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Poem 2, Balade [The Lover Who Melts like Wax]

[Ch II; MS #237]



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2. Balade



Onques doulour ne fu plus angoisseuse
Que mon las cuer endure nuit et jour,
Ne tristesce plus aspre ne crueuse.
Morir m’est joie et brief finer doulçour,
Confort d’Ami m’est de nulle valour,
Espoir n’a cause aux drois de ma leesce,
Car le vouloir de ma belle maistresse
Est de mon cuer faire vivre en martire.
Quanque j’en ay me martrist, tue, et blesce,
Que fons et fris comme au feu fait la cire.

Ses rians yeulx, sa maniere joieuse,
Son doulx regart, son gracieux atour,
Sa grant beauté, sa parole amoureuse,
Son plaisant corps, et sa fresche coulour
Ne me donnent en tous lieux que doulour,
Ne par eux n’ay de reconfort adresce.
Com plus la voy, plus li di ma maistresse.
N’ains y perçoy sa grace, Dieu li mire.
Refus y croist et Pitié pour moy cesse
Que fons et fris, etc.

Et assez puet sa doulceur gracieuse
Congnoistre que loyaument, sans fauls tour,
L’aim, criens, et sers pour sa treseüreuse
Mercy avoir, en gardant son honnour.
Mais com je croy Dangier la fait sejour
Avec Reffus, par quoy elle me lesse
Plain de souspirs et de plains, en la presse
De Desiriers, ou Desespoir se tire
Si qu’emmy moy tout desconfort s’adresce,     
Que fons, etc.
 

2. [The Lover Who Melts like Wax]



Never was there more wretched sorrow
Than what my poor heart endures night and day,
Nor sadness more bitter and cruel;
To die is joy to me and a quick end sweetness;
Friend’s Comfort is of no value to me;
Hope has no power to further my happiness,
For the desire of my beautiful mistress
Is to make my heart live in martyrdom.
Whatever I have from her martyrs, kills, and wounds me,   
And I melt and burn as wax does in the fire.

Her laughing eyes, her happy manner,
Her sweet look, her gracious attire,
Her great beauty, her words of love.
Her pleasant body, and her fresh complexion
Give me in all places only sorrow,
Nor by them have I a way to comfort.
The more I see her, the more I call her my mistress.
For that I have never gained her grace, God protect her.
Refusal grows in her and Pity for me stops
So that I melt and burn as wax does in the fire.

And well might her gracious sweetness
Recognize that I love, fear, and serve her
Loyally, without deceit, in order to gain
Her most joyful Mercy, while guarding her honor.
However, I believe that Danger stays with her
With Refusal; by them she leaves me
Full of sighs and moans, in the oppression
Of Desire, where Despair advances,
So that within me all discomfort grows,
And I melt and burn as wax does in the fire.
 














(see note)