ou joyeulx? Auray je joye ou desplaisir? Hé, Dieu, quant pourra il venir? J’ay espoir qu’il m’apportera Nouvelle qui bien me plaira. Seroit bien ma dame piteuse De ma douleur tresangoisseuse? Hé! plust a Dieu qu’il feist ainsi! Amours, ayez de moy mercy! Secourez moy a ceste foiz!» Lors entrouuay auprés d’ung bois Une voix, si me fut advis, Qui me dist: «Beau, doulx amys, Chante et mect peine de guerir, Car je te dy, et sans mentir, Que de ta dame auras grant bien Et te retendra pour le sien.» Plus n’en dist; ne sçay ou alla. Maiz je sçay bien que de cela Je me tins ung pou resjouy. Maiz tantost qu’il se fut party, Desespoir revint par derriere Pour moy faire changer maniere. Et lors ne sceuz je plus que dire. Trop fut doloreux mon martire.         Ha, dame, fault il que je soye Bouté hors de l’Ostel de Joye, Par bien servir, par fort amer Vostre belle beaulté sans per? Me lairez vous par desespoir Si longuement vestu de noir User tous les temps de ma vie? Ha, Mort, fay de moy departie. Ma douleur m’est trop ennuyeuse Et trop durement angoisseuse.         Moy plaignant, feiz une chanson Dont j’ay escript cy la fachon, Maiz point ne l’ay voulu chanter. Chanson Je ne sçay plus que demander Quant riens ne me voulez donner. Ma demande ne vauldroit riens. Deserté je suis de tous biens Aujourd’uy plus que devant yer. Mon dueil se prent a efforcer Et ma joye a racourcer. Pitié ne veult estre des miens. Je ne sçay plus que demander Quant riens ne me voulez donner. Ma demande ne vauldroit riens. Ne me laissez desesperer, Maiz me vueillez reconforter. A vous seulle servant me tiens, Et humblement requerir viens Mort ou mercy, pour m’abregier. Je ne sçay plus que demander Quant riens ne me voulez donner. Ma demande ne vauldroit riens. Deserté je suis de tous biens, Aujourd’uy plus que devant yer. Mieulx vault taire que folie dire Je me sçay bien tenir de rire De ce que j’ay dit mon vouloir A celle qui a le pouoir De remectre mon cueur en joye. Maiz je suis plus que ne souloie, Pensifz et mellencolieux Depuis que lui diz mes douleurs. Maiz je cuidoie le mieulx faire. Or ne m’en puis je retraire         Ainsi que menoye tel fin, Plain de lermes, le chief enclin, Vy entrer dedans le vergier Ung jeune joliz escuier Qui durement se complaignoit Et bien douloreux ressembloit. Et disoit en façon de plainte: «Amours, je seuffre douleur mainte. Jadiz soloye chanter et rire, Et Douleur me veult desconfire A tort et sans nulle achoison. Ceuffreres vous tel desraison, Moy qui vous serfz si loyaulment? Vostre hostel vauldroit piz vrayement Se j’avoye descort a Leesse. Amours, remectez a l’adresse Ma dame de moy secourir. Lors me verrez bien resjouir Et faire corner menestrelz. Amours, je vous supply, souffrez Que de vous aye allegement.» Ainsi qu’il s’alloit complaignant Vint a luy une damoiselle, Jeune, gente, jolie et belle, Et luy dist: «Ma dame m’envoye Vous dire que soyez en joye. Or sus, avecques moy venez Et plus ne vous desconfortez.» Moult doulcement la mercya Et avecques elle s’en ala. Et moy, que demouré tout seul, Recommençay mon piteux duel, Disant, «Amours, vous despartés Des biens largement et assez A tout le monde fors qu’a moy. Helas! si ne sçay je pourquoy. Je ne cuide avoir forfait, Envers vous riens ne meffait Dont je deusse avoir tel peine Qu’il n’est heure en la sepmaine Que mon mal ne voise en croissant. Mes jours finent en languissant. Ha! Mort, venez! A vous me rens!» Lors ou vergier entra dedans Mon serviteur, secretement, Et me salua humblement. Si luy demanday, «Quelz nouvelles?» Il me dist que bonnes et belles: Que ma dame me saluoit Et que mes lectres prins avoit Et fait lui avoit bonne chiere. Mais Dangier si estoit derriere Qu’a elle parler ne pouvoit Ne luy dire ce qu’il vouloit, Fors seulement au despartir, Luy dist que se vouloie venir En ung lieu ou empris avoye, Que d’elle bonne chiere aroye. Plus a elle il ne parla. Congié print et s’en retourna. Quant il ot dit tout son rapport, Adonc le conjuray tresfort Qu’il me dist qui lui en sembloit Et se bien ou mal me vouloit. Lors me jura par son serement Qu’il luy est adviz que vrayement Que j’aroye une foiz sa grace. Dieu vueille que ainsi se face Que sa grace puisse acquerir. C’est tout le bien que je desir. Et se une foiz la puis avoir, Je feray mon loyal devoir De la servir si loyaulment De cueur, de corps, de pensement, Qu’oncques dame ne fut cherie, Craincte, doubtee ne servie Ainsi que je la serviray, Car tout son vueil acompliray A mon pouoir, de bien en mieulx, Tant que son cueur sera joyeulx D’avoir le mien pour le servir. Ha! Amours, laissez moy venir Aux biens de vostre seigneurie. Ostez moy de mellencolie Et mectez mon cueur hors d’ennoy. Lors commençay a faire ung lay Et l’ay nommé cy en escript «Lay de plour,» actendant respit. Lay Amours, Amours, jadiz souloie Chanter, dancer et mener joye,             Et maintenant Douleur m’assault et me guerroye. De Desespoir suis a la voye.             Par hardement De trop parler, suis maintenant Assailly doloreusement             De Desconfort, Qui me maine si durement Que mort seray prochainement             Par son effort. Se je muir, n’aurés vous pas tort De souffrir que j’endure mort             Pour bien servir? Je diray que Loyaulté dort Quant ne me donne reconfort             Pour resjouir Mon cueur, qui ne fait que languir Par le pourchas d’Ardant Desir.             Et nuit et jour Ne fait que plourer et gemir, Ne nul bien ne peult recueillir             Fors que douleur. Ayez pitié de ma clamour, Ma maistresse et ma seule amour.             Soyez piteuse De me veoir en telle langour Et d’oyr mon trespiteux plour.             Gente, joyeuse, Soiez de moy guerir soingneuse. Belle, plaisant et gracieuse,             Vous ferés bien: Mectez ma vie tenebreuse En parfaicte vie joyeuse.             Vostre me tieng. Mon cueur est vostre, non pas mien, Car vostre gracieux maintien             Le m’a osté Et l’a prins et vueil qu’i soit sien. Donnez luy ou leesse ou rien.             Ma voulenté Est d’endurer la cruaulté D’Amours, pensant que Loyaulté             Me secourra; Et me donrra joyeuseté, Celle ou remaint toute beaulté,             Quant lui plaira. Ma douleur se retournera En leesse, et revendra             Mon dueil en joye. Espoir me dist qu’ainsi sera. Bel Accueil dist qu’il luy dira             Qu’amé je soye. Helas! s’estre amé je pouoye, Plus rien je ne demanderoye.             J’aroye assés. Mais Reffuz tresfort me guerroye, Que je ne sçay que dire doye,             Tant suis mactéz. Ne doy je mie estre lasséz D’avoir tant de maulx enduréz             Et tant de paine? Dieu amoureux, reconfortez Mon cueur qui est desconfortéz,             Car Mort le maine Et veult mener a son demaine. A! Pitié! Dame souveraine!             Faictes mon dueil Cesser une foiz la sepmaine. Mectez moy hors de ceste paine             Que je recueil Ou je suis mort dessus le sueil Par Desir, dont suis en l’escueil.             Et je ne puys, Se n’est par vostre tresdoulx vueil, Garyr. Je suis, plus que ne sueil,             Prouchain de l’uis De Desespoir. Assailly suis De Desconfort. Et je ne truis             Qui me sequeure, Combien que a la mort je suis. Si fauldra il que soye conduiz             A son demeure. Ne doye je mauldire l’eure Par qui gemis souvant et pleure,             Et le regard Qui tant pleu m’a a desmesure? Par luy ay eu cest encloeure.             Ce fut le dart Qui m’a navré et main et tart. Par luy mon cueur tressault et art.             Dieu amoureux, Seray je de joye bastart? Haroy je bien gecté hazart             D’estre joyeulx? N’ay je esté mellencolieux, Jeune, gente, belle aux beaulx yeulx,             Longue saison? Ne me souffrez plus envieux. Par Dieu, belle, vous ferés mieulx,             Car sans raison Je suis long temps sans garison Et ay des maulx a grant foison,             Dont je souppire De ce que je pers ma saison. En douleur suis en garnison.             Doy je bien rire? Dictes, me doit il bien souffire? Je sens de tous les maulz le pire.             Ne fust Espoir, Mort fusse, sans plus contredire. Mais il dit qu’i me doibt souffire             De remanoir Son serviteur, vestu de noir, Actendant de Mercy avoir             Quant lui plaira. Et que ce soit son bon vouloir; Ma leesse, a dire voir,             Retournera. Faire en peult ce qu’elle vouldra. Ma voulenté ne changera             Que pelerin Je ne soye le temps qui vendra. J’ay espoir que mieulx m’en sera             En la parfin. Si prie de cueur saint Valentin Qu’a moy secourir soit enclin             Contre douleur Qui me tient et seoir et matin. Et pour ce cy vueil faire fin             Du Lay de Plour. Alors que j’euz mon lay finé Et en mon livre enregistré, En mon dormant m’estoit advis Qu’aprochoie prés du pays Ou demouroit ma seule joye, Celle qui tant veoir desiroye. Lors pensay que je l’yroye voir Pour ma douleur ramantevoir, Savoir s’il m’en seroit de mieulx.         Maiz je la treuve, se m’aist Dieux, Si environnee de Reffuz Que je en suis du tout esperduz. Maiz ses reffuz sont si plaisans Et ses dangiers si advenans Que plus me plaist son escondire Que tous les biens qu’on pourroit dire Avoir, s’il ne me venoit d’elle. Or est empiré ma querrelle, Car jadiz vivoye en espoir. Maintenant suis en desespoir. Car l’autre yer, quant je me party, Sans congié d’elle desparty, Cuidant mussier ma maladie. Maiz je congneuz tost ma folie Et sçay qu’elle en eust desplaisir. Lors luy envoyay requerir Qu’il luy pleust le me pardonner Et ma douleur reconforter. J’euz le pardon sans reconfort, Et sceuz qu’elle n’estoit d’accord De me vouloir sien retenir. Pour ce piteusement languir Me fault sans avoir garison Des griefz maulx dont j’en ay foison. Pour ce j’ay fait une balade. Languissant, durement malade, L’ay escript et mis en mon livre. Si vous plaist, vous la povez lire. Balade Mort et non mort, languissant en tristesse, Et esloingné de tous biens amoureux, Vestu de noir et tout nu de leesse, Environné de Reffuz envieux, Plain de penser tresmellencolieux Suy pour ma dame qui ne me veult amer. Helas! Amours, vueillez luy conseiller Que son vouloir soit et sa doulce grace De moy guerir et mon mal conforter, Car ma douleur de tout mon cueur efface. Laz! fauldra il que fine ma jeunesse En plours, en plains, en soupirs doloreux? Aray je ja de reconfort l’adresse? Sera tousjours mon cueur si angoisseux, Jeune, gente, doulce, belle, aux beaulx yeulx? Sans espoir, suis prés de desesperer. Vous plaist il bien me laisser definer? Vostre vouloir est il que je trespasse? Confortez moy, qu’i m’en est bien mestier, Car ma douleur du tout mon cuer efface. J’envoye vers vous requerir, vostre humblesse, Pardon de ce que suis malgracieulx. Car mon grief mal me destraint et me blesse Si durement que ne sçay, se m’aist Dieux, Que faire doye, tant suis fort desireux De acquerir ce que ne puis trouver: C’est vostre amour, belle dame sans per, Maiz prés de moy ne voulez estre en place, Dont je sens bien qu’il me fault enrager, Car ma douleur du tout mon cuer efface. Mon dieu, ma dame, ma tresdoulce maistresse, Guerir ne puis de ma dure destresse Se n’est par vous. Mandez moy que je face. Confortez moy, s’il vous plaist, ma deesse, Car ma douleur du tout mon cueur efface. Ainsi que finoie ma balade, De douleur durement malade, Souspiroie moult tendrement, En regrectant piteusement Les douleurs que reçoy pour elle, En disant a par moy, «C’est celle Qui de biens toutes autres passe. C’est le rubiz qui tous efface!» Ainsi qu’estoie en ce penser, Vy entrer dedans le vergier Ung messagier qui vint vers moy, Disant, «Douleur m’envoye a toy Et te mande qu’il vient logier Dedans ton cueur sans atargier, Et avec luy Reffuz sera, Ne Dangier pas ne lessera. Avec foison de soudoiers, Et tantost les apparceverez. Et si m’a ditque Souvenir, Acompaigné d’Ardant Desir, De vostre cueur ne bougeroit Et compaignie lui tiendroit.» Plus n’en dist; de moy se partist, Ne ne sceuz tantost qu’il devint. Lors commançay crier, «Helas! Amours, suis je dedans voz las Envelopé si durement Que mon cueur ne sent que torment? De jour en jour ma douleur croist, N’un seul plaisir il ne reçoit. Quant de ma dame suis prochains, De s’amour me trouve loingtains, Et quant loing suis, Ardant Desir De la veoir me fait souvenir.» Et pour ce, durement malade, Ay cy escript une balade. Balade Doleur me mande qu’il retient sa forteresse Dedans mon cueur, pour estre en garnison, Et qu’avec luy, il retiendra Tristesse. Ces deux auront soudoiers a foison. Car avec eulx, pour fournir la maison, Sera Desir, pour faire l’assaillie, Et Souvenir, le vaillant champion. Ces deux desja ont leur place choisie. Ilz ont baillé la grosse tour maitresse A Desconfort et le maistre donjon, Et ont mandé Desespoir qu’il s’appresse Et qu’il se haste, car il en est saison. Dangier sera logié, car c’est raison, Et avec luy Reffuz, n’en doubtés mie. Chacun aura en sa main ung baston, Ces deux desja ont leur place choisie. Tous ceulx la ont juré que se Leesse Aprouche prés, ilz l’auront en prison. Maiz j’ay grant paour que gueres ne s’apresse Se par Pitié je ne truis garison. Helas! Amours, vous faictes desraison De me tenir en si piteuse vie, En plours, en plains; c’est ma destruction. Ces deux desja ont leur place choisie. Balade De plus en plus j’apparçoy ma doulour Renouveller et accroistre mes plains. Je sens mon cuer dedans le Lac de Plour, Et de plourer mes yeulx en sont destains. Mon cueur est ja de tous poins si estains, Je suis muet quant je deusse parler, Vueiller me faut lors que deusse dormer, Et tout ce fait celle qui est sans per, Qui en ce point me veult faire languir. Desir me tient en ses laz nuyt et jour, Et Souvenir me prent entre ses mains. Bel Acueil vient m’acueillir en sa tour, En me disant, «Tu voiz que ne me fains De toy amer. Pour bien amé te clains. Maiz plus avant ne te vueil accorder, Ne nul autre ne vueil mien retenir.» Tout ce me dist celle qui est sans per, Qui en ce point me veult faire languir. Comment pourray je delaisser ma clamour Ne les pensers dont suis si fort actains? Comment auray je puissance ne vigour De soustenir les maulx dont suis estrains Ne la tristesse dont suis tout en tout tains Quant ma princesse si ne me veult donner Le don d’«amy», ne pour sien retenir? Par elle fault mon cueur desesperer Qui en ce point me veult faire languir. Balade Puisqu’a la belle plaist moy faire finir, J’en suis content, ainsi m’aist vrayement Dieux, Et ayme mieulx pour elle recueillir Autant de maulx que fist onc amoureux Que par nul autre redevenir joyeux. Or en face tout a son bon vouloir, Car en ce point mon cueur vueil remanoir. Mes yeulx le veullent et mon penser aussi. Et dient eulx deux, «On ne pourroit veoir Plus belle dame, de tous biens sans nul sy.» Sa grant beaulté me mect le souvenir Dedans mon cueur qui me tient en tous lieux, Et d’autre part, me suyt Ardant Desir, Qui me contraint d’estre fort desireux A revoyer son gent corps gracieux. Et son reffuz me mect en desespoir Quant ne luy plaist pour sien moy recevoir Ne de mon mal avoir nulle mercy. Non obstant, on ne pourroit veoir Plus belle dame, de tous biens sans nul sy. Que vous diray? Je ne foiz que gemir Et souspirer, comme tresdoloureux. J’ay tous les maulx que on pourroit sentir. Je suis pensifz et mellencolieux. De la servir je suis tresenvieux, Et si crains fort prés d’elle remanoir, Car j’ay doubte qu’on puisse aparcevoir La voulenté qu’ay eue jusqu’a cy D’elle amer, car on ne peult veoir Plus belle dame, de tous biens sans nul sy. Ainsi comme je baladoye En songant, et me complaignoye, Advis m’estoit qu’estoie vers celle Qui est du monde la plus belle, Et que mercy lui requeroye, Qu’il luy pleust moy remectre en joye, En luy disant, comme tout sien: «Mon cueur est vostre; il n’est pas mien. Je vous prie, vueillez le garder.» Lors me faisoit ung doulx dangier Et ung si gracieux reffuz Que j’estoye du tout esperduz, En me disant, «Je ne vueil mie Garder tout, maiz une partie De vostre cueur bien garderay, Et l’autre si vous renderay.» Mais recevoir ne le vouloie, Ne dire rien ne luy savoie. Maiz plus avant elle disoit Que nul sien elle ne retendroit, Ne ne seroit plus point qu’a moy. Adonc me taisoie tout coy Ne plus ne luy savoie que dire. Maiz, affin qu’on ne veist mon ire, Adieu humblement luy disoie, Et, en luy disant, je veoye Qu’elle pensoit tresdurement.         Helas! quel est son pensement? Est il piteux de mon martire? Je ne sçay que penser ne dire. Je vueil en la servant finer. Je n’oseroye retourner Vers elle en jour de ma vie, Qu’on ne congneust ma maladie. Loing d’elle ne pourroye vivre. Ainsi me vois je desconfire Et mectre a mort a mes deux mains. A! Amours, a bon droit me plains, De vous, se me laisez mourir Si piteusement et fenir Que mon ame en soit dampnee Et ma vie deshonnoree De moy mectre mesmes a mort. Il vault mieulx que, par desconfort, Je laisse de tous poins le monde Et que moy mesmes me confonde. Or seray je deshonnoré, En disant que, par lascheté, Seray esloingné de la guerre. Las! je ne sçay garison querre. Je n’ay vouloir a riens penser Fors seulement a abreger Ma vie pour haster ma mort.         Ainsi qu’estoye en tel descort, Je pensay que je requerroye Ung de combatre, et escriproye Devers luy tout ysnellement Pour faire mon definement, A mon pouoir, plus honnorable Et a mon cueur plus agreable De definer en ce party Que nul des deux autres party. Lors feiz unes lectres pour armes, Seellees du seel de mes armes, Lesquelles sont cy en escript Affin que mieulx m’en souvenist. Lectres Closes Ou nom de Dieu, de Nostre Dame et de ma dame saincte Katherine, pour l’amour de ma mortel folie, a vous sire de Cornoaille, envoye mes lectres faisans savoir, comme a ung des plus vaillans chevaliers et des plus renomméz du party du roy d’Angleterre, que je, pour l’achoison de mon cuer que j’ay perdu nouvellement, ay empris de vous requerir par ces presentes de combatre. Et ne le tenez pour orgueil, que affin que saichez pourquoy j’ay entrepris ceste querelle, vueillez savoir que j’ay amé et ameray toute ma vie la non pareille dame du monde. Or est ainsi qu’il ne luy plaist mon cueur tenir pour serviteur, et a ce puis apparcevoir qu’elle veult abreger ma mort. Et puisqu’il est ainsi que celle qui de tous biens les autres passe desire mon definement, vous envoye requerir de mon tresdoloreux oultrage. Car je sçay bien que les biens sont en vous si grans que, quant au fait des armes de vous, ne vendroy je a au dessus, se ce n’estoit que ma seulle maistresse ne fust piteuse de mon deffinement. Se n’est par elle, je ne puis riens valoir. En elle maint ma vertu et ma force. Demouré suis sans cueur, sans honneur, sans pouoir. Or povez veoir que n’aurez guere affaire a moy confire. Maiz nostre jeu sera ainsi party. Quant vous m’aurez oultré et desconfit, vous ne prendrez fors que la vie de moy. Car en ce point vueil ma vie finer. Et s’il estoit ainsi que celle qui a le pouoir de moy remectre mon cueur en joye par son bien me donnoit vertu de vous mectre a desconfiture, je ne vouldroie de vous tant seulement avoir, sans plus, que ung dyament pour envoyer a celle qui desconfit vous auroit. Et affin que je maintiengne ces lectres vrayes, les ay seellees du propre seel de mes armes. Quant j’euz toutes mes lectres dictes Et dedans mon livre escriptes, Mon cueur si se print a songier, En maudissant tresfort Dangier, Qui me mect a destruction. Lors me vint en advision Qu’Espoir si me juroit moult fort Que de ma dame auroye confort Et seroye pour amy claméz Et de s’amour reconfortéz, Et que tresfort luy desplaisoit Du mal que mon cueur recevoit. Ainsi me tient Espoir en vie. Autrement ne vesquisse mye. Et ainsi qu’en ce point estoie Et en Espoir me confortoye, Je regarday tout bellement Ung qui estoit secrettement Dedans le vergier embuschié Et durement estoit courroucie. Quant il vist qu’aparceu l’avoie, Il dist, «Amis, Dieu vous doint joye! Qu’avez de vous desconforter Si durement et regrecter Les maulx qui vous viennent d’Amours? Quelx besoingnes sont ce qu’amours? Jamaiz je n’en oy parler. Ce sont choses pour enrager. Je le voy a vostre maniere, Qui faictes si piteuse chiere. Je cuidoye que nul n’eust tristesse, Douleur, desplaisir ne destresse Fors moy tout seul, tant seulement, Qui en reçoy si largement Que je m’en tiens trop bien de rire. Maiz s’il vous plaisoit a moy dire L’achoison de vostre douleur, Se faire vous pouoie doulceur, De tresbon cueur je le feroye.» Lors doulcement les mercyoye, Luy disant que nul reconfort Je ne demande que la mort, Car le mire qui garir peult Le mal dont mon cueur si se deult Veult qu’en douleur languisse ainsi. «Maiz dictes moy vostre party Et l’achoison de vostre plainte. Car advis m’est que seuffrez mainte Dure destresse en vostre cueur. Car se je pouoye par honneur Vous conforter, je le feroye, Et a mon pouoir, vous donroye Conseil de vostre garison. Or me dictes vostre raison, S’il vous plaist, et je vous en prie.» Lors me disoit par mocquerie, «Helas! comment m’ahideriés vous? Vous avez tant a faire a vous Que ne savez quel tour torner. Comment me pourroit conseiller Ung qui aydier ne se sauroit, Combien que faire le vouldroit?» «Doulx frere, adonc je luy disoie, Peult estre que mieulx vous saroye Conseiller que je ne foiz moy. Dictes moy, s’il vous plaist, pourquoy Ainsi vous vous desconfortez. Et aprés, se sçavoir voulez De mon mal tout la verité, Je le vous diray en briefté.» Lors disoit, «Puisque le voulez, Dire le vous vueil. Escoutés! Balade «A l’entree de ma jeunesse, A mon premier commancement, J’estoie destraint de leesse Et de trouver esbatement. J’avoye hostel bel et plaisant Prés de bois et plains de jardins Ou je m’aloie deduisant. De mon deduit tresmal m’est pris! «Ung jour que j’estoie sans presse En ung jardin, tout privement, Je regarday a la tournesse Et vy voler si gentement Ung esprevier, en menassant Trestous les oyseaulx du pourpris, Car j’ay prins grant soulassement. De mon deduit tresmal m’est prins! «Au plus tost me mis en l’adresse De regarder voye comment Prendre le pourroye, maiz tristesse M’en est venue nouvellement Que je l’ay prins, maiz malement Le garday, comme m’est advis. Dont je pleuray et diz souvant, «De mon deduit tresmal m’est prins!» «Avant que je le peusse prendre, Ne qu’a moy il se voulsist rendre, Maintes foiz en euz assez peine. Il n’estoit heure en la sepmaine Que ne feusse, seoir et matin, Enfermé dedans le jardin, Et ne faisoie qu’estudier Comment peusse cest esprevier Acoincter ne actraire a moy. Trop bien vennoit au prés de moy, Maiz prendre je ne le pouoie, Ne laisser je ne le vouloie, Tant avoie parfait desir De le vouloir mien acquerir. Tant me plaisoit parfaictement Que je miz tout mon pensement, A lui, sans penser autre rien, Pour l’amour de son beau maintien. Je mectoie paine de lui plaire Et me gardoie de lui desplaire. Je fuz long temps en ce party, Qu’onques ung jour ne me party D’emprés de ce que tant amoye, Pour ce que prendre ne le pouvoye. En ce faisant euz assez paine. Or m’avint en une sepmaine, Par ung lundy assez matin, L’endemain de saint Valentin Que tous oyseaulx veullent chanter, Ainsi qu’estoie alé jouer Ou jardin comme es autres foiz, Je viz cest esprevier courtois Qui vint vouler dessus ma main. Maiz pour maleureux je me claim Que autrement ne l’ay gardé. Je suis de malvaise heure né D’avoir ung si grant bien conquis, Pour le perdre comme chetis, Car jamaiz nul ne vit oysel Si gent, si plaisant, ne si bel, Ne de si trescourtois affere. Ses faiz devoient a chascun plaire. Long temps de luy j’euz grant leesse En luy faisant toute humblesse Et doulceur que faire pouoie. Durement de mon cueur l’amoye Et luy moy, ce m’estoit advis. Ainsi estoit le jeu partiz Tresloyaulment d’entre nous deux. A lui plaisoient tous mes jeux. D’autre accointier ne se vouloit. Ne nul autre ne le portoit Fors moy tout seul tant seulement. Je le garday treslonguement. Ou qu’i vollast, si estoit il Si franc, si noble et si gentil Que tousjours a moy revenoit, Et point changer ne me vouloit. En ce point passay mon enfance. Or m’avint ung jour par mescheance Qu’estoie dedans le jardin Si viz ung faulcon pelerin Qui de voller faisoit merveilles. Je me boutay dessoubz les treilles Pour regarder sa contenance, Et prins en luy tant de plaisance Que je pensay que se pouoie L’avoir, que plus riche seroie Que d’avoir tout l’argent du monde. Convoitise, que Dieu confonde, Me fist a lui si fort penser Que j’obliay mon esprevier. Quant a mon esprevier venoye, Trop bien de luy apparcevoye Qu’il m’avoit ung pou estrangié, Maiz j’estoie si tresenraigié De vouloir prendre ce faulcon Que j’en seiché comme ung baston. Maiz ainsi que j’estoie ung seoir Ou jardin pour mieulx le veoir, Je viz ung tiercellet venir, Qui bien sembloit, a son venir, Oysel de noble et hault affaire. Quant fut venu, c’estoit la paire. Ilz se prindrent a festoier Et leurs becz ensemble touchier. De leurs elles s’entracolloient. Ces deux oyseaulx se festoioyent Si bien que c’estoit grant merveilles. Et puis se mirent sur leurs elles Et ensemble leur chemin tindrent, Ne sceu quel part ne qu’ilz devindrent. Mais quant je viz que perdu avoye Le faulcon, se Dieu me doint joye, Je fuz couroucié si fermement Que je plouray moult tendrement. Maiz mon dueil ne me mist guere a croistre Quant je peuz clerement congnoistre Qu’avoie perdu double perte, Et s’estoit a bonne desserte. Quant je vins ou laissié avoie Mon esprevier, et le cuidoie Trouver ainsi comme autresfoiz, Je regarday et puis congnoiz Que de la perche estoit party, Qui me fust trespiteux party. Adonc congneuz ma guignardie Et ma mortelle couardie, Que j’avoye, pour vouloir changier, Perdu du tout mon esprevier, Ne le faulcon pour pris n’avoye. Et pour ce rien je ne vouldroie Fors que la mort; tant seullement. Je vueil finer piteusement, En serchant se j’ourray nouvelles Qui de ma perte me soient belles. Car se recouvrer le pouoye, Plus sagement le garderoye, Sans enfraindre ma loyaulté. Mal fut tournee faulseté, Qui en ce point me fait languir. Je suis par faulceté martir. Ha! mauldicte soit guinardie! Nul ne peut maintenir sa vie Qui ne s’en repent au derrain. De leesse suis mort de fain Et ja tant en estoie raemply. Ha! Loyaulté, je te supply, Ne me mectz pour ce fait a mort, Combien que j’aye si grant tort Envers toy et si fort meffait Qu’amander ne pourroye le fait, Ce se n’estoit, par vostre humblesse Qu’eussiés pitié de ma tristesse. Et loyaulment vous jureroye Que jamaiz ne me mefferoye Envers vous en jour de ma vie. Pour ce je diz ma maladie Et mon mal. Ne sçay si vous plaist Ou se mon parler vous desplaist. Pour ce fineray ma raison. Ouy vous avez l’achoison Et la raison de ma complainte Que je faiz sans pensee fainte. Or m’en dictes la vostre aussi. Si sera nostre jeu party.» Balade Lors luy disoie, «Beaulx amys, J’ay bien ouy vostre clamour, Et suis de vous fort esbahiz Dont vous prenez telle doulour. Il me semble que c’est foulleur Pour ung oysel mener tel fin, Que d’en perdre force et vigour En souspirant seoir et matin. «Nous savons bien que pour deduis On ne peut avoir point d’onneur. Qui vous a en ce point conduiz, De prendre en oyseaulx tel amour Ne d’estre d’eulx en tel ardour Qu’a eulx soiez de tout enclin, Tant qu’en perdez force et vigour En souspirant seoir et matin? «Ce penser ou vous estes mis Trop a fait en vous long sejour, Ainsi comme il m’est advis. Je diroye que c’est le meilleur Que vous preissiés ung autre tour. C’est mon conseil, beaulx doulx cousin, Puisqu’en perdez force et vigour En souspirant seoir et matin.» «Et s’il vous plaist savoir mes plains Ne les maulx dont je me complains, Sachiés que c’est pour une dame Qui est de beaulté, par mon ame, Seulle sans per, la non pareille. C’est bien l’estoille despareille Qui de clarté les autres passe. C’est celle qui toutes efface De tous biens que Dieu ne Nature Pourroit mectre en creature. C’est celle qui a tous doit plaire. Se Dieu l’avoit encores affaire, Il n’en sauroit faire une telle. Elle est gente, joyeuse et belle. Tant est plaisant son regarder Et advenant son doulx parler Qu’a chascun plaist sa contenance. C’est la deesse de plaisance, C’est le tresor de courtoisie, C’est le dieu de joyeuse vie, C’est d’onneur la droicte princesse, C’est Alixandre de largesse. C’est tous les biens qu’on pourroit dire. Je n’en saroye tant escripre Qu’en elle n’en ait assés plus. Maiz tant y a que son reffuz Me fait piteusement languir,/nobr> Quant ne lui plaist moy sien tenir, Son humble et loyal serviteur. C’est l’achoison de ma douleur. C’est ce pourquoy j’ay tel destresse, Combien qu’Espoir me fait promesse Que d’elle je seray amé Et de mon mal reconforté. Et me promect Espoir pour vray Que bien tost je m’apparcevray Du bon vouloir qu’elle a a moy. Et si m’a juré par sa foy Que nagueres qu’elle disoit Que mieulx amer ne me sauroit, Et qu’il n’est en ce monde femme Qui peust plus amer, par son ame, Homme du monde qu’elle fait moy. Et si dist, je ne sçay pourquoy, Que dire ne me vouldroit mie L’amour dont elle est assaillie. En ce point veult Espoir que soye, Més Desir, qui mon cueur mestroie, Me fait s’amours tant desirer Que souvent m’en fault souspirer Et dire «helas!» et main et seoir. Chançon «En languissant, j’actens vostre vouloir Dedans ces bois assez secretement, Ne n’ay a qui prendre esbatement. Seul suis de gens, acompaigné d’Espoir, «Qui a mon cueur fait souvent assavoir Qu’il est aymé. Nonobstant vrayement, En languissant, j’actens vostre vouloir Dedans ces bois assez secretement. «S’il estoit vray que peusse parcevoir Que m’amyssiés plus que nul seulement, J’aroye Leesse bien a commandement Et chanteroie, en chassant Desespoir, «En languissant, j’actens vostre vouloir Dedans ces bois assez secretement, Ne n’ay a qui prendre esbatement. Seul suis de gens, acompaigné d’Espoir. «Que voulés vous que je vous die? Frere, toute ma maladie Me vient par elle seulement. De moy peult faire jugement: Elle est juge et si est partie. Qu’en dictes vous? Ne doy je mie Me plaindre et estre doloreux? Se j’estoie si maleureux Que de moy Espoir se partist, Mourir vouldroie sans respit. Espoir si me fait soustenir. Autrement me faulcist fenir. Et se Dieu veult qu’avoir je puisse S’amour, je ne seray si nice Que feustes de vostre esprevier, Qui le laissates pour changier. Jamais changer ne la vouldroye. A mon pouoir la serviroye De tout mon cueur si loyaulment Sans avoir ung seul pensement A nulle autre fors que a celle. Vous avez ouy ma querelle. N’ay je mieulx cause de me plaindre Et de bien amer, sans me faindre, Que vous n’avez, qui amez tant Ung oysel qui s’en va vollant? Vueillez m’en dire vostre advis, Beau frere et beaulx doulx amis.» «Frere, plus ne me puis defffendre. De ma querelle me fault rendre. J’ay debatu par poetrie Et ainsi que par rimerie La douleur que mon cueur sentoit, Feignant que par deduit s’estoit. Mon cueur est a destruction. Maiz dire vous vueil l’achoison Dont m’est venu ce desconfort Pour quoy je me souhaide mort. L’esprevier que je vous ay dit, Ou prenoie tout mon deduit, Si estoit une demoiselle, Gente de corps, durement belle, Qu’aymee avoie en ma jeunesse. Si en souffry mainte destresse Avant que d’elle fusse amé Ne de mon mal reconforté. Toutesvoyes m’en prist il si bien Q’une foiz me retint pour sien. Et perdue l’ay par guinardie, Dont je mauldiz souvent ma vie. Maiz pour finer nostre debat, Je me tien pour eschec et mat, Et dy qu’il n’est ou monde dame, Damoiselle, ne autre femme, Qui en riens n’en sceust comparer A celle que vous oy louer. Toutes lui deussent faire hommage Et se tenir en son servage. Et pour ce me dirés, beau frere, La douleur qui vous est amere. Sans vous bouger de loyaulté, Pensez que serés conforté, Car il a en vous assez bien Pour avoir compaignie du sien.» Plus n’en disoit, ce m’est advis, Et me laissoit tout esbahiz, Ainsi seulet que par devant, Et se partoit, ne scez commant. Si n’euz gueres esté tout seul Qu’avis me fut que trop grant dueil Faisoit mon Corps et se plaignoit De mon Cueur, qui lassié l’avoit. Mon Cueur disoit qu’il avoit tort De prendre si grant desconfort, Et faisoit, en façon de plaincte, L’ung de l’autre une complaincte. Et s’ennuyer ne vous vouloit, Voir la pourrés ycy endroit. Complainte N’a pas long temps, qu’en maniere de plainte, Mon Corps parloit a mon Cueur fierement, En lui disant, «Je seuffre douleur mainte. Je voiz, je viens, je n’ay reposement. Tu as empris ung si hault pensement Et commencié une si haulte emprise Qu’il m’en fauldra finer piteusement. Mal fut pour moy en toy tel pensee mise. «Je vy ung temps que souloie estre fort Et maintenant ne me puis soustenir. J’use mes jours en douleurs sans deport, Et tout par toy, qui t’es voulu partir De dedens moy et par mes yeulx saillir. Ce me sera une dure saillie. Mort en seray; lors te fauldra querir Ung autre corps se tu veulz avoir vie. «Je sçay trop bien qu’il n’est en ma puissance De longuement tel douleur endurer. J’ay bien cent yeulx enclos dedens ma pense, Qui jour et nuit ne font que regarder, Ne ne me laissent tant soit pou reposer. Tousjours en a troys ou quatre vueillans Pour regarder la grant beaulté sans per De ma dame et ses faiz advenans.» Lors respondoit mon Cueur: «Je me merveille Que tu ne prens a ta paine plaisir, Quant tu scez bien que c’est la non pareille D’onneur, de biens que on pourroit choisir. Se par tes yeulx me suis voulu partir, En esperant de acquerir sa grace Par fort amer, par loyaulment server Sa grant beaulté qui toutes autres passe, «Ne doiz tu bien endurer ta destresse Pour les grans biens qui venir t’en pourront? Se tu saurez congnoistre la leesse Qui par tes yeulx une foiz te vendront Et le plaisir qu’avoir ilz te feront, En leurs regard tu devroyes prendre joye. Car, quant a eulx, point ne se lasseront De regarder de tous biens la monjoye. «Tu vas disant que tu as dedens toy Plus de cent yeulx. Je les y feiz venir Prendre logis au premier jour de may. Scés tu pourquoy? Affin que retenir T’en voulsisses et tousjours souvenir Des treshaulx biens qu’oye veu le matin. Ce sont ceulx la que je vueil acquerir, Pour quy j’en prins a estre pellerin.» «Ha, beau doulx Cueur, vueillez moy conforter. Je ne puis plus en moy prendre confort. Venez vous en dedens moy bouter. Laissiés ce fait dont sommes en discort. Par Dieu, je pense que vous avez grant tort Car il me semble qu’elle ne puet amer, Et ne lui chault se vous recevez mort. Elle est contente de vous faire enragier. «Par plusieurs foiz vous luy avez requis Que il luy pleust vous donner allegrance. Maiz j’apperçoy que tousjours me va pis. De plus en plus va croistre ma meschance. De tant qu’elle est non pareille de France, Deust elle estre de mes maulx plus piteuse, Moy, qui la sers de toute ma puissance, Comme ma dame et princesse amoureuse. «Je sçay trop bien se vous creez Espoir, A l’endemain, il vous decevra Et vous fera maintenir et vouloir. Maiz j’ay grant doubte que riens ne vous tendra. C’est son affaire, je le sçay despieça. Maintes gens sont trompés par tel maniere. Or en faictes tout ce qu’il vous plaira, De reffuser ou faire ma priere.» «N’en parler plus, Corps; c’est ma voulenté De la servir en gardant loyaulté. Ne dedans vous plus ne retournray Jusques a tant qu’avec moy amenray Le noble cueur de ma belle princesse. En cest espoir, obliés la destresse Que vous avez, que s’acquerir pouoye Le don d’ «amy», plus riche vous feroye Que vous ne feustes en jour de vostre vie. Vous n’eustes oncques tant de mellencolie, D’ennuy, de dueil, ne de douloreux plains, Que recevrez de joie entre les mains Se ma maistresse me vouloit bien amer. Vous n’avez corps ou vous peussiés logier La grant leesse que de moy vous vendroit Se son servant retenir me vouloit. Se Dieu vouloit que tant luy peusse plaire Que ses deux yeulx me voulsissent actraire Dedans son cueur, lors vers vous revenroye, Et puis après, savez que je feroye? Nous deux ensemble luy jurerions homage, De nous tenir tousjours en son servage. Et se la foy de nous receue avoit Et par son gré peurmettre nous vouloit De nous tenir pour siens toute no vie, Jamaiz n’aurions peine ne maladie. Et jour et nuit serions raempliz de joye. Quoy qu’avenir a vous n’a moy en doye. En ce vouloir feray ma destinee, Ne ja changer ne verray ma pensee. Endurés, Corps, je vous prie, le grant bien Qui m’en vendra, s’il vous plaist: que soie sien.» Lors respondit le Corps, «Beaulx doulz amys, Tant a de biens ou vous estes assis Que retirer jamaiz ne vous vouldroye. Maiz, en espoir que je doye avoir joye, Je vueil chanter tresmellencolieux. Chançon «Mon Cueur est sailly par mes yeulx, Car mon Corps n’a point de souloie, Ne retraire ne le vouldroie. Logier ne le saroye mieulx. «Il est logié, ainsi m’aist Dieux, En droit tresor de toute joye. Mon Cueur est sailly par mes yeulx, Car mon Corps n’a point de souloie. «Combien que soye douloreux, Si ay je espoir qu’avenir doye, De plus en plus que ne souloie, Au haultain bien des amoureux. «Mon Cueur est sailly par mes yeulx, Car mon Corps n’a point de souloie, Ne retraire ne le vouldroie. Logier ne le saroye mieulx. «Cueur, faictes vostre voulenté. Maintenés vous en loyaulté. Traveillez moy tant que vouldrés. Foible suy et fort empiréz, Mais nonobstant j’endureray Trestout au mieulx que je pourray La chose qu’avez entreprise. Vostre pensée est bien mise. Tenez vous y, c’est mon conseil, Puisque c’est le dieu despareil De toutes les dames qui sont, Qui furent ne jamaiz seront En tous lieux que dire on pourroit, Ne nul tant dire ne sauroit Que en a, sur Dieu et sur mon ame. C’est la plus non pareille dame Qui soit et qui jamaiz sera. Et pour ce, vive qui pourra, Je suis prest de tout endurer Et par souffrir me conforter Comme faisoit Palamidés. Chançon «J’ay fait mon tresor de souhaiz Et si me suis garny d’Espoir Pour resister contre Douloir Et encontre ses rudes faiz. «Desconfort ne me laisse en paix, Maiz guerre je luy vueil mouvoir. J’ay fait mon tresor de souhaiz Et si me suis garny d’Espoir. «Et pour ce me vueil desormais Vestir de blanc en lieu de noir, Pour l’esperance qu’ay d’avoir Allegement de mes regrés. «J’ay fait mon tresor de souhaiz Et si me suis garny d’Espoir Pour resister contre Douloir Et encontre ses rudes faiz.» Le Cueur le Corps remercioit De ce que son plaisir estoit D’estre vray martir par amours. Nonobstant les ardant tours Qu’amours lui faisoit endurer, Si ne se vouloit il bouger. «Ainsi sommes d’accort nous deux D’estre tousjours si desireux De la cherir, servir et craindre. Nul de nous deux ne se veult faindre D’acomplir son plaisant vouloir, Luy suppliant que recevoir Luy plaise en gré noz piteux faiz Et amendrir noz griefz regrectz, Et en chantant luy requerir: Chançon «Mectez nous en droit souvenir Du parfont de vostre pensee. Nostre princesse desiree, Faictes nous devers vous venir. «Car nous ne faisons que languir, Jour et nuyt, seoir et mastinee, Mectez nous en droit souvenir Du parfont de vostre pensee. «Acompaignéz d’Ardant Desir, Endurons nostre destinee. En presentant, tresbien amee, Cette chanson pour requerir: «Mectez nous en droit souvenir Du parfont de vostre pensee. Nostre princesse desiree, Faictes nous devers vous venir.» Quant nostre debat fut finé Et en ce livre enregistré, Il avint que je m’esveillay, Et lors en tour moy regarday Et viz que j’estoie tout seul, Si pensay que faire mon dueil Je feroye secrectement, Si diz «helas!» piteusement, «Amours, Amours, tant travaillier M’avez fait qu’a ce resveiller Me fault faire de vous complaincte. Mon dormir n’est que une estraincte. Quant on cuide que je repose Pour ce qu’on voit ma veue close, Lors est ce que croist mon travail, Qu’oncques maiz ne viz le pareil. L’ueil de mon corps n’a nul repos, Car il est en Desir encloz, Qui tousjours fait veoir sa mort, Et si est de l’avoir d’accord. Et pour ce nul ne m’en doit plaindre, Car Raison veult mon mal estraindre, Maiz souffrir ne le voulez mye, Tant me plaist ma plaisant folie. Je l’appelle folie plaisant Combien qu’elle soit desplaisant. En m’actrayant me desconfit Et du tout son reffuz m’occist. Amours, mal fut vostre maniere De faire tel dame murtriere, Et si ne peut de mon mal maiz. Je ressemble Palamidés, Qui vouloit, sanz avoir partie, Amer tous les temps de sa vie. Ma voulenté est d’ainsi faire. Jamaiz jour ne m’en vueil retraire. (Si dit on bien quelque hutin Piteusement a la parfin.) Pour tel fait fut mis a mort, Et fut de ce faire d’accord. Helas! et tant ma mort vouldroie. Autre rien ne souheteroie Se non tant seulement mourir. Ha! Mort, que ne faiz tu fenir Ma vie, qu’est trop ennuyeuse Et trop durement doloreuse? Tout m’ennuye, quant que je voy. En lieu de plaisir j’ay ennoy. Ha! Amours, et vous, ma maistresse, Ay je desservy tel destresse Pour bien vous loyaulment servir? J’ay tousjours voulu acomplir Trestous voz bons commandemens. Ha, Amours, il n’a pas long temps Que j’euz le plus grant desplaisir Gueres qu’il me pourroit venir, Car en dormant, me fut advis Que le cueur, que devant je diz A ma maistresse entierement, Estoit perdu, ne sçay comment. Et me sembloit que le veoie Martirer, et lors requeroye A ceulx qui luy faisoient la paine Que, pour la Vierge souverayne, Leur pleust me faire tel doulceur De me rendre ce doulant cueur, Et qu’assez avoit eu martire. Baillié me fut sans escondire. Quant je l’euz, comme tresdollant D’une piece en feiz present A ma dame, seulle amee, Et croy qu’elle s’en soit coursee. De son courroux me desplaisoit, Ma douleur trop empiroit Se j’avoye fait, pensé ne dicte Chose dont elle fust despite. Soit droit soit tort, je lui vueil plaire Et me garder de luy desplaire. Et aussi scez je de verité Que en luy a tant loyaulté Qu’en mal dire on ne pourroit Se mentir d’elle on ne vouloit. Et de tant que j’ay en pensee De quoy elle s’estoit yree, Humblement l’en crie mercy. Et prie Amours que, pour cecy, Ne me mecte hors de la grace De celle de tous qui bien passe Les dames qui furent ne sont Ne qui jamaiz aprés seront, Nonobstant que sa bien vueillance Je n’euz oncques ne n’ay esperance, Au semblant que je truiz en elle, Que jamaiz ne puis ma querelle Mectre a fin, comme je desire. Maiz il me doit sans plus souffire, De garder que ne luy desplaise, Et se pour luy seuffre mesaise, Nonpourtant je ne lairray mie De la servir toute ma vie. Amours, j’ay bien la congnoissance Que ne vaulx d’avoir esperance D’estre d’elle amy clamé. Pou de chose est de ma bonté Au regard de sa grant valeur, De sa beaulté, de sa doulceur. Et pour ce, Amours, je vous supplie Seullement que, pour courtoisie, Me gardez de sa desplaisance S’avoir ne puis sa bien vueillance, Et me donnez pouoir de faire Tousjours chose qui lui peust plaire. Amours, je suis tresvolentiers L’ung de voz pouvres souldoiers, Que n’ay ne gaige ne parement, Et me souffist tant seulement Que vous congnoissiés mon service, Moy, qui vous serf sans nul office. Servy vous ay sans ordonnance, Sans avoir confort qu’esperance. Encores n’ay je retenue. Je ne sçay si j’aroye perdue Ma peine pour vous bien servir. Point ne le dy pour repentir, Ne jamaiz ne le m’ourrez dire. Nonobstant mon piteux martire, Je suis de ma paine content. Je suis tout en commandement De celle qui me fait avoir Le mal dont je me doy douloir. Je vueil tout ce qu’elle vouldra Et faire quanque luy plaira, Ou vivre en dueil ou en leesse. Seulle la vueil tenir maistresse. Je suis son serf sans afranchir, Ne ne vueil nulle autre choisir. Elle est ma tresdoulce ennemye, Et de mon cueur mortel amye. Elle m’a tout. Je n’ay rien mien. Et si ne me veult tenir sien. Mais sien seray, vueil ou non vueille, Ne lairray pour rien qui me vueille. C’est une amour sans despartie Qui durera toute ma vie. Et pour s’amour, comment qu’il est, Je vueil faire cy ung souhaist: Plust a Dieu que, par vision, Peusse savoir s’oppinion. Je doubte qu’elle me het Pour ce qu’envers luy ay meffait.» Et tant pour le traveil qu’avoye Que pour le desir, que vouloie En mon dormant ung songe faire, Je m’endormy, et n’y mis guere, Et en mon dormant, je veoye, Chevauchant par une saulsoye, Dangier. Si me prins a gemir Et penser au mal que j’avoye Et la douleur qui me faisoit sentir Tant pour amer et loyaulment servir La non pareille qui soit dessoubz les cieulx D’onneur, de bien, de regart gracieux. La pareille ne pourroit on trouver. Si dist mon cueur, qui la veult honnorer, Servir, doubter, plus qu’autre, se m’aist Dieux. Pour ce en espoir me vueil tenir joyeulx, En actendant d’avoir allegement De ma maistresse aux tresbeaulx rians yeulx, Car sa doulceur ne veult mon finement. Confort me dit et me va conseillant Que je la serve mon vivant sans faulser. Je l’en croyray; point ne m’en vueil lasser De la servir, tant que je auray duree, De cueur, de corps, de vouloir, de pensee, Pour quelque mal que j’en puisse endurer, En attendant que, par son doulx parler, Mes griefz douleurs se tournent a leesse, Et que mon cueur y puisse demourer Et estre hors de paine et de tristesse. Car j’ay esté si longtemps en destresse Qu’ay obliay joye et esbatement. Dancer, chanter, je souloie en mon temps, Et maintenant me fault courroux mener. Maiz j’ay espouoir de ce temps recouvrer, Maulgré jaloux et les faulx medisans, Qui m’ont esté a leur pouoir nuysans. Maiz, maulgré eulx, je serviray la belle Que j’ay aymé et honnoré longtemps. Et nullement ne puis bonne nouvelle Ouir n’avoir, s’elle ne me vient d’elle. En elle maint ou ma mort ou ma vie. Riche d’onneur, de loyaulté garnie, Aiez pitié de mes dures doulours Et du torment avec plains et plours Que j’ay pour vous. Et si ne m’en plains mye, Car je sçay bien qu’en une heure et demye Povez mon mal retourner en doulceur. Ma princesse.  Doncq ne vueillez mie Que tout mon temps soit en telle langueur, Maiz m’alegiez et ostez la douleur Qu’au cueur je sens, que plus n’en puis sans mort. Belle et doulce ou gist tout mon confort, Reconfortez ce pouvre souffreteux Qui est tousjours a son pouoir soingneux De vous servir, soit a droit, soit a tort. Ma seulle dame ou gist tout mon confort, Par vostre gré escoutez la complaincte De moy, qui n’ay aucun deport, Et desconfort a ma doulceur destaincte. Tous autres maulx ont si ma teste actainte, Plus ne puis vivre, se je n’ay allegence. Mon bien joyeulx et ma seulle plaisance, Faictes de moy tout a vostre talent, Car, se je meur, je peuz dire vrayement Que seuffre mort pour la meilleur de France. Ma seulle amour, ou je mis ma fiance, Faictes de moy tout a vostre plaisance. Pour vous amer, je languis, en verité. Et languiray tant que seray renté De vostre amour et que me donnez grace D’oster de moy, comme infortuné, Paine et soucy, et que je les deschace, Et desplaisir qui longtemps si me chasse Et m’a chassié a oster de baudour, Et ja de fait m’a mis en tel ardour Que je n’ay plus bon jour ne bonne nuit. Dangier m’aprouche, et Dangier si me nuit Que loisir n’ay de compter ma clamour. Il fault que fine, je ne puis trouver tour. Je dy adieu a bonne compaignie Et a vous, dame, des bonnes la meilleur. Je prens congié de vostre chiere lie. Orrant, plourant, menant piteuse vie, Fault que departe de grans biens amoureux. Si vous supply, compaignons gracieux, Prigent, Regnault et Jamect ensement, Voz maistresses servez soingneusement. Quoy qu’on en die, vous n’en vauldrez que mieulx. Et tout ainsi que je me complaignoye, J’ouy passer dessus moy une voix Qui me disoit: «Amys, ne te desvoye! Le Dieu d’Amours si t’en sera courtois, Et m’envoie cy pour t’oster le doulx poiz Qu’as dessus toy et la mellencolie. Lieuve tost sus et mene bonne vie! Confortez toy, mectz peine de guerir! Tu te doiz bien plus qu’oncques maiz esjouir Car tu auras d’onneur la seigneurie.» Quant je l’oy, j’estoye en pasmerie. Si prins adonc a ma teste lever Veoir se verroye la voix qu’avoye ouye, Car voulentiers eusse voulu parler Plus longuement et la araisonner Pour demander quelle seroit ma fin. Point ne la viz, maiz quant vint le matin, De mes maulx fu allegré grandement. J’en mercyay Amours piteusement. Cela m’avint le jour saint Valentin. Balade Jeune, gente, belle, doulce maniere, Riant regart, bel acueil, doulx parler, Je viens vers vous, faisant piteuse chiere, Prendre congié et moy recommander A vo doulceur qui me peult conforter. Faictes de moy tout ce qu’il vous plaira, Que jamaiz jour mon vueil ne changera. Car a ce faire mon vueil est tout fermé, De vous servir tousjours en loyaulté. Ou que je voise, mon cueur vous demourra. Helas! pourquoy estes vers moy si fiere Qu’i ne vous plaist mon parler escouter? Ne pourquoy m’est vostre humblesse si chiere Qu’i me convient durement achapter Ung doulx semblant, quant le puis recouvrer? Et si ne sçay quant vostre vueil sera De m’octroyer ce qu’ay requis pieça Pour faiz ou mal que j’ay ja enduré. Car, par ma foy, mon bien et ma chierté, Ou que je voise, mon cueur vous demourra. Mes plains, mes plours sont bien boutés arriere. Trop pou vous chault de me voir tormenter, Ne de conforter ma piteuse priere Et la douleur qu’i me fait endurer, Belle et doulce, pour vous vouloir amer. Je sçay trop bien que briefment me fauldra Finer d’ennuy. Oncques nul n’endura Si grant peine, pour en dire verité, Maiz tout en voit a vostre voulenté. Ou que je voise, mon cueur vous demourra. Ma princesse, ma voulenté entiere Est et sera vous craindre et redoubter. Et se je n’ose a vous souvant parler, Ce poise moy, maiz, quant il vous plaira, Mon dueil ferez en reconfort tourner. Si vous povez de moy tout asseurer, Ou que je voise, mon cueur vous demourra. Chançon Adieu, gent corps, jeune, joyeulx, Adieu, doulx regart gracieulx, Adieu, ma tresbelle maistresse. Je prens congié par grant destresse Et m’en voiz mellencolieux. Je delaisse tous biens eureux, Et si me pars tous souffreteux, Pensant au grief mal qui me blesse. Adieu, gent corps, jeune, joyeulx, Adieu, doulx regart gracieulx, Adieu, ma tresbelle maistresse. S’Umble Vouloir ne m’est piteux D’alegier mon mal angoisseux, Je suis forbanny de leesse, Sans jamaiz retrouver l’adresse De revenir n’en riz, n’en jeux. Adieu, gent corps, jeune, joyeulx, Adieu, doulx regart gracieulx, Adieu, ma tresbelle maistresse. Je prens congié par grant destresse Et m’en voiz mellencolieux. Complaincte Plus ne pourroit avoir mon cueur destresse, Ne desplaisir, ne torment envieulx. Quoy que j’ay bien desja la congnoissance Que sans pitié est le dieu que je croy. Maiz j’ay espoir de faire le pourquoy Mon entrecrist sera vers moy piteux. A tout le moins ne tendra point a moy Se je ne suis sans raison maleureux. Plus ne me puis tenir que je ne die Que mon dieu est des autres dieux deesse, Faicte des fees et venu de faairie, Plaine de biens, d’onneur et de largesse. Celle doit bien estre a tous maistresse. Son vueil sans plus peut chascun enrichir. Il peut sans plus souffir de la servir Pour les grans biens, beaultés qui sont en elle. On la doit bien nommer, et sans mentir, Dame des dames, des bonnes la plus belle. Ainsi m’aist Dieux, que je croy fermement, Se Dieu avoit perdue Nostre Dame, Qu’i s’en vendroit embas, ne sçay comment, Ne ne prendroit ja pour luy autre femme Que ma maistresse, qui m’est et dieu et dame. Maiz cuidés vous que je luy laisse aller, Se par force le pouoye destourner? Et d’autre part a tant de serviteurs Que ung seul dieu ne l’en pourroit mener, S’avec luy n’avoit des enchanteurs. Maintes gens sont devenuz par clergie Hors de leur sens et perdu tout leur savoir, Maiz j’ay empris une trop grant folie D’amer celle qui d’amer n’a vouloir. Je pers le sens, la force et le pouoir. Mal eust sur moy Amours tant de puissance De m’asservir a la non per de France. Serf demourray, sans jamaiz afranchir. Quoy que ce soit a mon cueur grant vaillance, Si m’en fault il mainte douleur souffrir. Encores ce de quoy plus me merveil, C’est qu’Amours n’a nul pouoir sur elle. Seulle veult estre sans choisir nul pareil. Nul oncques maiz n’y ot parler de telle. Qui me pourra aider a ma querelle? Qui me pourra faire abaisser mon dueil? Qui lui pourra dire ce que je vueil? Car d’escouter est si tresdangereuse. Quant luy vueil dire le mal que je recueil, Craincte me dist que n’est de riens piteuse. Taire me fault de luy dire mes plains, Que je ne puis du dire trouver place. Et, d’autre part, si durement la crains, Car se j’avoie temps, loisir et espace, Si n’oseroye. Or regardés que face. Suy je en bon point? Jugiez, se vous aist Dieux. Sont bien vengéz de moy les envieulx? Il m’est advis qu’il leur doit bien souffire. J’ayme ma mort. Demanderoient ilz mieulx? Et si ne scet quel douleur j’ay mon mire. Plus ne me vueil de ma douleur complaindre. Endurer vueil, soit a droit ou a tort, Et bien amer tousjours maiz, sans me faindre, Celle qui est consentant de ma mort. Mon cueur le veult et j’en suis bien d’accord. Si prie a Dieu qu’i me garde de faire Ne dire chose qui lui puisse desplaire. Et s’ainsi est que je ne puisse avoir Sa bienvueillance, de quoy ne me puis taire, Dieu me gart d’estre en son maulvaiz vouloir. Balade Doulce durté, ma tresmortel amye, Mon bien, mon mal, ma maistresse, ma joye, Mon tout, ma tresdoulce ennemye, Ma balade humblement vous envoye Vous supplier qu’il vous plaise que soye De ma douleur par vous reconforté. Qu’ainsi m’aist Dieux, mon bien et ma cherté, Nulle que vous n’a sur moy le pouoir De moy guerir, car je suis ahurté. Et pour cela me tiens vestu de noir. Plus pense aux biens de vostre seigneurie, A la beaulté dont vous estes montjoye, Aux plaisans jeux dont vous estes garnie, Mon mal me plaist, ne guerir ne vouldroye Se n’est par vous, quoy qu’avenir m’en doye. Jamaiz changer ne vueil ma voulenté. Mon cueur le veult et je l’ay accordé, Quoy que m’ayez de tout banny d’espoir Par ung reffuz assez prés du fossé. Et pour cela me tiens vestu de noir. Helas! ma dame, ay je mort desservie Pour vous amer tant que plus ne pourroye? Vostre pitié me sera elle faillie? Ay je riens fait que faire je ne doye? Mort ou mercy, plus ne souhaderoye. A vous me rens, recevez moy en gré. Faictes moy riche dont j’ay grant pouvreté. C’est la leesse que par vous puis avoir. Je suis en dueil, presque desesperé. Et pour cela me tiens vestu de noir. Autre Balade Las! je suis en dueil vestu de noir. Vostre doulceur me peult bien revestir A leesse et chasser desespoir Hors de mon cueur pour me faire esjouir. Vous me povez de plaisance bannir Ou conforter mon doloreux torment. Vostre serf suis, maiz c’est si loyaulment Qu’a nulle rien ne puis prendre plaisir Qu’a vous amer, ma dame, seulement. Il a longtemps que j’ay mis mon vouloir A vous amer et loyaulment servir. Guion pieça le vous feist assavoir, Maiz se j’avoye puissance ne loisir Ne hardement de mon fait regehir, Plus vous vouldroie dire mon pensement Qu’autre le deist. Maiz pensez seurement Que jamaiz jour n’auray autre desir Qu’a vous amer, ma dame, seulement. Las! ma maistresse, se je avoye le pouoir Que ciel et terre je peusse despartir, S’il vous plaisoit tout en gré recevoir, Tout seroit vostre, sans riens ailleurs partir. Aiez pitié de moy qui suis martir, Ma seule amour, mon dieu, mon sauvement. Ne me laissez finer piteusement. Car espoir ay de nul bien desservir Qu’a vous amer, ma dame, seulement. Autre Balade Helas! ma dame, pour qui me fault gemir Par maintes foiz et souvent souspirer, Aiez pitié de vostre vray martir, Qui humblement veulz son temps definer En vous servant, sans jamaiz autre amer, Quoy que diez qu’avenir ne me pourroit Vostre doulx cuer, pour ce doy bien porter: «En cest hostel, pitié goute n’y voit.» Tout mon regard et tout mon souvenir Si est en vous, ma deesse sans per. Tout mon confort me peult de vous venir, N’autre que vous ne me peult conforter. Ma garison se peult en vous trouver. Maiz dit m’avez, quoy que n’ayez pas droit, Que je puis bien en devise porter: «En cest hostel, pitié goute n’y voit.» Pouoir avez de moy faire fenir Piteusement et mes jours abregier, Et, d’autre part, par vous puis recueillir La garison que je doy desirer. Vous me povez bannir ou rappeller. Humble vers vous seray commant qu’il soit, Nonobstant ce qu’il me fault porter: «En cest hostel, pitié goute n’y veoit.» Balade N’a pas longtemps que mon cueur vous faisoit Une requeste assez piteusement, Car en humblesse bien fort vous supplioit Que souffrissiés au moins tant seulement Qu’il vous servist jusques au deffinement. Maiz vostre gré n’a voulu consentir Que j’eusse espoir d’avoir allegement, Et en ce point m’a faillu despartir. Et par Dieu, belle, se vostre vueil estoit D’estre piteuse de mon tresdoulx torment, A ceste foiz ma douleur cesseroit. Lors me tendroie trop plus joyeusement Que je ne faiz, car tout mon penseement Seroit de vous en leesse servir. Maiz de vous n’ay nul reconfortement, Et en ce point m’a faillu despartir. Maiz nonobstant, soit a tort, soit a droit, Demourer vueil en vostre jugement. Mon cuer est vostre et sera ou qu’il soit, Quoy qu’en ayez fait le despartement. Par Dieu, ma dame, je ne vueil nullement Autre que vous pour maistresse tenir. Si m’avez dit que je foiz follement, Et en ce point m’a faillu despartir. Complaincte A vous, belle, tresdoulce dame, A qui j’ay donné corps et ame, Cueur et tout ce que je puis avoir, Faiz oroison et vous reclame Comme celle par qui j’enflame Du desir d’amoureux vouloir. Plaise vous mon fait pourveoir, Car de tous biens suis despourveu, Ne n’ay d’avoir nul bien espoir. Confort ne me veult recevoir. Je suis de tristesse vestu. Helas! je mis mon pensement A vous amer tresloyaulment, Ne je n’ay nulle autre pensee. Je parle aux gens le plus souvent Et si ne sçay quoy ne comment, Fors que trestout a la volee. M’amour est en vous arrestee. Je vous voy tousjours, ce me semble. Laz! vendra jamais la journee, Ma princesse tresdesiree, Que je nous puisse veoir ensemble? Il m’est advis, ainsi m’aist Dieux, Que j’ay tousjours devant les yeulx Vostre non pareille beaulté, De qui chascun est amoureux, Les jeunes, aussi sont les vieulx. Quant ainsi y suis ahurté, Ne n’a d’autre amer voulenté, Le cueur qui le me peust souffrir, Tant m’a conquis vostre bonté, Que du tout m’y suis ahurté, Sans jamaiz jour en despartir. On me peult crier en l’oreille, Maiz nulle rien ne me resveille Que vostre bonne renommee. En veillant ou quant je someille, Si ay je tousjours la merveille Des biens dont vous estes louee, Ma maistresse tresredoubtee, Tant est vostre corps et esperit. Ne seuffrez que ma destinee Soit par vous en douleur finee. D’autre ne puis avoir respit. Las! comment peussiés vous savoir La douleur et le desespouoir En quoy je suis pour vous amer? Je n’ay du dire le pouoir Et congnoiz que n’avez vouloir De moy ouyr ne escoucter. Dont vous peut venir tel amer? Comment le peult Amours souffrir? Mieulx me vaulsist estre en la mer Et du tout le monde laissier, Quant g’y seuffre tel desplaisir. Mais dont me vient la maladie? Puisqu’il convient que je le die, C’est pour celle que je choisy, De tous biens la mieulx acomplie Qui soit ne fut jamaiz en vie, Ainsi m’aist Dieux qu’il est ainsi. Et puisqu’Amours m’a asservy A celle querre pour le mieulx, Si seray du tout sans nul sy, Actendant sa doulce mercy Dont maintes gens sont convoiteux. Las! me vendroit il bien meschance De choisir la non per de France, Et de qui on dit plus de bien? Mon mal me deust estre plaisance, Et me deust estre souffisance D’estre tant seulement tout sien. Car d’elle mieulx vault ung seul rien Que d’autre ce qu’on pourroit dire. Et pour ce la mort point ne craing, Maiz je luy rens ce qui fut mien, Puisque trouver je ne puis mire. Las! maintes gens sont par oultrage Pieça mors, dont c’est dommaige, Ou par l’oultrage de la mort. Et moy qui n’ay nul aventage De bien, mais languis en servage, Ne puis mourir n’a droit n’a tort. Je vif en dueil sans reconfort, Je suis pres de desesperé, Se Pitié n’est vers moy d’accord. Maiz je pense que Pitié dort, Dont je suis tout desconforté. Balade Ma princesse, tant que je reverray Voz beaulx yeulx doulx, vostre doulce maniere, Piteusement en douleur languiray, Ne plus n’auray une liesse entiere. Mes yeulx seront de tous poins sans lumiere. Vostre esloingner me fait mortel traveil, Ne je n’ay plus confort que regarder De nuit la lune et de jour le souleil. Et se m’aist Dieux que je vous serviray, S’il le convient, sans nulle pensee fiere, Que vostre vueil du tout accompliray. Soiez de moy ou piteuse ou murtriere. Ma voulenté est en vous toute entiere, Ne ja n’auray de dormir tel sommeil Que je ne vueille une foiz regarder De nuit la lune et de jour le souleil. Savez pourquoy je les regarderay, M’amour qui estes de mon pouvre cueur biere? Car advis m’est que mieulx vous verray. Veoir le povez, pour ce vous foiz priere Que mon regard tire par une archiere En vostre cueur, qui n’a point de pareil. Lors saurez vous pourquoy vueil regarder De nuit la lune et de jour le souleil. Complainte N’a pas longtemps que je cuidoye Estre hors du dangier d’Amours, Et des amoureux me mocquoye Quant leur veoie faire leurs tours. Maiz or suis je tout a rebours, Car j’ay entreprins la folie De ceste meschant aymerie, Dont il me fault, a dire veoir, Souvent parler en resverie. C’est maulvaiz mal que de renchoir. Je suis trop pis que ne souloie. J’ay de mes souhaiz le rebours. J’ay pis que dire ne pourroye, Torment, desplaisir et doulours, Sans esperance de secours Trouver vers ma mortel amye, Car de mercy est desgarnie. Maiz sa doulceur me donne espoir De guerir de ma maladie. C’est maulvaiz mal que de renchoir. La beaulté et ma seulle joye Me fera definer mes jours. Quant elle vient, ou que je soye, Estre prés pour oyr mes plours, En luy ne treuve nul secours Pour m’oster de forcenerie. Ouir ne veult rien que je die. Las! comment pourra elle savoir Mon penser et ma muserie? C’est maulvais mal que de renchoir. Maiz plus me plaist, par mon serement, En avoir douloreux tourment Et en souffrir mainte destresse Pour l’aymer fort et loyaulment Et la veir tant seulement, Mon dieu et ma seulle princesse, Que d’autre toute la leesse Avoir que souhaidier pourroye. Mon cueur du tout lui fait promesse Qu’autre ne prandra a maistresse, Pour nul mal qu’endurer en doye. Car j’ay trop bien la congnoissance Qu’il n’a point de pareille en France De tout bien que dire on pourroit. Sa beaulté et sa contenance Me font avoir mal en plaisance. Se chascun bien la congnoissoit, Tout le monde estre vouldroit A elle, ainsi m’aist Dieux. Ja loyaulté ne l’en tendroit, Ne par faulx tenuz n’en seroit, Car c’est le dieu des autres dieux. Et puisqu’elle a tant de beaulté, D’onneur, de gracieuseté, Que de biens c’est la non pareille, Ne doy je estre reconforté Se je seuffre mal et durté Et se j’ay la puce en l’oreille? Se pour s’amour je me resveille Alors que je deusse dormir, Il ne m’en chault, car c’est pour celle Qui est du monde la plus belle, Et pour ce m’en doy resjouir. Par Dieu, Amours, je ne vouldroie, Ne pour rien ne me tendroye, Que d’elle ne fusse amoureux Pour chose qu’avenir m’en doye. Ne cesseray, ou que je soye, De la servir de bien en mieulx. Et s’il plairoit a ses beaulx yeulx Monstrer que de moy fust contente, J’en seroye plus desireux D’acomplir son vueil en tous lieux, Et y mectroye toute m’entente. Et plust a Dieu qu’elle sceust bien Comme mon cueur est du tout sien, Maugré les jaloux plains d’envie. Sur toutes a elle me tien. Je ne pense a nulle rien Qu’a sa treshaulte seigneurie Et aux biens dont elle est garnie, Esperant que ung temps vendra, Ne laisseray pour jalousie, Qu’elle me soit dame et amye. Maiz je ne sçay quant ce sera. Seroit bien Amours si contraire Vers moy et de si rude affaire De m’avoir pourchassié ma mort? Amours m’a fait, pour lui complaire, De toutes autres me retraire Pour la servir jusqu’a la mort, Et ad ce faire suis d’accord. Or m’en doint Dieux telle nouvelle Que j’en puisse prendre confort, Car sien seray, soit droit ou tort, Quant c’est des bonnes la plus belle. Amours, se peusse tant veiller Qu’en veillant peusse espier Une estoille qui voulsist cheoir, Tost me verriés agenoillier Et envers les dieux supplier Qu’ilz me voulsissent pourveoir. Car ma dame m’a dit, pour voir, Que ce que on requiert adoncques, Le requerant le doit avoir. Et j’en vueil la verité savoir, Pour ce que je ne le sceuz oncques. Chançon Belle, des bonnes non pareille, Pourquoy m’entra tant en l’oreille Le bien de vostre renommee? Las! que n’estoit ma veue troublee Quant je viz de vous la merveille! Car en veillant mon cueur sommeille, Et en dormant il me resveille, Pensant a ma folle pensee. Belle, des bonnes non pareille, Pourquoy m’entra tant en l’oreille Le bien de vostre renommee? Pieça sçavez que m’appareille, Seulle des autres despareille, A vous servir, toute louee. Mort ou mercy me soit donnee. Ne souffrez plus que me traveille. Belle, des bonnes non pareille. Pourquoy m’entra tant en l’oreille Le bien de vostre renommee? Las! que n’estoit ma veue troublee Quant je viz de vous la merveille! Chançon Si fort m’ont pleu les tresors des hauls biens Qui sont en vous, ainsi vrayement m’aist Dieux, Que, sans cesser, j’ay esté envieux D’estre tout vostre, et pour vostre me tiens. Le cueur, le corps qui jadis furent miens Veullent tous deux que vous soiez mon mieulx, Si fort m’ont pleu les tresors des hauls biens Qui sont en vous, ainsi vrayement m’aist Dieux. Las! je suis riens et ne me donnez riens Qui conforter puist mon mal envieux. Et si soutien mon mal tresangoisseux Bien doulcement, car par vous le soustiens. Si fort m’ont pleu les tresors des hauls biens Qui sont en vous, ainsi vrayement m’aist Dieux, Que, sans cesser, j’ay esté envieux D’estre tout vostre, et pour vostre me tiens. Chançon Celle qui est belle, doulce et plaisant, Toute bonne, des autres non pareille, Vostre renom m’a tout emply l’oreille, Mes yeulx ne voient que vous que j’ayme tant. Desir me va nuyt et jour atisant Et me dit: «Ayme, car je le te conseille, Celle qui est belle, doulce et plaisant, Toute bonne, des autres non pareille. Puisqu’Amours, a qui suis obeissant, Veult que du tout a amer m’appareille, J’aymeray tant que ce sera merveille, Et serviray, son honneur acroissant, Celle qui est belle, doulce et plaisant, Toute bonne, des autres non pareille. Vostre renom m’a tout emply l’oreille. Mes yeulx ne voient que vous que j’ayme tant.

78. The Book of Messire Ode I wish to begin a book And to send it to my lady Just as I promised her, In which all my works will be inscribed. Not all but a portion I will tell of my melancholy. Love, out of your good will It pleased you to instruct me To choose a mistress. I chose her, full of youth, Of virtues, of perfect beauty, Of gentleness and joyful countenance. Her look is marvelously sweet. Among all women she is without peer, And for this reason I wished to choose her, Hoping that I might arrive At the supreme reward of lovers. But I find myself severely distressed For having dared to say too much, For I told her all that I was thinking, Believing that it would be better for me. But Rejection, the envious one, Is against me with all its power. Danger comes forth from the other side, And it is there when I should be. Then I don’t know what to do. When I think about speaking to her, Danger, next to her, cries out, And Rejection is on the other side. In this condition am I ruled. Then I no longer dare to say a word. But her refusal pleases me more Than to have all the other goods In the world that are not mine. I wish to serve her until death And banish all other women behind me In favor of her, exclusively. I wish to be hers as a liege, To serve her with heart and soul, Loyally, as my only lady And the mistress of my will. In this state I wish to remain, Nor do I want ever to tire of it For anything that I might endure, Hoping that at some future time Her will will change And she will have pity on my plaints And on the pains of which I complain. But the wait is making me languish And come to a very piteous end Because of Desire, which burns and inflames me. Memory joins forces with it. They make me think upon her beauty, And by these two am I ruled. They seize me from the front and from behind. They often make me lose composure. When I ought to speak, I think. I can neither eat nor drink, So much am I overcome by love. Love, why have I undertaken To desire so great a good? I wish my death, and I feel like I’m dead. I am worth no more than a dead man is, For a man who is without comfort In the world cannot be worth anything. Alas, what has become of Hope Which promised to comfort me? It should not have abandoned me. So had it promised me. It is the best of my friends. I know very well that when it returns, It will blame me very strongly For despairing in this way, But I don’t know which way to turn, So much does my malady oppress me. I am in mortal state of frenzy, And I believe that I would already be dead Were it not for a bit of comfort That came to me from Hope, saying That I am wrong to become discouraged And to carry on in so harsh a way And to be subject to despair. And it says, if I can endure, I will see my sorrow turn Into joy again quite soon, And that abundantly of the rewards of Love I will have, whatever anyone says. Loyalty will be a friend to me And it will help me to arrive At the supreme good that I desire. And as I was thinking thus And taking comfort in hope, I threw myself upon a bed In order to rest myself a bit, And I tried hard to fall asleep, But because of Memory, I could not truly sleep or rest. And so I set my thought To beginning a ballade, And I wrote it like a sick man And recorded it in my book, And if you like, you may read it. Balade Forsaken by joy and happiness, Filled with grief and sorrowful plaints, Sad, pensive, deprived of happiness, Driven by love’s torments to despair, Completely removed from all joyous pleasures, Now, more than I could ever say, I am assailed by the very worst of torments. I find myself stricken with grief and rage. Without liberty, I am found in servitude, Such that I feel my heart both burn and freeze. More and more I am the heir of pain. I have the opposite of what I desire. In my early youth I am destitute Of that which a lover ought to desire. I will say no more; I know well what wounds me. I would be sorry to be so unfortunate That everyone knew of my grievous pain, Of which I have much more than I could write. A single path leads my heart astray, Makes me languish and go through this passage. What do you say? Should I be satisfied? What more will I say? In the flower of my life, I have the opposite of what I desire. Danger attacks me; Rejection hurts and wounds me. One day I am excessively melancholy And another day, Hope makes me a promise That despite all, it will make me joyous. In this condition I must grow old. No one can oppose Fortune, Be it right or wrong, be it pleasure or suffering. A pleasing folly has kept me from being wise. No sort of shield does me any good. Well am I kept from singing and from laughing, So that I say out loud, furiously: “I have the opposite of what I desire.” Young and gracious one, my beautiful princess, I do not seek the path or route to healing Except through you, who are my true physician. Relieve me of the worst of all my pains. Allow no more that I say boorishly, “I have the opposite of what I desire.” When I had finished my ballade And recorded it in my book, I began again to bewail my grief, Saying to Love, “Upon the threshold I am of the Inn of Sadness. Danger attacks me, Rejection wounds me. Against them I cannot defend myself. I would have had to surrender to them long ago Were it not for Hope, which comforts me. It exhorts me still to serve well, But my pain oppresses me so strongly And I am so afflicted with sorrow That I could hardly endure. Love, must I be banished From the Tower of Happiness, I, who am in the flower of youth? Have pity on my sorrow And on my piteous cry. Don’t allow me to be undone When I have undertaken this for you. Send Pity and Humility In haste unto my mistress To beg her that to succor me It please her, by her pleasure, For never did a servant, by my soul, Serve any lady more loyally Than I wish to serve her In every circumstance, and to obey All of her good commands. She is my god; I count on her To make me live or die Or very piteously to languish, Whichever will seem good to her. For my heart will not oppose Anything that is ordained by her. My will is fixed upon that point. And if I die in serving her, I make her a present of my soul. I have nothing more to give her. Lady of ladies, alone without peer, I am your serf and a serf I remain. Consider if you will do well To let me perish in this way By failing to come to my aid.” As I thus went on lamenting And bringing my sorrow back to mind Like a man in a frenzied state, Engulfed in great malady, Sleep took hold of me, and I fell asleep. In my sleep I had a dream, And in my dream it seemed to me That all about me was a garden Beautiful and pleasant and gracious, Encircled by trees, covered with flowers. In the trees the birds were singing, And in their song they rejoiced. The place was marvelously beautiful. The paths were marked by trellises, And in between, by pavilions. And of flowerbeds, square and rectangular, There were quite a few, full of little flowers, White, violet, and red. With little meadows of green grass The entire path was covered. Then I went, it seemed to me, To sit in the place where best I found That no one could perceive me To better call to mind my grief. And then I began my lament anew, And I made, in the manner of a complainte, One that I have set down here in writing So that I might better remember it. Complainte My god, my lady, my mistress, To you I complain of my intense burning From the pain of love which wounds me so grievously And has already held me long in languor. And I complain, full of sorrow and tears, To you, my mistress, whom I call more than friend And will so call all the days of my life. Comfort me, so that I might have relief. I place myself entirely in your judgment: Pass judgment on me as both judge and party. And if I complain and rage and shout, Pardon me, I pray you humbly, For I have a pain that binds me so strongly That I could have absolutely no joy Nor comfort that might help me in any way To relieve my sorrowful affliction. What will I say to you? I am so distressed, I do not live at all; all I do is languish. Thus I beseech you, when it comes for me to die, Pray for me, please, all you lovers. And make sorrow, all young joyous hearts, That for loving and serving loyally I must end in tears and piteous laments, And without receiving help in any way Except from Hope, which says with certainty That it will help me remove the suffering That my heart feels. But there is only one physician That can turn my wrath into a pleasant desire. Therefore I will endure, while carrying on my grief. What more can I do if I refrain from laughing? And if I appear to have great anger, It troubles me, and yet I could refrain. But my sorrow is getting worse and worse. Therefore I must sigh and moan. I see that I must end in languishing, And my heart says that in languor it will end And that it will completely abandon joy. But before it dies, I will say to my mistress: “Lady without peer, for you I give up joy. Do with me anything that you please. “For thus my wish will be forever more To serve you, such is my will, Nor will it ever cease to be so, Hoping that your laughing eye And the sweetness of your fair welcome Might have pity on my piteous suffering. I will endure my grievous sorrows humbly, And singing a very sorrowful song, I say and will say, wherever I might be, I am always at your command.” So should I be, without changing, Completely, to the one who is without equal In honor, in goodness, in charm as well. Often, however, I lie awake in thought, And in thinking, I often marvel At the sorrow that she makes me endure, Given that long ago I wished to give to her My heart, my body, fully and exclusively. I put all my effort into serving her. That is my wish; that is my loyal intention: To serve her, honor her, and fear her Forever more, as long as I last. I will call her, without any exception, Lady, mistress, and my only beloved. In this wish I will make my destiny, Hoping that I might deserve better. I wish to be more and more attentive In serving her with all of my power. Awaiting that I might have some joy, I am and will be even more desirous To carry out her wish in every place, So that her will might wish to retain me As her servant. Then my stakes will double And my displeasure will turn into pleasure. For a long time now, all I do is languish And I have long been in such a state of languor While awaiting that, out of her great gentleness, She might wish to give me some comfort. Without reserve, I wish always to call her My most gentle heart and my loyal love. Have pity and be full of gentleness, Lady without peer, complete in every virtue. Have pity on the great burning Of the pain of love that binds me so strongly. Come to me, saying: “I release you.” No one else but you can comfort me. You can rule me according to your will. For a long time now I have been in servitude So greatly that I lose strength, color, and speech. Sighing, I wish that I were far at sea! Say if I am wrong to be discouraged And while weeping, to curse my life. For no lover ever suffered such bitterness As I do. I don’t know what I am saying! I surrender to you; do not desert me! My heart, my body, I present entirely to you, Piteously, far from the path of joy. Most humbly do I come to beseech you That you please retain me as your servant. My beautiful, good, young, joyous, gracious lady. I can sustain my complaint no longer, To tell the truth, for death pursues me Most ardently, but I want to consider myself Furnished with Hope, praying it that it obtain From my lady my reward, and that it expel Unhappiness from me entirely. I am carried off without anything to sustain me. I know no longer what I might become. Moaning and full of burning desire, Sighing, I have abandoned pleasure. As I was writing down my plaint And placing it in my book, I saw come very happily One who sang joyously. The words of his song were: Song Well should I consider myself in joy, When I see everyone who is destitute And who grieves for the rewards of love, I who have what I desired. I could not wish for better. I surpass the others who are lucky. Well should I consider myself in joy, When I see everyone who is destitute. I wish that I could grant To all faithful lovers Ladies to make them joyous. As for me, wherever I am, Well should I consider myself in joy, When I see everyone who is destitute And who grieves for the rewards of love, I who have what I desired. After he had sung his song, He listened to the birds Who sang very sweetly. It was a great pleasure. And he set about making a floral chaplet Which was very beautiful, it seems to me, For he had enough with which to make it. Of flowers there were many a pair. Upon his head he quickly placed it And then sat down on the grass And he began a ballade. It wasn’t made by a sickly man. You will find the ballade here. You will be able to read it, if you like. Ballade I give thanks to Love and to my lady Who keep me in such happiness, For not a single displeasure, by my soul, Do I have, from any sadness. I feel neither sorrow nor distress. I am the luckiest of lovers. What is it to be sorrowful? As for me, I don’t know at all, But I am occupied with pleasure. I have no other malady. Thus it will be written on my tomb When Death becomes my mistress That loyally, with no dishonor, I always served my princess The entire time of my youth, Without being distressed by pain And desirous of nothing. You judge: don’t I have a good life Always to be in such great joy? I have no other malady. Let him who wishes complain and protest About Danger, Rejection, and Distress. I neither praise nor blame them, For they do not oppress me at all. Fair Welcome guides my goddess, Sweet Regard governs her eyes, And both of these are friends to me. Loyalty has not been lacking Should I not say in every place: I have no other malady? Prince of Love, may God protect my soul And body from false envious ones, And may he grant to all true lovers The seigniory of pleasure, For as for me, so help me God, I have no other malady. From his appearance, he wasn’t at all Afflicted with melancholy As I am at present. For if he came joyously, He goes away more joyous still. He is not weary of carrying on his joy. He does not fear sickness or death. As he left, he sang loud and vigorously, But soon he was in the woods, And I could not hear his voice. Then I resumed complaining of my sorrow Piteously, and without hesitating To call upon Love for mercy And upon my beautiful lady too.         But I do not know what they will do, Nor if they will have mercy on me. They can in every way destroy me Or in little time restore me, Whichever seems good to them, For my desire will not change For any pain that I might endure. And in order better to show That my suffering is too harsh for me, Out of distress I have dressed in black, Without wearing any other color, Until such time that my sorrow ceases And I arrive at happiness By the desire of my mistress. And I am so content with my grief And so much does it please while wounding me, When I considered that it is for her Who above all women is without peer. “Thus,” I say to myself, “My friend, Aren’t you content to have placed yourself With her in whom all virtues abound, The flower of beauty of the entire world? By serving well you will arrive At the rewards that you will seek.” Thus at times does Hope serve me. At other times Despair overcomes me. Desire attacks and makes war upon me. Memory often makes me cry out And say, “Alas! When will I see again My lady, and when will I speak To her charming, fair beauty? My eyes will be in darkness And piteously will I languish Until the time that I see her again. When I am there, this know I well, Her wish will not be mine. Thus I don’t know what to do, To go there or to draw further away.”         Then I thought that I would write And that I would send my letter to her. Letter My god, my lady, my mistress, To your very charming youth I commend myself as many times As one could place peas One upon another up to the sky, Desiring ever more and more To hear sweet news of you, Praying God that it be such That you are still in joy, For thus would I desire it. And if you like, out of your humbleness, To hear of my piteous distress, Please know, my dreaded one And my well beloved lady, That my heart does nothing but languish, Complain, weep, and often moan, So firmly have I set my will On serving you very loyally In heart, in body, and in thought. Thus I beseech you, my only beloved, That it might be your sweet pleasure To cause me to rejoice a bit. Then will I sing very happily. I wish to sing joyously And to show by my joyous expression That I have hope of gaining happiness And that, by my mistress’s will, I will have an abundance of rewards. Make me a gift of your mercy, Oh lady, fair and gentle in every way. Make me put on a happy countenance. None but you has the power to do so. Make me remove my black attire And dress me in happiness instead. Don’t allow me to remain in sadness. Turn my plaints into joy. I call myself your servant alone, Beseeching you very humbly That you consider me your servant. Then I will have wealth enough, For never will I grow tired Of cherishing, serving, and fearing you. Not a single day do I wish to fail To carry out your good wish, Letting you know, my lady, That it seems to me that you would do wrong To allow me to suffer death, You who can rescue me. Now do what you please about it, For if I die, upon my soul, I say That it is for the most beautiful lady Who ever walked upon this earth. For God’s sake, may it not displease you, My god, my lady, my only physician, If I embolden myself to write to you. I don’t know if it will turn out Worse or better for me, which it will be. And therefore no more for the present Do I write to you about my torment, But I pray earnestly to God That he give you joy, health, and honor And rewards in great abundance, And a willingness that your humbleness Thus have pity on my cries, So that my sorrow might cease. Written in the place that He who carries this letter will tell you. When I had composed my entire letter, Closed it, sealed, and copied it, I thought that I would send it Just as soon as I could Unto my lady in all haste. Then I called at once A very loyal servant of mine Whom I loved with all my heart, Who formerly had been To her who is the object of my wish, And I told him to go at once To my lady, and to hasten As quickly as possible to return, And if he was able to speak to her, That he request her most humbly That she wish to reduce my torment And to ease my piteous laments And the sorrow in which I remain. My servant took his leave from me And I told him to remember What I had said to him. Then he set out upon his way There where he was supposed to go. Alone I remained in my garden, And I said to myself, “Fair sweet gods, Will I be distressed or joyous? Will I have joy or unhappiness? Oh, God, when will he return? I hope that he will bring to me Tidings that will please me well. Would my lady really have pity Upon my very painful grief? Oh, would to God that He bring it about! Love, have mercy upon me! Come to my aid at this time!” Then I heard near a wood A voice, so as it seemed to me, That said to me, “Fair sweet friend, Sing and make an effort to recover, For I say to you, and without lying, That from your lady you will have great good And she will take you for her own.” It said no more; I don’t know where it went. But I know well that because of this I felt myself a little gladdened. But just as soon as it was gone, Despair returned from behind In order to make me change my mood. And then I no longer knew what to say. Too painful was my suffering.         Oh lady, must I be expelled From the Inn of Joy, For serving well, for loving strongly Your fair beauty without peer? Will you let me spend my whole life So long a time dressed in black Because of despair? Oh Death, bring about my end. My sorrow is too painful And causes me too great an anguish.         Complaining thus, I made a song Of which I have written here the words, But I did not wish at all to sing it. Song I know no longer what to ask When nothing do you wish to grant. My asking would amount to nought. Deprived I am of every good Today more than ever before. My grief begins to grow stronger And my joy to decrease. Pity does not want to take my side. I know no longer what to ask When nothing do you wish to grant. My asking would amount to nought. Do not allow me to despair, But instead, please comfort me. I hold myself your servant alone And humbly do I come to ask, In short, for death or mercy. I know no longer what to ask When nothing do you wish to grant. My asking would amount to nought. Deprived I am of every good, Today more than ever before. Better to be silent than speak folly. I can easily refrain from laughing About the fact that I told my wish To her who has the power To return my heart to joy. But more than I was accustomed, I am pensive and melancholy Since I told her of my sorrows. But I believed to be doing the best. Now I cannot take it back.         While I carried on in this way, Full of tears, my head inclined, I saw enter into the garden A handsome young squire Who was complaining bitterly And seemed to be very sorrowful. And he said, in the manner of a lament: “Love, I suffer many a sorrow. Formerly I would sing and laugh, And Sorrow wishes to destroy me Wrongly and without any cause. Will you allow something so unjust, For me, who serve you so loyally? Being in your service would be worth very little If Happiness and I were not in accord. Love, set my lady back On the path of helping me. Then you will see me greatly rejoice And make the minstrels blow their horns. Love, I beseech you, allow me To have some relief from you.” While he went, lamenting thus, A young woman came up to him, Young, gracious, pretty, and fair, And said to him, “My lady sends me To tell you to be in joy. Now get up, come with me And don’t be distressed any longer.” He thanked her very gently And he went away with her. And I, who remained alone, Recommenced my piteous grief, Saying, “Love, you distribute your goods Abundantly and sufficiently To everyone except to me. Alas! I don’t know why it’s so. I don’t think that I have committed a fault Or done anything wrong to you For which I ought to have such punishment That there is not an hour in the week That my pain does not keep growing. My days end in languishing. Oh Death, come! I surrender to you!” Then entered within the garden My servant, secretly, And humbly he greeted me. Then I asked, “What news?” He told me that it was good and fair: That my lady greeted me And that she had taken my letter And had made him good cheer. But Danger was so close behind That he could not speak to her Nor tell her what he wished, Except only as he left, She told him if I wished to come To a place that I had chosen, That I would have good cheer from her. No more did he speak to her. He took his leave and returned. When he had given his whole report, Then I begged him very strongly To tell me how she seemed And if she wished me good or ill. Then he swore to me with an oath That truly it appeared to him That one day I would have her grace. God wish that it be so That I might obtain her grace. It’s the only reward that I desire. And if one day I can have it, I will do my loyal duty To serve her so loyally In heart, in body, in thought, That never was any lady cherished, Feared, dreaded, or served As I will serve her, For I will carry out her every wish Within my power, better and better, So that her heart will be joyous To have my heart to serve it. Oh, Love! Let me come To the rewards of your domain. Take away my melancholy And put my heart beyond reach of pain. Then I began to write a lay And I named it here in writing “The Lai of Tears,” awaiting relief. Lai Love, Love, formerly I used to Sing, dance, and carry on joy,             And now Sorrow assails and makes war upon me. I am on the path of Despair.             Because of my boldness In saying too much, I am now Assailed sorrowfully             By Distress, Which treats me so harshly That soon will I be dead             By its efforts. If I die, will you not be wrong To allow me to suffer death             For serving well? I will say that Loyalty is asleep When it does not give me comfort             To gladden My heart, which does nothing but languish At the instigation of Burning Desire.             Both night and day, It does nothing but cry and moan, Nor can it collect any reward             Other than sorrow. Have pity on my cry, My mistress and my only love.             Take pity To see me in such languishing And to hear my piteous weeping.             Gracious, joyful lady, Be attentive to healing me. Fair, charming, and gracious one,             You will do well: Turn my darkened life Into a perfect life of joy.             Take me as your own. My heart is yours, not my own, For your gracious conduct             Took it from me And seized it and wants it as its own. Give it either happiness or nothing.             My wish Is to endure the cruelty Of Love, thinking that Loyalty             Will aid me; And that she will give me joy, The one in whom resides all beauty,             When it pleases her. My sorrow will then be turned Into happiness, and my grief             Will turn into joy. Hope tells me that it will be so. Fair Welcome says that it will instruct her             That I be loved. Alas! if only I could be loved, I would ask for nothing more.             I would have enough. But Rejection wars against me strongly, So that I don’t know what I should say,             So completely am I beaten. Should I not be worn out From having endured so many pains             And so much suffering? God of Love, comfort My heart which is distressed,             For Death rules it And wishes to lead it into his domain. Oh, pity! my sovereign lady,             Make my grief Cease just once a week. Release me from this suffering             That I receive There where I am dead upon the threshold Because of Desire, in whose grip I am.             And I cannot, Unless it is by your sweet will, Recover. I am, more than I am accustomed,             Near to the door Of Despair. I am assailed By Discouragement. And I don’t find             Anyone to help me, However close I am to death. Thus I will have to be led off             To its abode. Should I not curse the fate By which I often moan and cry,             And the look Which pleased me so excessively? From it I received this wound.             It was the dart Which wounded me both early and late. Because of it, my heart trembles and burns.             God of Love, Will I be Joy’s bastard child? Will I have rolled an unlucky number             In the game of joy? Haven’t I been melancholy, Oh young, gracious beauty with fair eyes,             For a long time? Leave me no longer in a state of desire. By God, fair one, you will do better,             For without reason I am long without healing And I have an abundance of pain,             For which I sigh For the fact that I lose my well-being. I am locked up in sorrow.             Should I then laugh? Tell me, should I be satisfied? I feel the worst of all pains.             Were it not for Hope, I would be dead, without further denial. But it tells me that it should suffice             For me To remain its servant, dressed in black, Waiting to have Mercy             When it pleases her. And may this be her wish; My happiness, to tell the truth,             Will return. She can do whatever she likes. My wish will not change             To be a pilgrim During the time to come. I hope that it will be better for me             In the end. Thus I pray from my heart to Saint Valentine That he be disposed to succor me             Against the sorrow Which possesses me both evening and morning. And thus do I wish to bring to an end             The Lai of Tears. Then when I had finished my lai And recorded it in my book, As I was sleeping, it seemed to me That I drew near to the country Where resided my only joy, She whom I so much desired to see. Then I thought that I would go see her In order to remind her of my sorrow And to see if I would fare any better.         But I find her, so help me God, So well surrounded by Rejection That I am completely discomfited. But her rebuffs are so pleasing And her disdain is so appealing That her refusal pleases me more Than all the goods that one could think Of having, if they came not from her. Thus has my case grown worse, For formerly I lived in hope. Now I am in despair. For the other day, when I departed, I left without taking leave of her, Thinking to hide my malady. But I quickly recognized my folly And I know that she was displeased. Then I sent to her to ask That it please her to pardon me And to relieve my sorrow. I had the pardon without the relief, And I learned that she was not disposed To wish to keep me as her own. Therefore piteously must I languish Without having any cure For the grievous pains of which I have so many. Therefore I have composed a ballade. Languishing, extremely ill, I wrote it and put it in my book. If you like, you may read it. Ballade Dead and not dead, languishing in sadness, And far removed from all rewards of love, Dressed in black and naked of happiness, Surrounded by envious Rejection, Full of most melancholy thought Am I for my lady, who does not wish to love me. Alas! Love, please counsel her That her will and her sweet grace might be To cure me and relieve my pain, For my sorrow totally blots out my heart. Alas! Am I to end my youth In tears, in plaints, in mournful sighs? Will I never find the way to relief? Will my heart remain forever in such anguish, Oh young, gracious, gentle beauty with fair eyes? Lacking hope, I am near to despairing. Does it please you well to let me meet my end? Is it your will that I should perish? Comfort me, for I need it badly, For my sorrow totally blots out my heart. I send to you to ask, your humbleness, For pardon that I have been ungracious. For my grievous pain constrains and wounds me So greatly that, so help me God, I know not what to do, so greatly do I desire To obtain that which I cannot find: It is your love, fair lady without peer, But you do not wish to be anywhere near to me, For which I feel that I surely must go mad, For my sorrow totally blots out my heart. My God, my lady, my most gentle mistress, I cannot recover from my harsh distress If not through you. Tell me what to do. Comfort me, please, my goddess, For my sorrow totally blots out my heart. When thus I finished my ballade, Extremely ill with sorrow, I sighed very tenderly, Lamenting piteously The sorrows that I receive for her, Saying to myself, “She is the one Who surpasses all other women in goodness. She is the ruby who eclipses all.” While I was in this thought, I saw enter into the garden A messenger who came to me, Saying, “Sorrow sends me to you And declares to you that it comes to lodge Within your heart without delay, And with it will be Rejection, Nor will it leave Danger behind. Together with a multitude of soldiers, You will soon perceive them. And it also told me that Memory, Accompanied by Burning Desire, Would not budge from your heart And would keep it company.” He said no more; he departed from me, Nor did I know what happened to him. Then I began to cry, “Alas! Love, am I within your bonds So strongly wrapped That my heart feels only torment? From day to day my sorrow grows, And it receives not a single pleasure. When I am close to my lady, I find myself distant from her love, And when I am far, Burning Desire Makes me remember seeing her.” And thus, grievously ill, I have written here a ballade. Ballade Sorrow declares to me that it keeps its fortress Within my heart, and will be garrisoned there, And that with it, it will retain Sadness. These two will have soldiers aplenty. For with them, in order to strengthen the house, Will be Desire, to carry out the assault, And Memory, the valiant champion. These two have already chosen their position. They have handed over the large main tower And the main donjon to Discouragement, And they have ordered Despair to draw near And to hasten, for now is its time. Danger will be given lodging, for it is proper, And with it Rejection, have no doubt. Each will bear a club in its hand. These two have already chosen their position. All of these have sworn that if Happiness Comes near, they’ll throw it into prison. But I greatly fear that it will hardly approach Unless from Pity I find some relief. Alas! Love, you do great wrong To keep me in so piteous a state, In tears, in plaints; it is my destruction. These two have already chosen their position. Ballade More and more I see my sorrow Renew and my laments increase I feel my heart within the Lake of Tears, And my eyes are all washed out from weeping. My heart is already in every way so lifeless, I am completely mute when I should speak, I must stay awake when I am supposed to sleep, And all this does she who is without peer, Who in this state wishes to make me languish. Desire holds me in its bonds by night and day, And Memory seizes me between its hands. Fair Welcome comes to welcome me into its tower, Saying to me, “You see that I am not slow To love you. I declare you to be well loved. But more than that I do not wish to grant, Nor do I wish to keep any other as my own.” All this says to me she who is without peer, Who in this state wishes to make me languish. How will I be able to leave off my cries And the thoughts by which I am so strongly afflicted? How will I have the power and strength To bear the pains by which I am oppressed And the sadness with which I am totally stricken When my princess does not wish to grant The gift of “lover,” nor keep me as her own? My heart is doomed to despair because of her Who in this state wishes to make me languish. Ballade Since it pleases the fair one to have me die, I am content, so truly help me God, And I would rather receive because of her As many pains as a lover ever did Than from another woman to have joy. So let her do anything she pleases, For in this state my heart wishes to stay. My eyes desire it and my thought as well. And they both say, “One could never see A fairer lady, faultless in every way.” Her great beauty places the memory Within my heart which binds me everywhere, And furthermore, Burning Desire pursues me, Which compels me strongly to desire To see her noble gracious self again. And her rejection puts me in despair When she does not wish to take me as her own Nor to have any mercy on my pain. Nevertheless, one could not see A fairer lady, faultless in every way. What will I tell you? All I do is moan And sigh, as one who is very sorrowful. I have all the pains that one could ever feel. I am pensive and melancholy. I have a great desire to serve her, And yet I greatly fear remaining near her, For I am afraid that someone could perceive The wish that I have had until now To love her, for one can not see A fairer lady, faultless in every way. While I was composing my ballades In my dream, and while lamenting, It seemed to me that I drew near to her Who is the fairest lady in the world, And that I asked her for her mercy, That it please her to restore me to joy, Saying to her, as one entirely hers: “My heart is yours; it is not my own. I beg you, please keep it and protect it.” Then she responded with a sweet disdain And with so gracious a rebuff That I was entirely confounded, Saying to me, “I do not want To keep it all, but one portion Of your heart I will surely keep, And the other I will return to you.” But I did not wish to accept it, Nor could I say anything to her. But she then went on to say That she would have no one as her own, Nor would she ever be only mine. Then I fell completely silent And I didn’t know what more to say to her. But so that no one perceive my anger, I humbly said goodbye to her, And while speaking to her, I saw That she was very deep in thought.         Alas! What is her thought? Is it piteous of my suffering? I don’t know what to think or say. I want to die in serving her. I would not dare return to her Any day of my life, Lest someone perceive my malady. Far from her I could not live. Thus I am going to destroy myself And put myself to death with my own two hands. Oh, Love! I rightly complain about you, If you allow me to die And end so piteously That my soul will be damned And my life dishonored For having put myself to death. It is better that, out of discouragement, I leave the world entirely And that I destroy myself. Then I will be dishonored, When they say that out of cowardice I will have fled from the battle. Alas! I don’t know how to seek a cure. I have no wish to think of anything Except only how to shorten my life In order to hasten my death.         While I was in such a turmoil, I thought that I would challenge Someone to combat, and that I’d write To him very quickly In order to make my death More honorable, to the extent I could, And more agreeable to my heart To end in this way Than either of the two other options. Then I composed a summons to arms, Sealed with the seal of my arms, Which is here in writing So that I might better remember it. Letter In the name of God, of our Lady, and of my lady St. Katherine, out of love of my mortal folly, to you, Lord of Cornwall, I send my letter, informing you, as one of the most worthy and most renowned knights of the party of the king of England, that, on account of my heart which I have newly lost, I have undertaken to challenge you to combat by this letter. And do not take it as an act of pride, for, in order that you might know why I have undertaken this challenge, please know that I have loved and will love all my life the most peerless lady in the world. But such it is that she does not wish to take my heart as a servant, and from this I can see that she wishes to hasten my death. And since it is so, that she who surpasses all others in virtue desires my end, I write to challenge you out of my most sorrowful presumption. For I know well that your virtues are so great that, as for your feats of arms, I will never prevail, if it were not that my only mistress took pity on my end. If it is not through her, I can be worth nothing. In her resides my strength and my force. I am left without heart, without honor, without power. Thus you can see that you will have hardly any trouble in overcoming me. But our match will be carried out in this way. When you have surpassed and overcome me, you will not take anything but my life. For in this way I wish to end my life. And if it were such that she who has the power to return my heart to joy by her virtue gave me the strength to put you to defeat, I would not wish to have from you, without anything else, but a diamond to send to her who will have overcome you. And so that I might keep this letter unaltered, I have sealed it with the true seal of my arms. When I had composed my entire letter And written it within my book, My heart then began to dream, Cursing Danger very strongly, Which leads me to destruction. Then it came to me in a vision That Hope then swore to me very strongly That I would have comfort from my lady And that I would be claimed as friend And comforted with her love, And that she was greatly displeased With the pain that my heart received. Thus does Hope keep me alive. Otherwise I might not live at all. And while I was in this state And comforted myself with Hope, I looked very amicably At one who was secretly Hidden within the garden And who was greatly troubled. When he saw that I had noticed him, He said, “Friend, God give you joy! What reason do you have to be distressed. So greatly and to protest The pains that come to you from Love? What are these cares that are called love? I never heard speak of them. These are things to make one mad. I can see it in your manner, You who have so piteous an expression. I thought that no one had sadness, Sorrow, displeasure, or distress Except myself, exclusively, Who partake of these so abundantly That I am kept too well from laughing. But if it pleased you to tell me The reason for your sorrow, If I could offer any relief, I would do so with good heart.” Then I gently thanked him, Telling him that I ask for no comfort Other than my death, For the physician who can heal The pain from which my heart so suffers Wants me to languish thus in sorrow. “But tell me about your case,” I said, “And the reason for your complaint. For it seems to me that you suffer many A harsh distress within your heart. For if I could out of respect Comfort you, I would do so, And within my power, I’d give you Advice with regard to your cure. So tell me your story, Please, I beg you.” Then he said to me in mockery, “Alas! How would you help me? You have so much to do yourself That you don’t know which way to turn. How could anyone counsel me Who doesn’t know how to help himself, However much he wanted to?” “Sweet brother,” then I said to him, “Perhaps I could counsel you Better than I do myself. Tell me, please, why You are so distressed. And after, if you wish to know The whole truth about my pain, I will tell you briefly.” Then he said, “Since you wish it, I wish to tell you. Listen! Ballade “At the beginning of my youth, When I was first starting out, I was captivated by happiness And by the pursuit of pleasure. I had a fair and pleasant lodging Near to a wood and replete with gardens Where I went to amuse myself. My joy turned out very badly for me! “One day, when I, carefree, Was in a garden, all by myself, I looked up towards a little tower And saw fly by very nobly A sparrowhawk, which threatened All the birds in the enclosure, From which I took great solace. My joy turned out very badly for me! “Immediately I set about To see if I could find a way To capture it, but sadness Came upon me quickly, For I captured it, but badly Did I keep it, it seems to me. For which I wept and often said, ‘My joy turned out very badly for me!’ “Before I was able to capture it, And before it would surrender to me, Many times I had a great deal of pain. There was not an hour in the week That I wasn’t, in evening and morning, Closed up inside the garden, And all I did was to study How I could get to know the sparrowhawk And attract it to me. It would indeed come up close to me, But I wasn’t able to capture it, Nor did I wish to let it go, So much did I have a complete desire To wish to obtain it for my own. So completely did it please me That I gave it all my thought, Without thinking of anything else, Out of love of its beautiful demeanor. I took great pains to please it And kept myself from displeasing it. I was in this state for a long time, For never a day did I depart From near that which I loved so much, Because I could not capture it. In so doing I had considerable pain. Then it happened to me one week, On a Monday, early in the morning, The day after Saint Valentine’s Day, When all the birds want to sing, Just as I had gone to play In the garden as at other times, I saw this courteous sparrowhawk Come alight upon my hand. But I call myself unlucky That otherwise I didn’t keep it. I was born in an unlucky hour To have won so great a reward, Only to lose it like a wretch. For never did anyone see a bird So noble, so pleasing, nor so fair, Nor of so courteous a bearing. Its nature would please everyone. For a long time I had great joy from it In showing it all the humbleness And gentleness that I could. I loved it greatly from my heart And it loved me, it seemed to me. Thus was the game begun Most loyally between us two. It was pleased with all my games. It cared not to know anyone else. Nor did anyone else carry it Except for myself alone. I kept it for a very long time. Wherever it flew, it was So well-bred, so noble, and so gracious That it always came back to me, And did not wish to change me for another. In this state did I spend my youth. Then it happened one day by mischance That I was inside the garden And I saw a peregrine falcon That performed wonders in flying. I placed myself beneath the arbor In order to watch its behavior, And I took such pleasure in it That I thought that if I could have it, That I would be richer than if I had All the money in the world. Covetousness, which may God confound, Made me think about it so much That I forgot my sparrowhawk. When I came back to my sparrowhawk, I perceived all too well That it had grown a bit cool to me, But I was so foolishly mad With wanting to capture the falcon That I became as dry as a stick. But one evening, while I was in the garden In order to see the falcon better, I saw a male peregrine come, Which clearly seemed, when it arrived, A bird of high and noble rank. When it had come, they made a pair. They began to celebrate And to touch their beaks together. They embraced each other with their wings. These two birds celebrated So much that it was a great wonder. And then they took to their wings And together they took their way, I knew not where nor what became of them. But when I saw that I had lost The falcon, may God give me joy, I was so terribly upset That I cried very tenderly. But hardly had my grief begun to grow When I could clearly recognize That I had suffered a double loss, And it was my just deserts. When I came back to where I had left My sparrowhawk, and thought To find it there just as before, I looked about and realized That it had left its perch, Which was to me a piteous case. Thus I recognized my coquetry And my mortal stupidity, And that I had, for wanting to change, Completely lost my sparrowhawk, And I hadn’t caught the falcon at all. And therefore I wanted nothing else Except to die; that is all. I wish to end pitifully, While seeking if I might hear Good news about what I have lost. For if I could get it back, I would take care of it more wisely, Without breaching my loyalty. My falsehood turned out very badly, Which makes me languish in this state. I am forced to suffer because of falsehood. Oh, cursed be flirtation! No one can lead such a life Who doesn’t regret it in the end. I am dead of hunger for joy And formerly I was so well filled. Oh, Loyalty, I beseech you, Do not put me to death for this, However much I was in the wrong Towards you, and so badly erred That I could never make up for it, If it were not that, out of your humbleness, You had pity on my sadness. And I would swear to you loyally That never would I do wrong To you any day of my life. Thus I tell of my malady And of my pain. I don’t know if you’re pleased Or if my speech displeases you. With this I will finish my story. You have heard the cause And the reason for my complaint Which I make without any feigning. Now tell me yours as well. And then our exchange will be complete.” Ballade Then I said to him, “Fair friend, Well have I heard your cry, And I am very greatly dismayed That you experience such sorrow. It seems to me to be a folly To carry on so for a bird, To the point of losing strength and vigor, Sighing in both evening and morning. “We know well that in amusement One cannot win any honor. Who has led you to this state, To have for birds so great a love And to be for them in such a fever That you be completely subject to them, So much that you lose both strength and vigor, Sighing in both evening and morning? “This state of mind in which you are placed Has lingered with you much too long, So does it seem to me. I would say that it’s for the best That you take a different turn. That’s my advice, my fair sweet cousin, Since you lose both strength and vigor, Sighing in both evening and morning. “And if you’d like to know my plaints And the pains of which I complain, Know that it is for a lady Who, by my soul, in beauty is Alone without equal, the peerless one. She is the star distinct and different That surpasses all others in brightness. She is the one who outshines them all In all the goods that God and Nature Could place in any creature. She is the one with whom all must be pleased. If God still had it to do, He could never make another such. She is gracious, joyful, and fair. So charming is her look And so appealing her sweet speech That her demeanor pleases all. She is the goddess of pleasantness, She is the treasure of courtesy, She is the god of joyous life, She is the very princess of honor, She’s an Alexander of generosity. She is all the virtues that one could name. I wouldn’t know how to describe so many That she not have a great deal more. But there are so many that her rebuff Makes me languish piteously, When she doesn’t wish to consider me her own, Her humble and loyal servant. That is the reason for my grief. That is why I have such distress, However much Hope promises me That I will be loved by her And comforted for my pain. And Hope does promise me in truth That very soon I will perceive The good will that she has for me. And it has sworn to me by its faith That not long ago she said That she could not love me better, And that there is no woman in the world Who can love an earthly man more, By her soul, than she loves me. And it also says, I don’t know why, That she wouldn’t like at all to tell me Of the love by which she is assailed. Hope wants me to be in that condition, But Desire, which rules my heart, Makes me desire her love so much That often I am forced to sigh And say ‘alas’ both morning and night. Song “Languishing, I await your will Within these woods, quite secretly. No one is here to provide me pleasure. I am all alone except for Hope, “Which often lets my heart know That it is loved. Truly nonetheless, Languishing, I await your will Within these woods, quite secretly. “If it were true that I could see That you loved me more than anyone else, I would have Joy at my command And I would sing, driving out Despair, “Languishing, I await your will Within these woods, quite secretly. No one is here to provide me pleasure. I am all alone except for Hope. “What do you want me to say to you? Brother, all my malady Comes from her alone. She can pass judgment on me: She is both judge and one of the parties. What do you say? Should I not Complain and be sorrowful? If I were so unlucky That Hope departed from me, I would want to die without delay. Thus does Hope sustain me. Otherwise I would have to meet my end. And if God wants me to have Her love, I will never be as foolish As you were with your sparrowhawk, Who left it in order to choose another. Never would I want to change. I would serve her as best I could With all my heart so loyally Without ever having a single thought For anyone else except for her. You have heard my case. Don’t I have better cause to complain And to love well, without relenting, Than you do, who love so greatly A bird that flies away? Please tell me what you think about this, Fair brother and fair sweet friend.” “Brother, I can defend myself no more. I have to give up in my dispute. I have laid out in poetry And likewise in rhyme The sorrow that my heart was feeling, Pretending that it was for fun. My heart is at the point of destruction. But I want to tell you the cause For which this distress has come upon me For which I wish myself dead. The sparrowhawk of which I spoke, In which I took all my pleasure, Was in fact a young woman, Gracious of body, extremely fair, That I had loved in my youth, And I suffered much distress Before I was loved by her And relieved of my pain. Nonetheless, it turned out so well for me That finally she took me as her own. And I lost her because of flirtation, For which I often curse my life. But to bring our debate to an end, I consider myself checkmated, And I say that there’s no lady in the world, No maiden, or any other woman, That one could compare in any way To her whom I heard you praise. All women ought to pay her homage And put themselves in her service. And thus you will tell me, fair brother, Of the sorrow that is bitter for you. Without varying in loyalty, Think that you will be relieved, For there is enough good in you To keep company with hers.” He said no more, it seems to me, And he left me completely dismayed, Just as lonely as before, And he went away, I don’t know how. Hardly had I been left alone When it seemed to me that my Body felt A very great grief, and that it complained About my Heart, which had abandoned it. My Heart said that the Body was wrong To feel such great distress, And each, in the form of a lament, Made a complaint about the other, And if it wouldn’t bore you, You will be able to see it here. Complaint Not long ago, in the style of a lament, My Body spoke sharply to my Heart, Saying, “I suffer many a grief. I go, I come, I have no rest. You have conceived so high an idea And undertaken so high a task That I will be forced to end piteously. It was bad luck for me you got such an idea. “I knew a time when I used to be strong And now I cannot hold myself up. I spend my days in sorrow without relief, And it is all due to you, who wanted to depart From inside of me and leap out through my eyes. This will be a hard escape for me. I will be dead; then you will have to seek Another body if you want to stay alive. “I know too well it’s not within my power To endure such sorrow for a long time. I have easily a hundred eyes within my mind That day and night do nothing but look, And do not let me rest, however little. There are always three or four that stay awake To look at the great beauty without peer Of my lady, and at her pleasing features.” Then my Heart replied, “I am surprised That you do not take pleasure from your pain, When you know well that she is without equal In honor, in any virtue that one could choose. If through your eyes I wished to take my leave, In hoping to obtain her grace By loving strongly, by serving loyally Her great beauty, which surpasses every other, “Shouldn’t you put up with your distress For the great rewards that can come to you? If you will be able to know the happiness That by your eyes will come to you one day And the pleasure that they will make you have, You ought to take great joy in their looking. For, as for them, they will never tire Of looking at the summit of all good. “You go about saying that you have within you More than a hundred eyes. I made them come there To take up lodging on the first of May. Do you know why? So that you might wish To hold onto and always keep in mind The great good that I had seen that morning. That is the good that I want to obtain, For which I have undertaken to be a pilgrim.” “Oh fair sweet Heart, please comfort me. I can no longer find comfort on my own. Come put yourself back inside of me. Abandon this act on which we’re in discord. By God, I think that you are very wrong For it seems to me that she cannot love, And she doesn’t care if you receive your death. She is content to make you go mad. “Many a time have you entreated her That it please her to give you happiness. But I perceive that it just gets worse for me. My hardship just increases more and more. Inasmuch as she is without peer in France. She ought to be more pitiful of my pains, I, who serve her with all my power As my lady and as my princess of love. “I know too well that if you believe Hope, The next day it will deceive you And it will make you linger in desire. But I fear greatly it will give you nothing. That’s its business; I have known it long. Many people are fooled by its manner. Now do anything you please about it, To refuse or carry out my prayer.” “Body, say no more; it is my wish To serve her while maintaining loyalty. Nor will I ever come back within you Until the time that I bring with me The noble heart of my beautiful princess. In this hope, forget the distress That you are having, for if I could obtain The gift of 'lover,' I would make you richer Than you have been at any time in your life. You have never had as much melancholy, Affliction, grief, or sorrowful laments, As you will receive of joy between your hands If my mistress wished to love me well. You have no body in which you could lodge The great happiness that would come to you from me If she wished to retain me as her servant. If God wished that it might please her such That her two eyes wanted to draw me Within her heart, then I’d come back to you, And afterwards, do you know what I would do? We two together would swear homage to her, To always hold ourselves in her service. And if she accepted our pledge of faith And by her will wanted to permit us To consider ourselves as hers for all our life, Never would we have pain or malady. And day and night we would be filled with joy. Whatever might happen to you or me. In this wish I will make my destiny, And I will never see my thought change. Endure, Body, I beg you, please, the great reward That will come to me: that I be hers.” Then the Body answered, “Fair sweet friend, There is so much good where you are placed That I would never wish to draw you back. But in the hope that I might have joy, Very melancholy, I wish to sing. Song “My heart has leapt out through my eyes, For which my body has no consolation. Nor do I wish to draw it back. I don’t know where to lodge it better. “It is lodged, so help me God, In the true treasury of all joy. My heart has leapt out through me eyes, For which my body has no consolation. “However sorrowful I am, Yet I have hope that I might come, More and more than I was accustomed, To the supreme reward of lovers. “My heart has leapt out through my eyes, For which my body has no consolation. Nor do I wish to draw it back. I don’t know where to lodge it better. “Heart, do what you will. Maintain yourself in loyalty. Torment me as much as you want. I am weak and badly injured, But nonetheless I will endure The very best that I am able The thing that you have undertaken. Your intention is well placed. Hold to it is my advice, For she’s the god without peer Of all the ladies who are now, Who were, or who will ever be In all the places that one could name, And none could ever name as many As there are, upon God and my soul. She is the most peerless lady Who is and who will ever be. And therefore, let him live who can, I am ready to endure all And by suffering to console myself As did Palamedes. Song “I have made my treasury of wishes, And I have equipped myself with Hope In order to resist against Sorrow And against its harsh attacks. “Distress does not leave me in peace, But I wish to wage war upon it. I have made my treasury of wishes, And I have equipped myself with Hope. “And therefore from now on I want To dress in white instead of black, For the hope I have of obtaining Some relief from my complaints. “I have made my treasury of wishes, And I have equipped myself with Hope In order to resist against Sorrow And against its harsh attacks.” The Heart thanked the Body That it was its pleasure To be a true martyr for love. Despite the harsh turns That love made it suffer, Yet it didn’t wish to budge. “Thus are we both in accord Always to be just as desirous Of cherishing, serving, and fearing her. Neither of us wants to be slow To carry out her charming wish, Beseeching her that it please her Willingly to accept our piteous deeds And to reduce our grievous sorrows, And in singing, to ask of her: Song “Place us in the true memory Of the depth of your thought. Oh princess that we desire, Make us come before you. “For all we do is languish Day and night, eve and morn. Place us in the true memory Of the depth of your thought. “Accompanied by Burning Desire We endure our destiny. Offering, oh dearly beloved, This song, in order to ask: “Place us in the true memory Of the depth of your thought. Oh princess that we desire, Make us come before you.” When our debate was ended And recorded in this book, It happened that I awoke, And then I looked around me And I saw that I was all alone, And I thought that I would conduct My grief in private, So I said piteously, “Alas, Love, Love, you have made me suffer So much that upon awakening, I must make a complaint about you. My sleep is nothing but a torment. When one thinks that I am resting Because one sees my eyes are closed, That is when my suffering increases Such that I never saw the like. The eye of my body has no rest For it is enclosed in Desire, Which constantly makes it see its death, And yet it agrees to have it. And therefore no one should reproach me, For Reason wishes to end my pain, But you, Love, don’t want to allow it, So much does my pleasing folly please me. I call it a pleasing folly However unpleasant it may be. In drawing me in, it throws me down And it slays me with its full rebuff. Love, evil was your manner To make such a lady a murderess, And yet she can do nothing for my pain. I resemble Palamedes, Who wished, without anything in return, To love for all his life. My will is to do the same. Not a single day do I wish to withdraw. (Thus one says some sort of noise Piteously in the end.) For such a deed he was put to death, And he was in agreement with it. Alas! And so much would I like my death, I would not wish for anything else Except only to die. Oh Death, why do you not end My life, which is too distressful And too greatly sorrowful? Everything bothers me, whatever I see. Instead of pleasure I have aggravation Oh Love, and you, my mistress, Have I deserved such distress For having served you loyally? I have always wanted to carry out All of your good commands. Oh Love, it was not long ago I had the greatest unhappiness That ever could befall me, For while sleeping, it seemed to me That my heart, which formerly I said Belonged to my mistress totally, Was lost, I don’t know how. And it seemed to me that I saw it Suffering, and then I asked Of those who inflicted this pain That, for the Sovereign Virgin, They might please be so kind As to return to me this grieving heart, And that it had had suffering enough. It was given to me without refusal. When I got it, I very sorrowfully Made a present of a piece of it To my lady, my only beloved, And I think that it made her angry. I was displeased by her anger, And my sorrow grew much worse If I had done, thought, or said Anything for which she was annoyed. Be it right or wrong, I wish to please her And keep myself from displeasing her. And I also know in truth That there is so much loyalty in her That one could never speak ill of it If one didn’t want to lie about her. And for anything that I have in mind For which she had become angry, Humbly I beg mercy for it. And I pray to Love that, for this, It not put me beyond the grace Of the one among all who surpasses The ladies who were and are And who will ever be afterwards, Notwithstanding that her good will I never had, nor do I have hope, From what I can see in her, That I can ever bring to an end My suit in the way that I desire. But it should satisfy me, without more, To keep from displeasing her, And if for her I suffer discomfort, Nonetheless I will not leave off From serving her for my whole life. Love, I understand well That I am not worthy to have hope That she declare me her lover. My virtues are insignificanth Compared to her great worth, To her beauty, and to her gentleness. And therefore, Love, I beg you Only that out of courtesy You preserve me from her displeasure If I cannot have her good will, And give me the power to perform Each day something that can please her. Love, I am very willingly One of your poor foot-soldiers, Who have neither salary nor equipment, And I am satisfied Only that you recognize my service, I, who serve you without office. I have served you without orders, Without having comfort or hope. Still do I have no reward. I do not know if I would have wasted My pain for serving you well. I say it not at all with regret, Nor ever will you hear me say it. Despite my piteous suffering, I am content with my pain. I am totally at the command Of her who causes me to have The pain of which I must lament. I want everything that she would like And to do whatever will please her. Whether to live in grief or in happiness. Her alone do I wish to consider my mistress. I am her serf without liberty, Nor do I want to choose another. She is my most sweet enemy, And of my heart the cruel friend. She has me totally. I have nothing that is mine. And yet she does not wish to consider me her own. But I will be hers, whether she wish it or not, Nor will I cease for anything that she wishes of me. It is a indivisible love Which will last for all my life. And for her love, however it is, I want here to make one wish: May it please God that in a vision I might know how she feels. I fear that she hates me Because I have offended her.” And as much for the torment that I had As for the desire, that I wished In sleeping to have a dream, I fell asleep, and with no effort, And while I was sleeping, I saw, Galloping through a willow grove, Danger. Then I began to sigh And to think about the pain I felt And the sorrow that it made me feel So greatly for loving and serving loyally The most peerless one beneath the heavens In honor, in virtue, in gracious look. One would not be able to find her equal. So says my heart, which wants to honor her, Serve her, fear her, more than any other, so help me God. Therefore in hope I want to remain joyous, While awaiting that I have relief From my mistress with the beautiful laughing eyes, For her sweetness does not wish my death. Comfort tells me and comes to advise me That I serve her all my life without betrayal. I will believe it; I don’t want at all to be neglectful In serving her, as long as I shall endure, In heart, in body, in will, in thought, For whatever pain that I might endure, While awaiting that, by means of her sweet speech, My grievous sorrows turn to happiness, And that my heart might there remain And be free from pain and from sadness. For I have been so long in distress That I have forgotten joy and amusement. I used to dance and sing in my time, And now I must go about in anger. But I have hope of bringing back that time, Despite the jealous and the lying slanderers Who have been harming me as best they can. But despite them, I will serve the fair one Whom I have loved and honored for a long time. And in no way can I ever hear or have Good tidings if they do not come from her. In her resides my death or my life. Lady rich in honor, adorned with loyalty, Have pity on my harsh sorrows And on the torment with laments and tears That I have for you. And yet I do not complain, For I know well that in an hour and a half, You can turn my pain into sweetness, My princess.  Therefore please don’t wish That all my time be spent in such languor, But relieve me and remove the sorrow That I feel in my heart, for I can bear no more without dying. Fair gentle one, in whom lies all my comfort, Console this poor destitute one Who is always within his power attentive To serve you, whether for right or wrong. My only lady in whom lies all my comfort, If you please, listen to the plaint Of myself, who has no amusement, And distress has extinguished my sweetness. All other pains have so afflicted my head, I can live no longer if I don’t have relief. My joyous good and my only pleasure, Do with me anything you wish, For if I die, I can say truly That I suffer death for the best woman in France. My only love, to whom I am committed, Do with me according to your pleasure. In order to love you, I languish, in truth, And I will languish, until I am granted Your love and until you give me the grace Of removing from me, as an ill-fated one, Pain and care, and until I expel them Along with the unhappiness that long pursues me And has sought to remove me from all joy; And indeed it has so enflamed me That I no longer have a good day or good night. Danger draws near me, and Danger so injures me That I don’t have time to tell of my complaint. I must come to an end. I can find no release. I say farewell to the good company And to you, my lady, the best of the good. I take my leave of your happy face. Praying, weeping, leading a piteous life, I must depart from the great rewards of love. Thus I beseech you, gracious companions, Prigent, Regnault, and Jamect together, Serve your mistresses attentively. Whatever anyone says, you will only be better for it. And just as I was lamenting in this way, I heard a voice coming from above me That said to me, “Friend, don’t be discouraged. The God of Love will be courteous to you, And he sends me here to remove the sweet burden That you have upon you, and the melancholy. Get up at once and lead a happy life! Take comfort, and take pains to recover! You ought more than ever to rejoice, For you will have the seignory of honor.” When I heard it, I swooned, Yet then I began to raise up my head To see if I could see the voice I’d heard, For willingly would I have wished to speak At greater length and converse with it In order to ask what would be my end. I didn’t see it, but when the morning came, I was greatly relieved of my pain. Piteously I gave thanks to Love. This happened to me on Saint Valentine’s Day. Ballade Young, noble, beautiful, a sweet manner, A laughing look, fair welcome, sweet speech, I come to you, making piteous cheer, To take my leave and to recommend myself To your gentleness, which can comfort me. Do with me anything you please, For never will my wish ever change. For my will is completely determined to do this: To serve you always in loyalty. Wherever I go, my heart will stay with you. Alas, why are you so haughty towards me That it doesn’t please you to listen to me speak? And why is your humbleness so dear That I am forced to buy so painfully A gentle look, when I can even obtain it? And I do not know when it will be your will To grant me that which I have long requested For the pains or hurt that I have already endured. For by my faith, my good and my treasure, Wherever I go, my heart will stay with you. My plaints, my tears, are completely brushed aside. Very little does it matter to you to see me tormented Or to comfort my piteous prayer And the sorrow that I am made to endure, Fair gentle one, for wanting to love you. I know very well that soon I will be forced To die of sorrow. Never did anyone endure So great a pain, to tell the truth, But may it all go according to your will. Wherever I go, my heart will stay with you. My princess, my entire will Is and will be to fear you and dread you, And if I do not dare to speak to you often, This troubles me, but when it pleases you, You will make my sorrow turn into comfort. Thus you can be fully certain of me: Wherever I go, my heart will stay with you. Song Farewell, noble one, young and joyous, Farewell, sweet gracious look, Farewell, my very beautiful mistress. I take my leave in great distress And melancholy, I depart. I leave behind all happiness, And thus I go completely destitute, Thinking of the grievous pain that afflicts me. Farewell, noble one, young and joyous, Farewell, sweet gracious look, Farewell, my very beautiful mistress. If Humble Will does not have pity on me In order to relieve my sorrowful pain, I am banished from happiness Without ever finding the way or means To return either to laughter or to play. Farewell, noble one, young and joyous, Farewell, sweet gracious look, Farewell, my very beautiful mistress. I take my leave in great distress And melancholy, I depart. Complaint My heart can no longer bear distress Or unhappiness, or the torment of desire. Although I already recognize well That the god in whom I believe is without pity. But I hope to provide a reason why My intercessor will have pity on me. At the very least he will not blame me If I am not unhappy for no reason. No longer can I refrain from saying That my god is the goddess of the other gods, Made by fairies and come from an enchanted land, Full of virtues, of honor and of largesse. She ought well be the mistress of all. Her wish alone can enrich everyone. By itself, it can be enough to serve her For the great virtues and beauties that reside in her. One ought well to call her, and without lying, Lady of ladies, the most beautiful of the good. So help me God, I firmly believe, If God had lost Our Lady, That if he would then come down, I know not how, He would not choose for himself any other woman But my mistress, who is to me both god and lady. But do you think that I would let her go If I by force were able to prevent it? And furthermore, she has so many attendants That one god alone couldn’t lead her off Unless he had with him some magicians. Many people have gone out of their minds From study and have lost all that they knew. But I have undertaken too great a folly In loving her who has no wish to love. I lose my wits, my strength, and my power. Wickedly did Love have such power over me As to subject me to the one without peer in France. I will remain her subject, without ever gaining freedom. Although to my heart this is something of great worth, Yet I am forced to suffer many a sorrow. There is still this of which I marvel more: It is that Love has no power over her. She wishes to remain alone without choosing an equal. Never did anyone hear of such a woman. Who will be able to aid me in my cause? Who will be able to reduce my grief? Who will be able to tell her what I want? For she is very disdainful of listening. When I want to tell of the pain that I receive, Fear tells me that she has no pity at all. I must desist from telling her my complaints, For I cannot find an opportunity for speaking. And furthermore, so greatly do I fear her, For if I had the time, leisure, and space, I would not dare. Now watch what I do. Am I in a good state? Judge, so help you God. Do the envious have their vengeance upon me? It seems to me that it ought to suffice them. I love my death. Would they ask for more? And my doctor does not know what pain I bear. I wish no longer to complain of my sorrow. I want to endure, whether for right or wrong, And to love well forever more, without slacking, The one who is consenting to my death. My heart wishes it, and I fully agree. Thus I pray to God that he keep me from doing Or saying anything that might displease her. And if it is such that I cannot have Her good will, about which I cannot be silent, May God keep me from being in her ill will. Ballade Sweet harshness, my very deadly friend, My good, my ill, my mistress, my joy, My all, my very sweet enemy, My ballad humbly I send to you To pray you that it please you that I be Consoled of my sorrow by you. For so help me God, my good and my treasure, No woman but you has the power over me To heal me, for I am stricken. And for that reason I remain dressed in black. The more I think about the benefits of your lordship, About the beauty of which you are the peak, About the charming play with which you are adorned, My pain pleases me, nor would I wish to recover If not through you, whatever should happen to me. I never wish to change my desire. My heart wishes it and I have agreed, Although you have completely banished me from hope By a rejection near enough to the ditch or moat. And for that reason I remain dressed in black. Alas, my lady, have I deserved death For loving you until I could no more? Will your pity be denied to me? Have I done anything I shouldn’t do? Death or mercy, I would not wish for more. I surrender to you; accept me willingly. Make me rich in that of which I am poor: It is the happiness that I can have through you. I am in grief, almost in despair, And for that reason I remain dressed in black. Another Ballade Alas, in grief I am dressed in black. Your gentleness can very well dress me instead In happiness and can chase despair Out of my heart in order to make me joyful. You can banish me from pleasure Or comfort my sorrowful torment. I am your subject, but it is so loyally That I cannot take pleasure in anything Except to love you, my lady, exclusively. It has been a long time since I set my mind On loving you and serving you loyally. Guion let you know this long ago, But if I had the power or the leisure Or the courage to describe my state, I would wish to tell you more of my thought Than another said. But think assuredly That never will I have any other desire Except to love you, my lady, exclusively. Alas, my mistress, if I had the power That I could parcel out the heaven and earth, If it pleased you to accept all willingly, All would be yours undividedly. Have pity on me, who is a sufferer, My only love, my god, my salvation. Do not let me end piteously. For I have hope of winning no other reward Except to love you, my lady, exclusively. Another Ballade Alas, my lady, for whom I am forced to moan On many occasions and often to sigh, Have pity on your true sufferer, Who humbly wishes to end his days In serving you, without ever loving another, Although you say that your gentle heart Could never belong to me; therefore I must bear: “In this house he finds not a drop of pity.” All my thoughts and all my memory Are thus on you, my goddess without equal. All my comfort can come to me from you. No one else but you can console me. My healing can be found in you. But you have told me, although you are not right, That I can well bear as a motto: “In this house he finds not a drop of pity.” You have the power to make me end Piteously and to shorten my days, And on the other hand, from you I can receive The healing that I ought to desire. You can banish me or call me back. I will be humble to you however it is, Despite what I am forced to bear: “In this house he finds not a drop of pity.” Ballade Not long ago, my heart made to you A request, rather piteously, For humbly it beseeched you very strongly That you allow at least only That it might serve you until the end. But your will did not wish to consent That I have hope of having any relief, And in that state, I was forced to leave. And by God, fair one, if your will were To have pity on my very sweet torment, At that time my sorrow would come to an end. Then I would act much more joyously Than I do now, for all of my thought Would be in happiness to serve you. But from you I have no consolation, And in that state, I was forced to leave. But nonetheless, whether wrong or right, I wish to remain under your judgment. My heart is yours and will be, wherever it is, Although you have brought about our separation. By God, my lady, in no way do I wish To have as mistress anyone but you. Yet you have told me that I act foolishly, And in that state, I was forced to leave. Complaint To you, beautiful, very gentle lady, To whom I have given body and soul, Heart and all that I can possess, I make my prayer, and I call upon you As she by whom I am inflamed With the desire of a loving will. May it please you to consider my state, For I am deprived of all good, Nor do I have hope of any benefit. Comfort does not wish to receive me. I am dressed in sadness. Alas! I set my thought On loving you very loyally, And I have no other thought. Most often I speak to people And yet do not know what or how, Except that I do so distractedly. My love is fixed upon you. I see you always, it seems to me. Alas! Will the day ever come, My greatly desired princess, That I might be able to see us together? It seems to me, so help me God, That I have always before my eyes Your beauty without equal, With which everyone is in love, The young and the old as well. When I am stricken thus And the heart which allows me to suffer it Has no wish to love any other, So much has your goodness conquered me That I am fully overcome by it, Without ever forsaking it a single day. One can cry aloud into my ear, But nothing can awaken me Except your great renown. In waking or when I am asleep, I am in constant wonderment Of the virtues for which you are praised, My very formidable mistress, Such is your body and your mind. Do not allow that my destiny Be ended in sadness because of you. From another I cannot have relief. Alas! How could you know The sorrow and the despair In which I am for loving you? I do not have the power to say, And I realize that you don’t have the wish To hear me or to listen to me. From where can such harshness come to you? How can Love allow it? It would be better for me to be at sea And to leave behind the entire world When I suffer such unhappiness. But whence does this malady come to me? For it is necessary that I say it: It is for her whom I chose, The most perfected in all virtues Who is and ever was in life, So help me God that it is so. And since Love has commanded me To seek her for my own good, So will I be unconditionally, Awaiting her sweet mercy Of which many are covetous. Alas! Would it really be misfortune For me to choose the one without peer in France And of whom one says more of good? My pain should be to me a pleasure, And it ought to be enough for me To be so exclusively completely hers. For just a single thing from her is worth more Than whatever one could name from another. And therefore I don’t fear death at all, But I surrender to it that which was mine, Because I can not find a physician. Alas! Many people have been killed By violence, which is a pity, Or by the ravages of death. And I, who have no excess of well-being But who languish in servitude, Cannot die for right or wrong. I live in grief without consolation. I am near to despair If Pity isn’t favorable to me. But I think that Pity is asleep, For which I am completely discouraged. Ballade My princess, until I see again Your beautiful sweet eyes, your gentle manner, Piteously in sorrow will I languish, Nor will I have complete happiness ever again. My eyes will be completely without light. Your departure causes me a mortal torment, Nor do I have any comfort except to look By night at the moon and by day at the sun. And so help me God, I will serve you, If necessary, with no proud thought, And carry out your will in every way. Be to me either piteous or a murderer. My will is entirely with you, And I will not have in sleeping such a rest That I do not wish sometime to look By night at the moon and by day at the sun. Do you know why I will look at them, My love, you who are the tomb of my poor heart? Because it seems to me that I will see you better. You can see it; therefore I pray to you That my look shoot by means of an archer Into your heart, which has absolutely no equal. Then will you know why I wish to look By night at the moon and by day at the sun. Complaint It wasn’t long ago that I thought To be beyond the power of Love, And I used to make fun of lovers When I saw them playing their games. But now I am all upside down, For I have undertaken the folly Of this nasty love business, For which I am forced, to tell the truth, Often to speak as if in a daze. It is a terrible pain to succumb again. I am much worse off than I used to be. I have the opposite of what I wish for. I have worse than I could say, Torture, unhappiness, and sorrows, Without hope of finding help From my deadly friend, For she is bereft of mercy. But her sweetness gives me hope Of healing from my malady. It is a terrible pain to succumb again. The beauty and my only joy Will make me end my days. When she happens, wherever I am, To be ready to hear my tears, In her I don’t find any help To free me of my madness. She doesn’t want to hear anything I say. Alas, how will she know My thought and my imaginings? It is a terrible pain to succumb again. But more does it please me, by my oath, To have a sorrowful torment And to suffer many a distress For loving her strongly and loyally And only just to see her, My god and my only princess, Than to have from another All the happiness that I could wish. My heart fully makes her a promise That it will not take another as a mistress For any pain that I must endure. For I recognize very well That there is absolutely no equal in France In any virtue that one could name. Her beauty and her manner Make me experience pain in pleasure. If everybody knew her well, Everyone would want to belong To her, so help me God. Loyalty to her would never be lacking, Nor would she ever be had by the false, For she is the god of other gods. And since she has so much beauty, Honor, and graciousness That in virtues she is without peer, Should I not be comforted If I suffer pain and harshness And if I have a flea in my ear? If for love I lie awake When I am supposed to be sleeping, I do not care, for it is for her Who is the most beautiful in the world, And for that reason I ought to rejoice. By God, Love, I would not wish, Nor for anything would I restrain myself, That I was not in love with her For anything that might happen to me. I will not cease, wherever I am, To serve her better and better. And if it would be pleasing to her sweet eyes To show that she was happy with me, I would be more desirous To carry out her will in every place And there I would set all my effort. And may it please God that she know well How my heart is entirely hers Despite the jealous who are full of envy. I belong to her above all women. I do not think about anything Except about her great lordship And about the virtues with which she is adorned, Hoping that a time will come – And I will not quit out of jealousy – That she is my lady and my friend. But I do not know when this will be. Would Love indeed be so opposed To me and of so cruel a nature As to have pursued my death? Love caused me, to please himself, From all other women to withdraw In order to serve her until death, And I am in agreement to do so. Now may God bring to me such tidings That I can take some comfort, For I will be hers, whether right or wrong, When she is the most beautiful of good women. Love, if I could stay awake Until waking I could catch sight Of a star that was about to fall, At once you would see me kneel down And pray to the gods That they please watch over me. For my lady told me, in truth, That what one asks for then, The petitioner ought to have it. And I hope to learn the truth of this, Because I never did find out. Song Fair one, without peer among good women, Why entered so strongly into my ear The goodness of your reputation? Alas, how my sight was disturbed When I saw the wondrousness of you! For in waking my heart is asleep, And while sleeping it awakens me, Thinking on my foolish thought. Fair one, without peer among good women, Why entered so strongly into my ear The goodness of your reputation? You who are alone without equal among other women Have long known that I am ready To serve you, fully praised lady. May death or mercy be given to me. Don’t allow me to be tortured any further. Fair one, without peer among good women, Why entered so strongly into my ear The goodness of your reputation? Alas, how my sight was disturbed When I saw the wondrousness of you! Song So greatly pleased me the treasure of great virtues That you possess, so truly help me God, That without cease, I have desired To be fully yours, and yours I hold myself to be. The heart, the body that formerly were mine Both wish that you be my greater good, So greatly pleased me the treasure of great virtues That you possess, so truly help me God. Alas, I am nothing and you give me nothing That might console the pain of my desire. And yet I bear my very sorrowful pain Very sweetly, for through you I endure it. So greatly pleased me the treasure of great virtues That you possess, so truly help me God, That without cease, I have desired To be fully yours, and yours I hold myself to be. Song She who is beautiful, sweet, and charming, Fully good, without equal among others, Your renown has fully filled my ear. My eyes see only you, whom I love so. Desire comes to afflict me night and day And says to me, “Love, for so I advise you, Her who is beautiful, sweet, and charming, Fully good, without equal among others.” Since Love, to whom I am obedient, Wishes me to be fully ready to love, I will love so much that it will be a wonder, And I will serve, to the increase of her honor, Her who is beautiful, sweet, and charming, Fully good, without equal among others. Your renown has fully filled my ear. My eyes see only you, whom I love so.

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