fol. 49v 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 fol. 50r 70 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 fol. 50v 150 155 160 165 170 175 180 185 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 225 fol. 51r 230 235 240 245 250 255 260 265 270 275 280 285 290 295 300 305 fol. 51v 310 315 320 325 330 335 340 345 350 355 360 365 370 375 380 385 fol. 52r 390 395 400 405 410 415 420 425 430

Ci commence Remede de Fortune Cils qui vuet aucun art aprendre A .xij. choses doit entendre: La premiere est qu’il doit eslire Celui ou ses cuers miex se tire Et ou sa nature l’encline; Car la chose envis bien define Qu’on vuet encontre son cuer faire Quant Nature li est contraire. Aimme son maistre et son mestier Seur tout; et ce li est mestier Qu’il l’onneure, oubeïsse, serve; Et ne cuide pas qu’il s’asserve, Car s’il les aime, il l’ameront, Et s’il les het, il le harront: Pourfiter ne puet autrement. Doctrine reçoive humblement; Mais bien se gart qu’il continue, Car scïence envis retenue Est et de legier oublïee, Quant elle n’est continuee. Soing, penser, desir de savoir Ait, si porra scïence avoir. Et l’entreprengne en juene aage, Eins qu’en malice son corage Mue par trop grant congnoissance. Car le droit estat d’innocence Ressamble proprement la table Blanche, polie, qui est able A recevoir, sans nul contraire, Ce qu’on y vuet peindre et pourtraire; Et est aussi comme la cire Qui sueffre dedens li escrire, Ou qui retient fourme ou empreinte, Si comme on l’a en li empreinte. Einsi est il certeinnement De vray humein entendement, Qui est ables a recevoir Tout ce qu’on vuet et concevoir Puet tout ce a quoy on le vuet mettre: Armes, amours, autre art, ou lettre. Car chose ne puet si forte estre, S’il vuet, qu’il n’en deveingne mestre, Mais qu’il vueille faire et labeure Ad ce que j’ay dit ci desseure. Pour ce l’ay dit que, quant j’estoie De l’estat qu’innocence avoie, Que Juenesse me gouvernoit Et en oiseuse me tenoit, Mes ouevres estoient volages, Varians estoit mes corages; Tout m’estoit .i., quanque veoie, Fors tant que toudis enclinoie Mon cuer et toute ma pensee Vers ma dame, qui est clamee De tous seur toutes belle et bonne. Chascuns par droit ce nom li donne; Et de tous les biens que Nature Puet ottroier a creature Ha tant qu’elle est fleur souvereine Seur toute creature humeinne. Pour ce a li mes cuers s’enclinoit, Et Nature li aprenoit, Ce m’est vis, car certeinnement Selonc mon juene entendement La veoie moult volentiers. Car mes voies et mes sentiers, Mi gieu, mi penser, mi retour Estoient en son noble atour Tout adés; n’avoir ne pooie, Sans li veoir, parfaite joie. Et quant Amours vit qu’en ce point Estoie, elle n’atendi point, Eins s’i mesla par tel maniere Que puis ne fu, ne jamais n’iere, Que seur tout quanque Diex a fait, Ne l’aimme de cuer et de fait, Oubeïsse, serve, et honneure, Et qu’en tous tans et en toute heure, Ne soie tous siens sans demi A loy de tres loial ami. Car ca ha esté m’amour premiere, Et si sera la darreniere, Pour ce en li servant fineray, Ne jamais autre n’ameray. Or doint Diex que s’amour soit moie, Qu’en ce monde plus ne vorroie. Einsi fist Amours par son art, Qui maint franc cuer doucement art Que, quant premiers ma dame vi, Sa grant biauté mon cuer ravi. Et quant de s’amour fui espris, Juenes estoie et desapris, S’avoie bien mestier d’aprendre, Quant tel fais voloie entreprendre. Que di je? Eins l’avoie entrepris. Qu’einc congié ne conseil n’en pris Fors a mon cuer et a ses yex, Qui en riant m’ont en mains lieus Prié que par amour l’amasse Si doucement que je n’osasse Leur vueil refuser, ne peüsse. Et mes cuers voloit que je fusse Tous siens, et je aussi le voloie, Et pour ce a eaus m’en consilloie. Si qu’einsi fui, se Diex me gart, Pris par Dous Ris et Dous Regart. Et certeinnement, se j’eüsse Tant de bien en moy que je fusse Aussi sages com Salemons, Et fust miens quittes tous li mons, Et aussi preus comme Alixandres, Ou comme Hector, qui gueres mendres Ne fu de li quant a valour, Et s’eüsse autretant d’onnour Comme ot Godefroy de Buillon, Et la biauté qu’ot Absalon, Et de Job la grant pacience, L’estableté et la constance De Judit et de Socratés, Qui en un point estoit adés, Car pour gaaingne ne pour perte Ne se mouvoit, tant fust aperte, Et avec ce l’umilité Qu’Ester ot, et la loiauté D’Abraham, a verité dire, Ne peüsse je pas souffire Pour dame amer de tel affaire. Mais Amours le me firent faire, Qui m’i donnerent ligement Quant je la vi premierement; Si que siens sans riens retollir Sui, que qu’il m’en doie avenir, Et serai, tant com je vivray, Ne jamais autre n’ameray. Et quant Amours m’ot a ce mis Que pris fui et loiaus amis, Elle congnut bien ma juenesse, Mon innocence, ma simplesse. Et pour ce qu’estoie en enfance, Me prist elle en sa gouvernance; Si me moustra la droite voie: Comment ma dame amer devoie, Servir, oubeïr, honnourer, Humblement croire et aourer, Et cremir seur toute autre rien Com m’amour et mon dieu terrien; Et que toudis heüsse l’ueil A faire son bon et son vueil, En gardant s’onneur et sa pais; Et que, se de l’amoureus fais Me venoit peinne, ne dolour, Ou merencolie, ou tristour, Que tout humblement recueillisse, Et que a grevez ne m’en tenisse; Et aussi que bien me gardasse Que ceste amour continuasse, Et qu’adés, de prés et de loing, Desir, penser eüsse et soing De s’amour et sa grace acquerre, Sans autre desirer ne querre; Et que loiaus fusse et secrez. Ce sont les poins et les degrez Qu’Amours m’enseingna et aprist Quant en gouverrnance me prist. Et je les ay si bien apris Que puis en un seul ne mespris. Et aussi ma tres douce dame, Que je desir et aim, par m’ame, De cuer, sans pensee villeinne, Plus que Paris ne fist Heleinne, M’estoit miroir et exemplaire De tous biens desirer et faire. Et pour le bien qu’en li veoie, De tout bien faire me penoie Et me gardoie de mesprendre Si qu’on ne me peüst reprendre, A mon pooir, car sa bonté M’en donnoit cuer et volenté. Et son humilité parfaite M’estoit escuz, defense, et gaite, Qu’Orguiex ne me peüst sourprendre, Qui mains maus norrist et engendre, Et qu’envers tous tres doucement Me maintenisse et humblement. Et vraiement bien dire puis Que d’umblesse est fonteinne et puis: Qu’onques turtre ne turterelle, Aingnaus, coulons, ne coulombelle, Damoiselle, ne pucelette Ne pot estre d’orgueil plus nette, Ne plus pleinne d’umilité, Acompaingnie de pité, En tous cas et en tous endrois, De li. Certes, et ce est bien drois, Car il li vient de droite ligne; Pour ce en ce cas pas ne forligne. Et sa maniere asseüree, De tous et de toutes loee, Son biau port, son gentil maintieng, Qui pareil n’ont si com je tieng, Tout aussi com l’enfant le mestre Aprent, m’aprenoient a estre. Car, sans plus, de leur ramembrance Maintieng, maniere, et contenance Loing de li souvent me venoit Milleur quant il m’en souvenoit: Si que dont, quant je la veoie Vis a vis et que remiroie Son port, son maintieng, sa maniere, Qui plus est estable et entire Que nulle qu’onques mais veïsse, Bien estoit drois qu’en retenisse Aucun notable enseingnement Quant dou souvenir seulement Meintes fois par Douce Pensee Ma maniere estoit amendee. Et sa gracïeuse parole, Qui n’estoit diverse ne fole, Estrange, ne mal ordenee, Hauteinne, mais bien affrenee, Cueillie a point et de saison, Fondee seur toute raison, Tant plaisant et douce a oïr, Que chascun faisoit resjoïr, Me metoit un frein en la bouche Pour moy taire de ce qui touche A tout ce qu’on claimme mesdire, Mais laisse avoit pour le bien dire, Car nuls ne doit dire d’autrui Ce qu’il ne vuet oïr de lui. Le trop parler me deffendoit; Parler a point me commandoit, Sans baudour et sans venterie, Sans mentir et sans flaterie; Car c’est chose moult honnourable D’estre en son parler veritable. Et Verité ne quiert nuls angles, N’elle n’a que faire de jangles. S’onneur et sa grant courtoisie Me deffendoient villonnie Et voloient que j’honnourasse Chascun, et que po me prisasse; Car cils a l’onneur qui la fait, Nom pas cils a qui on la fait. Et se l’Evangile n’est fausse, Humiliez est qui s’exausse, Et qui s’umilie essauciés Pour c’est li noms si exaussiez De ma dame par tout le monde, Qui en humilité habonde, En honneur et en courtoisie, Plus qu’en dame qui soit en vie; Et comment que chascuns li donne Le pris d’onneur et la coronne, Estre cuide, tant a d’onnour Entre les autres la menour. Ne congnoissoit fole largesse, Ne d’escharseté la simplesse, Ne la destresse d’avarice, Qui est en cuer humain grant vice. Mais toudis, quant elle donnoit, Ses dons sagement ordonnoit Et savoit certeinnement quoy, Quant, comment, a qui, et pour quoy. Tost le faisoit, et volentiers, S’en estoit ses dons plus entiers; Car qui tost donne, .ij. fois donne. De ce m’estoit maistresse bonne Qui m’aprenoit a bonne escole Que n’eüsse largesse fole, Advarice, n’escharseté Que largesse het sans pité, Et seur tout qu’en moy fer ne fust Dou dart d’Avarice ne fust, Qui tout autre bien fait perir Par tout ou il se puet ferir. Car ja homs n’iert tant honnourez Que ses biens n’en soit devourez Et qu’il n’en perde, s’il a pris: Scens, honneur, ame, los, et pris. Et sa grant douceur a nul fuer Ne se departoit de mon cuer, Car sa demeure et son sejour Y faisoit de nuit et de jour. Et aussi com le dous entrait La douleur d’une plaie trait Et adoucist, sa grant douçour Faisoit adoucir la dolour Qu’Amours et Desirs me faisoient, Qui maint grief estour me donnoient, Des quels je ne me plein ne dueil, Car je n’en ai peinne ne dueil, Einsois les recueil humblement, Bonnement, et joieusement. Et son tres dous plaisant regart Attraioit mon cuer de sa part Tout aussi par son dous attrait, Com l’aïmant le fer attrait. Et ce tenoit mon cuer en joie, Car quant ce Dous Regart veoie, En moy ne prenoit son repaire Riens qui fust a joie contraire. Et sa biauté, qui toutes passe, Enlaçoit mon cuer et enlasse De plus en plus de jour en jour En son service et en s’amour, Et m’aprenoit, par sa puissance, A congnoistre Douce Esperence, Et a desirer la mercy D’Amours, dont moult la remercy. Car certes je ne congnoissoie Espoir ne Desir quant en voie Me mist sa biauté dou congnoistre Pour m’amour et ma joie acroistre, Qu’Amours croist Desir et enorte, Et Esperance Joie aporte. Et son noble atour bel et gent, Qui est, au dit de toute gent, Simple, faitis, apert, et cointe, M’acointoit et encor acointe, Que me tenisse cointement, Nettement, et joliement, Trop ne po; car qui se desguise, Certes, ce n’est pas belle guise; Mais qui puet au moien venir. C’est le plus seür a tenir. Einsi son exellent bonté Et sa parfaite humilité, Sa maniere qui n’est volage, Son gentil port, son maintieng sage, Son biau parler, sa haute honnour, Sa courtoisie sans errour, Sa franche liberalité, Sa douceur pleinne d’amité, Son dous regart, sa biauté fine Et son atour belle doctrine Me demoustroient et maint bien, Se je les retenisse bien. Et ja soit ce qu’en li veïsse Tous biens, et po en retenisse, Ne puet estre que miex n’en vaille, Ou ce seroit mal fait sans faille. Et se retenu les avoie, Volentiers pas ne les diroie Pour ce que löange assourdist En bouche qui de li la dist. Et nompourquant tant en vueil dire Sans venterie et sans mesdire A sa löange seulement, Que de li venra proprement, S’en toute ma vie riens vail, A qui cuer, corps, et ame bail. Einsi la tres noble doctrine, Qui tant est precïeuse et fine, De la belle me doctrina, Qui toute bonne doctrine a. Et je la servi longuement De cuer si amoureusement Qu’a nulle autre rien n’entendoie Fors a s’amour ou je tendoie. Mais de tout ce riens ne savoit, Ne comment elle pris m’avoit; Car pour riens ne li descouvrisse L’amour de mon cuer, ne deïsse, Ne descouvrir ne li peüsse, Se je vosisse ne sceüsse; Eins portoie couvertement Ceste amour et celeement, Sans faire en plainte ne clamour, Tant estoie espris de s’amour. Nompourquant, quant de son regart Sentoie le tres dous espart, Je perdoie toute vigour Par sa force et par sa rigour, Et me faisoit teindre et palir, Fremir, trambler, et tressaillir. Lors pooit bien apercevoir Que l’amoie sans decevoir Plus .vc. mille fois que my, Sans feintise et de cuer d’amy. S’usoie ensement ma jouvente Pour ma tres douce dame gente En Dous Penser, en Souvenir, En Esperance d’avenir A sa grace que tant desir Q’je n’ay nul autre desir. Si sentoie maintes pointures, Une heure douces, l’autre sures, L’autre plaisant, l’autre enuieuse, L’autre triste, l’autre joieuse. Car cuers qui sent d’Amours le point N’est mie toudis en .i. point, N’asseür de joie ou de peinne; Einsois couvient qu’il se demeinne Selonc la fortune d’Amours. Mais la teste encline comme ours, Recevoie son dous voloir, Fust de joie, fust de doloir, Humblement comme amis parfais Amoureus par dis et par fais. Et pour ce que n’estoie mie Toudis en .i. point, m’estudie Mis en faire chansons et lais, Balades, rondiaus, virelais, Et chans, selonc mon sentement, Amoureus et non autrement. Car qui de sentement ne fait Son ouevre et son chant contrefait; Ne moustrer aussi ne pooie Les maus d’amours que je sentoie A ma dame qui en chantant Me va si bel comme enchantant. Et tous les chans que je ditoie A sa löange les faisoie En pensant que, s’il avenist Que mes chans devant li venist, Qu’elle porroit savoir comment Je l’aim et sui en son comment. Et mes cuers moult s’i deduisoit Quant ma dame a ce me duisoit Qu’a sa löange et a s’onnour Me faisoit chanter pour s’amour. Car chanters est nez de leece De cuer, et plours vient de tristece. Et seur ce que Douce Pensee S’est dedens mon cuer enfermee, Souvenirs et Bonne Esperance Et Loyauté, ou ma fiance Ay si toute qu’ailleurs ne l’ay, Fis je ce dit, qu’on claimme lay:

Here begins Remedy for Fortune. The man who thinks to master any art Must attend to twelve matters. First, he must choose something Toward which his heart most draws And his nature most inclines him. For he cannot bring to a satisfactory end Whatever he undertakes grudgingly Because Nature will be his enemy. Let him love his master as well as his craft Above all else; and he is called upon To honor, obey, and serve them both, Not considering himself their slave, For should he love them, they will love him in turn, While enmity will only earn from them the same. Otherwise he cannot work to his profit. Let him receive instruction humbly, Taking care to follow that path, For it is difficult to retain knowledge Since it is easily forgotten When not put into practice. Let him be dedicated, thoughtful, and eager, And in this way wisdom will come his way. And let him begin this undertaking in youth Before his heart should turn toward sinfulness Through too much experience, For the true state of innocence Properly resembles a tablet White and blank that, offering No impediment, can receive Whatever one wishes to paint or portray. And innocence is exactly like wax, Which allows one to write thereupon While retaining the image or imprint In the precise form inscribed. And surely it is just the same With the true form of human understanding, Which has the capacity to absorb Whatever one wishes and can conceive, Whatever task can be set for it: Arms, love, the other arts, or letters. Now nothing can be too difficult For understanding, so inclined, to master, Providing the man makes the effort and perseveres, According to what I have described here above. And I’ve said this because when I was Of an age that innocence was mine, The time Youth governed me And kept me in idleness, The things I did were of no lasting worth. My heart knew no stability; What I saw was all the same to me, Save that my heart and all my thoughts Were always fixed on My lady, whom every man reputes As superior to all other women. The whole world rightly grants her this title. And of all the gifts Nature Can bestow on any of her creations, So many are hers she’s the sovereign flower, Higher in rank than all other human creatures. That’s why my heart was drawn to her, And Nature taught me the same lesson, So it seemed; for surely, According to my youthful understanding I was quite eager to lay eyes upon her; For my ways and my paths, My amusements, my thoughts, my recourse Depended always and ever on her noble Presence; nor could perfect joy Be mine unless I was gazing upon her. And when Love saw what a state I was in, she hesitated not in the least, But saw to it that I came to love The woman from the heart, as I always will; And above God’s other creatures, In all my deeds and wholeheartedly I will obey, serve, and honor her, And at every moment and hour I will be entirely hers, and not by half, According to the rule of the very loyal lover. And this was my first love affair, And it will be the very last, For in serving the lady I’ll live out my life, And never love another. Now may God grant me her love, For in the whole world I’d wish nothing else. And through her art, Love, who sets ablaze Many a noble heart, accomplished this, Namely that, when first I saw my lady, Her great beauty ravished my heart. And when set to burning with love for her, I was a young man who knew nothing, For there was much I needed to learn Should I decide to follow this course. What am I saying? I’d already decided Before asking leave or advice Other than from my heart and her eyes, Which as they smiled unceasingly Begged me to love her With such sweet affection I did not dare Spurn their request, nor could I. And my heart wished that I were Completely hers, which was my wish too, And so I followed what those eyes advised. The result was, God keep me, that right then Sweet Laughter and Sweet Look took me prisoner. And to be sure had I possessed such great Virtue in my person that I was Just as wise as Solomon, And were the whole world mine to possess, And were I as valiant as Alexander Or even Hector, who was scarcely less worthy Than him in regard to valor, And if I had as much honor As did Godfrey of Bouillon, And the beauty that was Absalon’s, And the boundless patience of Job, The steadfastness and perseverance Of Judith and of Socrates, Who always held fast to one position, Since for the sake of neither profit nor loss, No matter how great, neither would budge, And in addition the humility Of Esther, and the faithfulness of Abraham, if truth be told Mine would not be merit enough To love a lady of such rank. But Love led me to do so, Granting that I’d be the lady’s liegeman The moment I laid eyes upon her, And so I am now hers With a whole heart, no matter what, And will so remain my whole life, Nor will I ever come to love another. And even as Love arranged that I Was made a captive and loyal lover, She clearly recognized my youth, My innocence, my naïveté, And because I was still a young man, She took me under her governance And pointed out the right path to me: How I should love my lady, Serve, obey, honor her, Humbly trust in and worship her, And reverence her above all else As my love and earthly divinity; And I should always keep my eye On acting to her good and benefit, Guarding her honor and peace of mind; And if from the affairs of love Pain or sorrow should fall to my lot, Or melancholy or sadness, I was to receive these with humility, Not considering myself ill-served; And also I should take good care That this love affair endure; And always, both near and far, I should desire, intend, and seek To merit her love and good graces, Never pining after or looking for some other; And I was to be loyal and discreet. These are the instructions and precepts Love announced and explained When putting me under her wing. And taking them very much to heart, I henceforth violated nary a one. Furthermore, my lady so sweet, Whom I desire and love upon my soul From the heart, with no improper thoughts, More than Paris did Helen, Was a mirror and exemplar to me For desiring and then doing all that is virtuous. And because of the goodness I saw in her, I strove with all my might after the good And refrained, as much As I could, from improper Behavior, for her virtue gave me The heart and will to do so. And her perfect humility Was my shield, defense, and guardian So I’d not be taken unawares by Pride, Who incites and nourishes many an evil thought, And so with all people I maintained A demeanor humble and kind. And truly I can very well say She is the fountain and well of humility; No turtledove (he or she), No lamb, pigeon, or little dove, No maiden or young girl Could be more free from pridefulness, Nor more graced with humility, And pity as well, Everywhere and at all times Than she. That’s surely fitting, coming As it does through her proper lineage; And so she does not betray her birth. And her assured manner, Praised by all women and men, Her appealing demeanor, her noble bearing, Which have no equal in my view, Just as the master gives instruction to the child, These taught me how to conduct myself. Thinking of them — and only that — urged Me oftentimes to improve my actions, manner, And behavior when I was distant from her And her qualities came to mind. And it was the same when I looked upon her Face to face and contemplated the presence, The deportment, the style of this woman, Who was more unwavering and constant Than any other I’d ever laid eyes on, It was certainly fitting that from her virtues I retained some important teachings, For from memory alone Many times through Sweet Thought I was more virtuous in what I did. And her gracious speech, Neither unfriendly nor foolish, Neither distant nor malicious, Not haughty, but carefully moderated, Showing good and proper judgment, Based completely on reason, So pleasant and sweet to the ear It made every man rejoice, Put a halter on my mouth To keep silent about everything That might be thought slanderous, But I was encouraged to speak what was worthy. For no man should say of another What he does not wish to hear said of him. She forbid me from blathering on, Asking that my talk be appropriate, Void of boasting and grandiosity, Falsehood and flattery. For it’s a quite honorable virtue To speak the truth. And Truth seeks out no calculating rhetoric And has no truck with foolish distortion. Her honor and impressive courtliness Barred me from vile behavior And guided me to honor Everyone, while valuing myself but little. For the man acting honorably obtains honor, Not the one honored by the deed. And if the Gospel is no lie, He who exalts himself is the one humbled, And whoever humbles himself is exalted. And this is why the name of my lady Is so raised up throughout all the world, For humility abounds in her, As do honor and courtesy, More than in any woman alive; And although everyone accords her The prize and crown of honor, She’s so honorable the lady thinks herself Among the least of women. She was unacquainted with foolish generosity, With the simplemindedness of cupidity, With the suffering brought on by avarice, Which in the human heart is a great vice. Always, instead, when she gave a gift, She was careful about what she bestowed, And, to be sure, in this giving she considered what, When, how, to whom, and for what reason. She gave unhesitatingly and from the heart, Which made her presents more valuable, For he who gives quickly, gives twice. In this she became a useful teacher to me, Offering the valuable lesson That I should not foolishly waste my money Out of avarice or unthinking whim, Which Generosity pitilessly detests; And above all else that the point and shaft Of Avarice’s spear should not penetrate Me, for it destroys every virtue Wherever finding the chance to strike. Indeed no man ever possesses honor enough To preserve what he treasures from destruction If he consents to it and thereby forfeits Reason, honor, soul, good name, and reputation. And at no time did her great sweetness Desert my heart, but there Found its home and resting place Both day and night. And just as sweet balm soothes The pain from a wound And eases it, her great sweetness Worked to alleviate the agony Love and Desire then caused me, For these launched many a hard assault, And I did not cry out, nor did I moan Because I felt no pain or distress; Instead I bore everything with humility, A good heart, and pleasantness. And her look, quite sweet and favoring, Drew my heart in that direction Through its delightful appeal, Just as the magnet pulls iron toward it. And this kept my heart full of joy, For when I glimpsed this Sweet Look Nothing contrary to that joy Made its home within me. And her beauty, exceeding all others, Bound up my heart more and more Every day, constraining me To serve and love her, And through her power that beauty And through her power that beauty And desire Love’s mercy, For which she has my great thanks. Now truly I’d not made the acquaintance Of Hope or Desire when her beauty Put me on the path of getting to know them So as to increase my love and joy, For Love intensifies and heightens Desire, And Hope is a companion to Joy. And her mode of dress, noble, beautiful, and fair, Which is, as everyone says, Unpretentious, stylish, elegant, and striking, Showed me and shows me still That my clothes should be attractive, Proper and refined, neither too fancy Nor too plain, for whoever over-dresses, Surely does not make an appealing appearance. For the best path to keep on, If you can do so, is the middle way. And so her exceptional virtuousness And her unblemished humility, Her manner, which was never flighty, Her sophisticated demeanor, her assured bearing, Her appealing speech, her sharp sense of honor, Her courtliness, lacking any flaw, Her unbounded generosity. Her grace brimming with friendliness, Her sweet look, her unsullied beauty, And her appearance too manifested to me Both appealing doctrine and substantial goodness, And I took it all very much to heart. And even though I observed all her noteworthy Qualities and could match them but little, It could not be I found no profit there; Otherwise I should have fared quite badly. But had I made these good qualities my own, I would not be willing to say much about it, For praise rings hollow in the mouth Of the one who speaks it of himself. Nonetheless, not boasting or speaking out of turn, And in order only to praise her, I intend to say the following: If in all my life I amount to anything, The source, to speak the truth, is the lady To whom I grant heart, body, and soul. Thus the very noble teaching, so precious And subtle, of that beautiful woman In whom all virtuous doctrine is to be found, Was what instructed me. And for a long time I served her From the heart and in a loving way, Attending to nothing else Save the love that drew me there. And she was ignorant Of how she had taken me prisoner, For nothing could have led me to reveal The love in my heart, or speak of it, Nor could I have confessed this to her Even had I so wished or known how; Instead I bore this love in secret, Keeping it hidden, Uttering no moan or complaint, So smitten with love for her I was. Nevertheless, when I felt the sparks From her glance, and this was so delectable, What strength I had was overcome By its insistence and power, Which made me pale and flush, Shake, tremble, and quake. So it was then quite easy to see How with no deception I loved her five hundred Thousand times, and even more, than myself, With no falseness and with a lover’s heart. And this is how I spent my youth In Sweet Thought, in Remembrance, And in Hope I might attain The favor of my lady, so very gracious and noble, Whom I desire with such fervor I feel no other desire at all. Many wounds kept me in pain: One hour was delightful, the next unpleasant, One pleasant, the next rife with misery, One sad, the other filled with happiness. For the heart sensing the shaft of Love Never finds itself in just one state And is assured neither joy nor suffering. Instead it must trace the path Laid out by the destiny Love determined. And so, my head hanging down like a bear’s, I accepted all that she graciously wished, Whether pleasant or racked with pain, In a humble fashion, like a lover flawless In word and deed. And since I never found myself In one state, I set myself the task Of composing chansons and lays, Ballades, rondeaux, virelais, And songs as my emotions inspired me, As these were of love and nothing else. For whoever does not compose from what he feels Produces inauthentic writing and song; Yet in my situation I could not Reveal to my lady, Who seemed so beautiful an enchanting presence As I composed, those pangs of love I endured. And all the songs I invented Were written in her honor; So I thought that if any of my works Should come to her notice She’d be able to discover how much I loved her and how bent to her will I was. And my heart sensed great pleasure In writing a song to her praise And honor, whenever my lady Inspired me through the love I bore her. For a song finds its source in the joy The heart feels, and sadness makes tears flow. And because Sweet Thought Found itself enclosed within my heart, Along with Memory, Good Hope And Loyalty, in whom I placed all my trust And nowhere else, I composed The following verse, which is called a lay:

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435 440 445 450 455 fol. 52v 461 465 470 475 480 485 490 495 500 505 510 515 fol. 53r 520 525 530 535 540 545 550 555 560 565 fol. 53v 570 575 580 585 590 595 600 605 610 615 620 625 630 635 fol. 54r 641 645 650 655 660 665 670 675 680 685 690 695 700 fol. 54v 705 710 715 720 725 730 735 740 745 750 755 760 765 770 fol. 55r 775 780 785 790 795 800 805 810 815 820 825 830 835 840 845 850 fol. 55r 855 860 865 870 875 880 885 890 895 900

LAY I. Qui n’aroit autre deport           En amer      Fors Dous Penser      Et Souvenir Avec l’Espoir de joïr      S’aroit il tort,           Se le port      D’autre confort      Voloit rouver; Car pour un cuer saouler      Et soustenir,           Plus querir      Ne doit merir      Qui aimme fort. Encor y a maint ressort:           Remembrer,      Ymaginer,      En dous plaisir Sa dame veoir, oïr,      Son gentil port,           Le recort      Dou bien qui sort      De son parler Et de son dous regarder,      Dont l’entrouvrir           Puet garir      Et garentir      Amant de mort. II. Et qui vorroit plus souhaidier,      Je n’os cuidier      Si fol cuidier Que cils aimme de cuer entier Qui de tels biens n’a souffisance; Car qui plus quiert, il vuet trichier      S’Amours tant chier      L’a que fichier Deingne par l’ueil de son archier En son cuer d’eaus la congnoissance. Car on ne les puet esprisier,      Ne trop prisier,      Quant de legier Puelent de tous mauls alegier Et faire par leur grant puissance Un cuer navré sain et legier      Sans nul dangier,      Et eslongier De mal, et de joie aprochier. Seulement de leur ramembrance. III.      Et pour çe engendree      S’est Douce Pensee En mon cuer et enfermee,      Qu’adés me souvient      De la desiree,      Dont ma joie est nee Et l’esperence doublee      Que de li me vient.      S’en yert honnouree,      Servie, loee, Creinte, oubeïe et amee,      Faire le couvient;      Car s’il li agree,      J’aray destinee Bonne ou mort desesperee:      Dou tout a li tient. IV.      Mais quant je voy Le tres bel arroy           Simple et coy,           Sans desroy, De son corps, le gay,      Et que je l’oy Parler sans effroy,           Par ma foy,           Si m’esjoy Que toute joie ay.      Faire le doy Se je l’aim et croy;           Car en moy           Joye en croy Pour ce mon cuer vray,      Remaint en soy, Dont tel bien reçoy           Que puis n’oy           Grief anoy Que je l’enamay. V. Et se par Desir recueil Aucun grief, pas ne m’en dueil, Car son tres dous riant oueil      Tout adoucist Le grief qui de Desir ist; Si me plaist et abelist Tant qu’au porter me delist      Plus que ne sueil Pour sa biauté sans orgueil, Qui toutes passe, a mon vueil, Et pour son tres bel acueil      Qui toudis rist, Si qu’en plaisance norrist Mon cuer et tant m’enrichist Qu’einsi vivre me souffist,      Ne plus ne vueil, VI. Fors tant, qu’en aucune maniere      Ma dame chiere, Qui de mon cuer la tresoriere      Est et portiere, Sceüst qu’elle est m’amour premiere      Et darreniere. Et plus l’aim qu’autrui ne mon bien, Nom pas d’amour veinne et legiere,      Mais si entiere, Que miex ameroie estre en biere      Qu’a parsonniere Fust, n’en moy pensee doubliere.      Tels toudis yere, Comment qu’elle n’en sache rien. Car ne sui tels qu’a moy affiere      Que s’amour quiere, Ne que de son vueil tant enquiere      Que li requiere; Car moult porroit comparer chiere      Tele prïere Mes cuers, qui gist en son lïen. Pour ce n’en fais samblant ne chiere      Que je n’aquiere Refus qui me deboute ou fiere      De li arriere; Car se sa douceur m’estoit fiere,      Amours murtriere Seroit de moy. Ce say je bien. VII.           Si n’est voie           Qui m’avoie Comment descouvrir li doie           Par nul tour;      Car sans retour           Je morroie           Se j’avoie Refus, et, se je vivoie,           Ma baudour      Seroit tristour.           Fols seroie,           Se rouvoie Riens plus, fors qu’en li emploie           Corps, honnour,      Cuer et amour;           Qu’autre joie           Ne devroie Voloir s’assez remiroie           Sa douçour      Et sa valour. VIII.      Dont la bonne et belle,      Comment sara elle      Que de li veoir      En mon cuer s’ostelle      Une amour nouvelle,      Qui me renouvelle      Et me fait avoir      Joieuse nouvelle,      De quoy l’estincelle      Fait sous la mamelle      Mon fin cuer ardoir?      S’en frit et sautelle      Qu’homs ne damoiselle,      Dame ne pucelle,      Ne le puet savoir      Si le port et selle. IX.      Amours, que j’en pri,      Qui volt et souffri      Qu’a li, sans detri, Quant premiers la vi, m’offri,      Li porra bien dire      Que pour s’amour fri      Sans plainte et sans cri,      Et qu’a li m’ottri, Comme au plus tres noble tri      Que peüsse eslire,      Et qu’autre ne tri;      Einsois ha l’ottri      Qu’onc ne descouvri, Dont maint souspir ay murtri      Qui puis n’orent mire.      Mais s’en mon depri      M’est amours estri,      Je n’en brai ne cri, N’autrement ne m’en defri,      Ne pense a defrire. X.           Car ensement           Vueil liement,           Joliement           Et gaiement, En ma dame amer loiaument      User toute ma vie           Si franchement,           Que vraiement,           Se j’ay tourment,      Aligement N’en vueil, fors souffrir humblement      Ma douce maladie.           Celeement           Et sagement,           Patïenment           Et nettement Iert et tres amoureusement      Dedens mon cuer norrie;           Car bonnement           Et doucement,           Procheinnement,           S’Espoirs ne ment, M’iert ma peinne tres hautement      A cent doubles merie. XI. Car comment que Desirs m’assaille Et me face mainte bataille Et poingne de l’amoureus dart, Qui souvent d’estoc et de taille Celeement mon cuer detaille, Certes bien en vain se travaille, Car tout garist son Dous Regart, Qui paist d’amoureuse vitaille Mon cuer et dedens li entaille Sa biauté fine par tel art Qu’autre n’est de quoi il me chaille, Et des biens amoureus me baille Tant qu’il n’est joie qui me faille Que n’aie de li que Dieus gart. XII. Et pour ce, sans nul descort,           Endurer      Vueil et celer      L’ardant desir Qui vuet ma joie amenrir      Par soutil sort;           Si le port      Sans desconfort      Et vueil porter; Car s’il fait mon cuer trambler,      Teindre, et palir,           Et fremir,      A bien souffrir      Dou tout m’acort. Il me fait par son enort           Honnourer,      Servir, doubter,      Et oubeïr Ma dame et li tant chierir      Qu’en son effort           Me deport,      Quant il me mort      Et vuet grever, Mais qu’a li vueil le penser      Qu’aim et desir           Sans partir,      Ne repentir;      La me confort. Einsi me fist ma dame faire Ce lay qu’oÿ m’avez retraire, Ja soit ce que riens n’en sceüst Qu’elle fait faire le m’eüst. Mais selonc le sens que j’avoie, A sa löange le faisoie, Et si prés de mon sentement Com je pooie bonnement, Tant que par aventure avint Qu’en sa presence cils lais vint, Et venus y estoie aussi, Dont j’os puis assez de soussi, Qu’elle me commanda au lire. Si ne li osay escondire, Eins li lus tout de chief en chief, A cuer tramblant, enclin le chief, Doubtans qu’il n’i eüst meffait Pour ce que je l’avoie fait. Et quant je li eus tout leü, Et elle l’ot bien conceü, Me demanda qui fait l’avoit Pour ce qu’elle ne le savoit. Et si tost qu’elle dit le m’ot, Je n’eüsse dit .i. seul mot Pour toute l’empire de Romme. Car nuls cuers ne penseroit comme Je perdi maniere et vigour; Car honte, amour, biauté, paour, Et ce que celer li voloie L’amoureus mal que je sentoie, Me tollirent si le memoire Et les .v. sens que ne puis croire Qu’onques amans fust en tel point; Ne de parler si mal a point. Car je n’i savoie moien, Tant estoit en estroit loien Mes cuers qui de paour trambloit. Et vraiement il me sambloit, Se j’eüsse dit: “Je le fis” Que trop me fusse desconfis Et mis, espoir, en aventure De mort crueuse, amere, et dure Pour ce que li heüsse ouvert, Comment je l’aim, et descouvert. Et s’un po de duretté chiere, Ou de regart, ou de maniere, Ou de parler, ou autrement, M’eüst fait, je say vraiement Qu’eüsse esté mors en la place Pour paour de perdre sa grace, Nom pas pour ce qu’elle fust moie, Mais en esperence en estoie; Et pour ce n’osoie despondre Sa demande, n’a li respondre. Mais encor plus me deceüsse Assez se menti li eüsse; Car mentir ne doit a sa dame Amans pour mort de corps ne d’ame, Eins li doit toudis dire voir Au plus prés qu’il le puet savoir. Et certes, si bonne et si sage Est ma dame, qu’a mon visage Sceüst tantost se je bourdasse, Ja si bien ne li coulourasse. Et ce faisoit mon cuer defrire Que ne savoie le quel dire, De verité ou de mansonge. Et pour ce aussi, com ce fust songe, Ravi en parfonde pensee, De devant ma dame honnouree, Sans respondre et sans plus atendre, Me departi, sans congié prendre, En tel point que je ne savoie Qu’il me failloit, ne ou j’avoie. Et au partir soupiranment Pris a plourer si fondanment Qu’en plour et en larmes fondoit Mes cuers qui tous s’en confondoit. Et pour gaaingnier tout le monde, Je n’eüsse retenu l’onde De ce plour que par mi le vis Ne me coulast a son devis. Mais de ce fu trop eüreus Que ame n’i avoit fors nous .ij., Qui s’en peüst apercevoir, Ne qui riens en peüst savoir. Car tuit li autre assez longnet Estoient mis en .i. congnet Et s’esbatoient bonnement A jouer au “Roy qui ne ment.” Einsi laissai ma dame chiere, Et m’en parti a simple chiere, Tristes, pensis, et souspirans, Merencolieus, desirans De venir en aucun destour Ou finer peüsse mon plour Tant qu’a moy fusse revenus. Si m’en alay les saus menus Pour ce que, s’aucun encontrasse, Que tant ne quant n’i arrestasse, Et par quoy on n’aperceüst Qu’en moy plour ou tristece heüst. S’alai einsi moult longuement, Sans issir de mon pensement, Tant que vi un trop biau jardin Qu’on claimme le Parc de Hedin. Lors celle part m’acheminay, Et de cheminer ne finay Tant que je y vins, mais je n’y pos Entrer, car il estoit enclos De haus murs et environnez; Ne li chemins abandonnez N’estoit pas a tous et a toutes. Nompourquant je sieui les routes Qu’a terre vi et les esclos Jusqu’a un huis qui estoit clos, Qui trop bel seoit et trop gent En .i. destour et loing de gent. S’i avoit un petit guichet, De quoy je levay le clichet; Et quant levé l’eus, j’entrai ens; Mais je ne vi ame laiens, Dont plus liez fu, car je voloie Estre tous seuls, se je pooie. Et quant j’eus mon vueil assevi D’entrer ens, et tous seus me vi, Le guichet fermai au verrueil. Si m’en alai parmi le brueil, Qui estoit si biaus qu’onques mais Ne vi, ne ne verrai jamais Si bel, si gent, si aggreable, Si plaisant, ne si delitable. Et les merveilles, les deduis, Les ars, les engins, les conduis, Les esbas, les estranges choses Qui estoient dedens encloses Ne saroie jamais descrire. Et nompourquant je puis bien dire Que homme ne saroit deduit querre En l’air, en l’iaue, n’en la terre, Qu’on n’i trouvast prest a toute heure A son vueil, sans faire demeure. S’alay tant amont et aval Que je m’embati en un val Ou je vi une fontenelle Qui estoit moult clere et moult bele, D’arbres et d’erbe environnee; Et si estoit environ nee Une haiette d’esglentier. Mais n’i vi voie ne sentier Qui fust froïe ne batue, Fors l’erbette poingnant et drue. Si pensay que petit repaire Avoit la, pour ce m’i vos traire. Si me mis outre la haiette Sus la fonteinne clere et nette, Ou mon vis lavay et mes yex. Et puis je m’assis, car li liex Ou einsi m’estoie arrivez Me sambloit estre moult privez. Lors pris a penser durement En moy blasmant quant tellement De ma dame estoie partis, Car se li cuers me fust partis Pour s’amour et en sa presence, Y me vausist miex, sans doubtance. Qu’avoir fait telle niceté, Com j’ay ci devant recité, Ce m’estoit vis, puis que ce fust Pour li, et elle le sceüst. Nompourquant je ne le peüsse Amender se sires deüsse Estre de quanque Diex a fait. Si n’est pas si grant le meffait, Car outre pooir ne puet nus; Ne cils meffais n’est pas venus De moy, car je ne le fis pas, Eins le fist Amours, qui compas, Regle, ordre, raison, ne mesure Es cuers amoureus ne mesure. Je m’en vois bien apercevant Miex que n’avoie fait devant, Car gueres n’a que je disoie Qu’adés estoit amans en joie; Or sen et voy tout le contraire En moy, ne je n’en puis plus faire. Mais pas n’avoie bien apris Tous ses tours quant l’amer empris, Si faurra que je les apregne Et que le frein a mes dens prengne Se je vueil vivre en son servage Je n’y voy plus seür passage, Car je sens et voy clerement Par mon fait, et non autrement; Que cuer d’amant qui aimme fort Or a joie, or a desconfort; Or rit, or pleure, or chante, or plaint; Or se delite en son complaint; Or tramble, or tressue, or a chaut; Or a froit, et puis ne li chaut D’assaut qu’Amours li puisse faire. Or li plaist; or ne li puet plaire; Car selonc ce qu’Amours le vuet Deduire, il s’esjoïst ou duet, Et selonc l’estat de Fortune, Qui les amans souvent fortune; L’un bien, l’un mal, l’autre a sa guise, Selonc ce qu’elle se desguise. Car sans faute ce qu’elle fait Moult soudeinnement le deffait, Car en li n’a estableté Amour, pité, ne fermeté. Einsois est toudis sa coustume Que ceaus qu’elle fait tonde et plume Et sousmette en subjection Tele come a destruction. Et en ce penser ou j’estoie Je m’avisay que je feroie De Fortune et de mes dolours, De mes pensers et de mes plours Un dit qu’on appelle complainte, Ou il averoit rime mainte, Qui seroit de triste matiere. Si commensai en tel maniere:

LAY I. He who finds no other pleasure           In loving      Save Sweet Thought      And Memory, Along with Hope of satisfaction,      Would be mistaken      If the haven      Of some other consolation      He thought to seek; For to satisfy a heart      And sustain it,           The man who loves intensely      Must not look for      What he merits not. And yet there are many sources of comfort:           Remembering;      Imagining;      Looking upon or listening to His lady in sweet pleasure;      Her noble demeanor;           The memory      Of the goodness that comes      From the words she speaks, And from her sweet look,      Which, as her eyes open,           Can save      A lover, preserving      Him from death. II. And as for any man wishing more,      I’d not dare entertain      The quite foolish thought That anyone might love with his whole heart And not be satisfied with these benefits; Whoever seeks more is bent on deception      Since Love holds him      So dear she deigns to have her archer Send him through the eye to his heart An acquaintance with those goods. For one cannot value      Or prize them too much,      As they readily offer A remedy for every ill, And through their great power rendering A wounded heart whole and untroubled,      With no conflict at all,      Driving sadness into exile And making joy draw near Merely through memory of these goods. III.      And in this way Sweet Thought      Arose and found a place Within my heart,      And so I always hold in my thoughts      The woman whom I desire,      Who inspires my joy And doubles the hope      That flows from her to me.      And she will be honored,      Served, praised, Respected, obeyed, and loved.      It must be so;      For depending on what she wishes,      It’s either a fortunate destiny Or a hopeless death;      It’s all up to her. IV.      But when I lay eyes on The very beautiful shape,           Of her body, her dress           Unassuming and elegant, Not making a show, but striking,      And when I listen to Her quiet speech,           Upon my faith           I do rejoice, For every joy is mine.      This is what I must do If I love and trust her;           For within me           Joy increases in response Because my true heart      Remains in her, And from this I receive           Such goodness that no miserable           Suffering has been mine to endure Since the moment I came to love her. V. And if Desire forces me to suffer, Somehow I make no complaint, For her eye, so kind and laughing,      Assuages completely The misery Desire inflicts. And I am quite pleased and delighted As I rejoice in enduring it,      More than I did before, Because of her beauty without pride, Surpassing all others to my mind, And because of her very Fair Welcome,      Never unsmiling; And my heart is so nourished And enriched in pleasure That living on in this way suffices,      Making me wish for nothing different, VI. Save that in no way has      My beloved lady, Who is the treasurer of my heart      And its gatekeeper too, Come to know she is both my first love      And my last as well. And I love her more than myself or my advantage, Not with an affection vain and flighty,      But so completely I’d prefer lying on my bier      To proving faithless toward her Or harboring deceitful thoughts.      And this will always be the case, Though she knows nothing of it. Now I’m not a man who merits      Asking for her love, Or even if she might allow me      To make such a request, For my heart, trapped in her snare,      Might pay quite dearly For such a demand. And so I give no sign or hint      So as not to receive A refusal to send me packing      Or drive me off; For if her graciousness grew cold,      Love would turn into My killer, and well I know it. VII.           And so nothing           Points out to me How I should reveal myself           To the woman;      For beyond a doubt           I should perish           Were I to be Rebuffed; and if I survived,           My happiness      Would turn to sorrow.           I’d be a fool           To request More, beyond devoting to her           My body, honor,      Heart, and love;           For no other joy           Would I Want if I might get my fill           Of contemplating her graciousness      And eminence. VIII.      Yet then how will that lady, lovely      And virtuous, discover      That looking upon her      Has made a new love take root      In my heart,      Revitalizing me      And bringing      Welcome news,      Whose spark      Sets my faithful heart      To burning within my breast?      In response, I tremble and shake,      And so no man or maiden,      No woman or young girl,      Might discover my secret,      I endure in silence. IX.      Love, to whom I offer my prayer,      Who desired and inspired      Me, unhindered, to devote Myself to her at first sight,      Could certainly tell her      How aflame I am with love,      Neither moaning nor complaining      And that I have given myself to her, As the most high-minded decision      I could make;      And that I choose no other woman.      Instead Love has granted      I should never make this known, And thus many a sigh, finding      No healer, has devastated me.      But if Love refuses      My request      I’ll neither wail nor moan, Or stew with anger,      Or turn to rage. X.           Instead, in this state           I wish happily,           Joyfully,           And pleasantly To spend the rest of my life      Loving my lady faithfully,           And with such sincerity           That in truth,           Though I feel tormented,           I wish for No relief beyond enduring humbly      My pleasant sickness.           Secretly           And sensibly,           Patiently           And purely, And with great affection      It has been nourished in my heart;           For appropriately           And gently           In due time,           If Hope is no liar, My pains will be richly      Rewarded a hundredfold. XI. For though Desire assails me And provokes unending battle, Piercing me with his dart that infatuates, Which often, and unnoticed, Skewers my heart, from point to butt, His efforts, no doubt, are wasted, For Sweet Regard heals it all, Nourishing my heart with love’s Sustenance, imprinting therein Her pure beauty with such artfulness I occupy myself with nothing else, And Sweet Regard brings me love’s benefits In such profusion that no joy Fails to be mine — may God protect her. XII. And so, making no trouble,           My intention is      To bear up under and keep hidden      The flaming desire That seeks to diminish my joy      Through its subtle power;           And I will suffer it      With no discomfort.      And this I am eager to endure. For if it makes my heart tremble,      Grow wan and pale,           And tremble,      I am firmly resolved      To bear up under all that. So I am heartened           To honor,      Serve, protect,      And obey My lady, cherishing her so much      I take joy           In the pain that comes.      When pain tortures      And would wound me, Thinking of her is all I need keep in mind,      For she’s the woman I love and desire,           And I’ll never leave her side,      And no regret will I feel on her account;      This brings me comfort. Thus my lady fair inspired me to compose This lay you’ve heard me recite, Even though she was not aware How she’d led me to do so. But, in accord with what was on my mind, I composed this in her honor, And it expressed my emotions as precisely As I could properly manage; And afterward it chanced That this lay came before her, Just as I had too, Which brought me no end of anxiety, For she ordered me to read it, And I dared not refuse, But recited it from start to finish, My heart fluttering, my head bowed, Fearing this was a misstep Because I’d written the lay for her. And after I got through the entire text, And she’d listened intently, She asked me who the poet was, For this she did not know. And as soon as she spoke, I couldn’t have said a single word Had the entire Roman Empire been given me. For no good heart could imagine How much of my composure and strength I lost; For shame, love, beauty, fear, And that my aim was to conceal The lovesickness I felt, So robbed me of memory, As well as of my five senses, I couldn’t believe A lover had ever found himself this distressed Or so utterly unable to speak. Yet I could find no way to manage doing so, With my heart so sorely pressed And trembling with fear. And it truly seemed That had I said “I composed it,” I would have come completely undone, Running the danger perhaps of being delivered To a death cruel, bitter, and harsh Because it would have been out in the open And known to everyone how I love her. And had her glance been bitter, Or her look, or her manner, Or the words she spoke, or anything else, I truly think I should Have expired right on the spot, So terrified I was of forfeiting her favor, Not because she then belonged to me, But because I hoped she would. And this is why I dared ignore Her command and spoke nary a word. But I’d have done myself Even worse harm had I lied to her, For a lover should speak no untruth to his lady Even at the cost of body and soul. Instead he should always be as forthright As he can manage. And surely, my lady is so virtuous And wise that from my expression She’d have recognized at once my dissembling, No matter what front I put up. And this made my heart so miserable I was at a loss for words, unsure Whether to speak the truth or tell some lie. And so, as if in a dream, I was borne away into deep thoughts And departed from the presence Of my honored lady, waiting no longer; Not responding, I did not ask for leave, For then I did not know either Where I was or what I should do. And, sighing at parting this way, I began to cry with such abandon My heart, completely undone, Melted away in tears and weeping. And for all the world, I could not Have held back the wave Of these tears from running Of their own accord down my face. Now in one way I was quite fortunate, For, save us two, not a soul was present To witness what took place Or figure out what it meant. For all the other people had moved off Some distance to an alcove Where they were having a fine time Playing “The King Who Does Not Lie.” And this is how I left my lady dear, Walking off with my face a blank mask, Woebegone, lost in thought, and sighing, Depressed, eager to make my way To any quiet spot where I might finish my bout of weeping And regain my composure. I moved off at a quick pace So that if encountering anyone I would not stop even briefly, Eager as I was for no one to witness My tears and the gloominess I felt. For some time I walked along in this state, Never escaping my thoughts Until I spied a quite attractive garden Called the Park of Hesdin. I made straight for the spot, Never halting until I came up to The place, but I was unable To go inside because of the high walls That encircled it all around; And the path was not open To every man and woman. Even so I followed the trails And walkways I noticed on the ground As far as a gate (then closed), Which was located in a byway quite lovely And appealing, at a far remove from people. And there was a small wicket, Whose latch I lifted; And, raising it, I entered in. But I saw nary a soul inside, Which pleased me, for my wish Was to be entirely alone if I could. Entering the place, as was my intention, And observing I was all by myself, I closed and locked the wicket. And I strolled through the shrubbery, Which was so beautiful I’d never seen The like, and never will, none other So attractive, so elegant, so agreeable, None so pleasant or delightful. And I’d never be able to describe The marvels, the delights, The artifices, the mechanical devices, The piped-in water, the diversions, The strange attractions the garden contained, Nonetheless this I can certainly affirm: No man might look for any entertainment In the air, in the water, or on the land Not found there ready for use at any time With no delay, and as should please. And I wandered across the rolling country Until chancing upon a valley Where I spied a fountain Quite beautiful and clear-running, Ringed by trees and grass; And all around had grown up A small hedge of wild roses. But I noticed no walkway or path That was well-used and beaten-down, Nothing but thick, sharp-bladed grass. And it seemed few people took shelter There, and so I walked in that direction, Passing beyond the little hedge To the fountain clear and clean, Where I washed my face and eyes. Then I sat down, for this place To which I had come seemed Quite private to me. At this point I fell into deep thought, Blaming myself for deserting My lady in the way I had, For if my heart had failed me In her presence from the love I bore her, It’d been better for me, no doubt, Than to blunder into such a foolish error As the one I’ve recounted here, Or so I thought, since it should have been For her sake, as the lady would realize. Nonetheless I could do nothing To change things, even had I become master Over all that God created. Now the misdeed is not so regrettable, For no one can do more than he can. And I wasn’t responsible for this wrong, Not having committed it, Since Love had, who provides Or measures out no rule, discipline, reason, Or moderation to hearts in love. And I began to understand this Much better than before Since I’d been maintaining earlier That a lover is always joyful; Now I witness and feel just the opposite In my own case and cannot help it. But I’d not then learned much about the ways Of Love when first embarking on it, And I needed to find out more And take the bit between my teeth If intending to spend my life in Love’s service. I see no path more certain, Perceiving and feeling clearly Only because of my own experience; That the heart of the man who loves intently Is sometimes glad, sometimes in pain; Sometimes laughing, crying, singing, or weeping; Sometimes taking pleasure in complaint; Now trembling, now sweating, now fevered; Now cold, and afterward unconcerned About how Love might attack him. Now he’s pleased, now unable to be pleased; For the man rejoices or sorrows According to the whims Of Love and the dictates of Fortune, Who measures out luck to lovers; Good here, ill there, to others as she wills, According to her moods. For unfailingly whatever she does She quite abruptly undoes Since in her lies no stability, Love, pity, or permanence. Instead her unwavering custom Is to cut down and strip clean those she favors, Reducing them to subjection, To the very point of death. And thinking along these lines, I determined to compose About Fortune and my own suffering, From my thoughts and my sorrows, A poem called a complaint In which there are many rhymes And whose theme is desolation. I began as here follows:

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905 910 fol. 56r 915 920 925 930 935 940 945 950 955 960 965 970 975 980 fol. 56v 985 990 995 1000 1005 1010 1015 1020 1025 1030 1035 1040 1045 fol. 57r 1051 1055 1060 1065 1070 1075 1080 1085 1090 1095 1100 1105 1110 1115 1120 1125 fol. 57v 1131 1135 1140 1145 1150 1155 1160 1165 1170 1175 1180 1185 1190 1195 1200 1205 fol. 58r 1211 1215 1220 1225 1230 1235 1240 1245 1250 1255 1260 1265 1270 1275 1280 1285 fol. 58v 1291 1295 1300 1305 1310 1315 1320 1325 1330 1335 1340 1345 1350 1355 1360 1365 1370 fol. 59r 1375 1380 1385 1390 1395 1400 1405 1410 1415 1420 1425 1430 1435 1440 1445 1450 fol. 59v 1455 1460 1465 1470 1475 1480 1485 1490 1495 1500 1505 1510 1515 1520 1525 1530 fol. 60r 1535 1540 1545 1550 1555 1560 1565 1570 1575 1580 1585 1590 1595 1600 1605 1610 fol. 60v 1615 1620 1625 1630 1635 1640 1645 1650 1655 1660 1665 1670 1675 1680 1685 1690 fol. 61r 1695 1700 1705 1710 1715 1720 1725 1730 1735 1740 1745 1750 1755 1760 1765 1770 fol. 61v 1775 1780 1785 1790 1795 1800 1805 1810 1815 1820 1825 1830 1835 1840 1845 1850 fol. 62r 1855 1860 1865 1870 1875 1880 1885 1890 1895 1900 1905 1910 1915 fol. 62v 1920 1925 1930 1935 1940 1945 1950 1955 1960 1965 1970 1975 1980

COMPLAINTE Tels rit au main qui au soir pleure, Et tels cuide qu’Amours labeure Pour son bien qu’elle li court seure      Et mal l’atourne; Et tels cuide que joie aqueure Pour li aidier qu’elle demeure. Car Fortune tout ce deveure      Quant elle tourne, Qui n’atent mie qu’il adjourne Pour tourner; qu’elle ne sejourne, Eins tourne, retourne, et bestourne      Tant qu’au desseure Mest celui qui gist mas en l’ourne; Le sormonté au bas retourne, Et le plus joieus mat et mourne      Fait en po d’eure. Car elle n’est ferme n’estable, Juste, loyal, ne veritable; Quant on la cuide charitable,      Elle est avere, Dure, diverse, espouentable, Traïtre, poignant, decevable; Et quant on la cuide amiable,      Lors est amere. Car ja soit ce qu’amie appere, Douce com miel, vraie com mere, La pointure d’une vipere      Qu’est incurable En riens a li ne se compere, Car elle traïroit son pere Et mettroit d’onneur en misere      Desraisonnable. Se Fortune aimme, c’est de long. Elle faut toudis au besoing, N’elle n’a de personne soing,      Soit vil ou monde. Et pour si fausse la tesmoing, Qu’elle porteroit faus tesmoing Pour le mieudre amy mettre en coing      Qu’elle ait en monde. Plus escorche qu’elle ne tonde, Et en mauvais malice habonde, Par quoy sa norriçon confonde;      .I. pourri coing Ne prise chose qu’elle fonde, Qui vuet que ses ouvrages fonde, En ce n’a pareil ne seconde.      Ce nom li doing: “Lorde, borgne, fausse, et enfrune.” De mal faire onques n’est geüne. Tout le mont ne prise une prune,      Eins le demeinne A la samblance de la lune, Qui ore est pleinne, clere, et brune, Et fourme ne clarté nesune      N’a en quinseinne Fors tant que n’a mois ne semainne, Jour prefix, në heure certeinne; Eins est sa veingence soudeinne;      Chose est commune, Car quant la personne est plus pleinne D’onneur, de richesse mondeinne, De son tour a niant la meinne.      Tele est Fortune. Pren moy ij. seaus en .i. puis Qu’assez bien comparer li puis. Li uns est pleins, li autres vuis,      Et se l’un monte, L’autre descent; tout einsi truis Que Fortune par ses conduis Monte l’un, l’autre avale, et puis      Rien n’i aconte A roy, a duc, a per, n’a conte. L’un donne honneur, et l’autre honte. L’un desgrade; l’autre seurmonte.      C’est ses deduis; Tout orgueil amolie et donte. Mais Boëces si nous raconte Qu’on ne doit mie faire conte      De ses annuis. Fortune scet plus de pratique Que ne font maistre de fisique, De divinité, de logique,      Et mendiant Pour trouver une voie oublique. Elle oint, elle point, elle pique, Elle fait a chascun la nique,      En sousriant. L’un fait petit; l’autre fait grant. L’un met arrier, et l’autre avant. Or rit, or pleure, or ne scet quant      Elle aimme, si que Si attrait sont trop decevant. Riens ne tient qu’elle ait en couvent, Et, pour conclure, en trebuchant      Toudis s’aplique. Nabugodonosor figure Qu’il vit en songe une estature Grande et haute, qui la figure      Horrible avoit, Et la teste d’or riche et pure, Les bras, le pis d’argenteüre, Ventre, cuisses de la faiture      D’arein portoit, James de fer sus qu’elle estoit. Des piez l’une part fer estoit, L’autre terre. Et encor veoit      Que d’aventure Une pierre sans main venoit Qui parmi les piez la feroit, Si qu’en pourre la craventoit      Et en ordure. L’estature que ci propose Estre ne me samble autre chose Que Fortune qui ne repose      Heure ne jour. La teste a d’or, se dire l’ose, Ou toute richesse est enclose, Ce samble aus musars qu’elle alose,      Qui en errour Vivent tele qu’il n’est gringnour; Qu’elle n’a pooir ne vigour De donner, fors peinne et labour.      Retien et glose: Car ses joies ne sont que plour, Et ses richesses glace en four. Pour ce fait cils trop le millour      Qui s’i oppose. Car se tu yes en grant richesse, Jamais n’avras vraie leesse, Fors peinne, misere, et tristesse,      Et en doubtance Seras dou perdre, qui trop blesse, Ou l’ardeur aras et l’aspresse D’Avarice, qui est maistresse      De pestilence. Et se tu gis en mendience, Tu n’avras mie pacïence, Eins sera la main en balance      D’estre larnesse. Si ne pris riens telle puissance Ou pais, seürté, souffissance N’a, fors doleur et mescheance,      Pleur et destresse. Les bras et le pis a d’argent, Mais ce n’est que decevement, Car ce qu’il luisent clerement,      Les yex esbloe Et aveugle de mainte gent Cui elle promet largement, Et en son pis couvertement      Traïson noe. D’un des bras les met sus sa roe Plus legierement c’une aloe; De l’autre les fiert en la joe      Si fierement Qu’elle les trebuche en la boe, Et puis elle leur fait la moe. Einsi Fortune tous ceaus doe      Qu’elle entreprent. Ventre et cuisses porte d’arein; Mais c’est pour moustrer plus a plain A tous ceaus qui li sont prochain      Qu’elle se change En pis. Ci vois tu le certain, Que d’or est son chief premerain, Aprés d’argent, nom pas d’estain,      Di le voir: men ge? Or est d’arein vil et estrange. Certes, ce n’est mie bon change. Fols est qui a tels dons s’arrange,      Ne tent sa main. Car par tel change elle se vange De ceaus qu’elle flate et losange, Et leur oste honneur et löange      D’ui a demain. Seur james de fer est assise, En moustrant que par nulle guise Tempeste, orage, vent de bise,      Fait ne parole, Ne crient cils au elle s’est mise. Mais c’est couverture et feintise, Car les piez ha de terre glise,      Gliant et mole. Et quant sus pierre ne sus mole N’est fondee, fors seur frivole, Cils se honnist bien et affole      Qui tant la prise Qu’il retient riens de son escole; Qu’adés ses escoliers rigole Et partout leur meschief flajole,      Et les desprise. Je ne tien pas celui pour kaut Qui vuet faire .i. ouvrage haut Seur fondement qui riens ne vaut      Sans grant damage. Car quant il est en plus grant saut D’ouvrer, li fondemens deffaut, Dont trebuchier et cheoir faut      Tout le meinnage. Einsi Fortune la sauvage, Quant elle a fait aucun ouvrage, Et on est en plus haut estage,      Fait en tressaut Venir .i. vent et .i. orage D’aversité qui tout esrage — Fondement, comble, et massonnage —      D’un seul assaut. Fortune a plus de mil engiens, Pour penre et decevoir les siens; Mais la dolente, elle n’a riens      Que donner puist; Promettre assez puet de ses biens, Mais tu yes trop fols se tu tiens Qu’il en y ait nul qui soit tiens.      En seant fuit; Son droit lés est dous, l’autre cuit; Le droit porte fleur, fueille, et fruit. L’autre est desert, brehaingne, et vuit      Des biens terriens. Le droit moult clerement reluit; L’autre samble a l’oscure nuit; Et mi partie est par deduit      D’or et de fiens. Fortune est amour haïneuse, Bonneürté maleüreuse. C’est largesse advaricïeuse.      C’est orphenté. C’est santé triste et dolereuse. C’est richesse la soufferteuse. C’est noblesse povre, honteuse,      Sans loiauté. C’est l’orguilleuse humilité. C’est l’envïeuse charité. C’est perilleuse seürté;      Trop est douteuse; C’est puissance en mendicité. C’est repos en adversité. C’est famine en cuer saoulé.      C’est joie ireuse. C’est souffrance la rigoreuse. C’est souffissance la couvoiteuse. C’est pais dolente et rioteuse.      C’est vanité. C’est pacïence dongereuse. C’est diligence paresseuse. C’est oubliance la soingneuse      Contre amité. C’est l’arbre d’inhumanité, Enraciné seur fausseté. L’estoc est qu’en sa verité      Soit mansongeuse. Les fleurs sont de desloyauté, Et les feuilles d’iniquité, Mais li fruis est de povreté      Dure et crueuse. La teste a pelee a moitie. D’un oueil rit, de l’autre larmie. L’une joe a couleur de vie;      L’autre est com morte. Se une de ses mains t’est amie, L’autre t’iert mortel annemie. Un piet a droit, l’autre clopie,      La droite torte. Sa force est qu’en cheant est forte; En desconfort se reconforte. En riant mescheance aporte,      Pleur et hachie. En confortant se desconforte; En foulant les siens entreporte. En tous maus faire se deporte,      Quoy que nuls die. Fortune est par dessus les drois; Ses estatus fait et ses lois Seur empereurs, papes, et rois,      Que nuls debat N’i porroit mettre de ces trois, Tant fust fiers, orguilleus, ou rois, Car Fortune tous leurs desrois      Freint et abat. Bien est drois qu’elle se debat Pour eaus avancier et combat, Et leur preste honneur et estat,      Ne sai quens mois. Mais partout ou elle s’embat, De ses gieus telement s’esbat Qu’en veinquant dit: “Eschat et mat!”      De fiere vois. Einsi m’a fait, ce m’est avis, Fortune que ci vous devis. Car je soloie estre assevis      De toute joie. Or m’a d’un seul tour si bas mis Qu’en grief plour est mué mon ris, Et que tous li biens est remis      Qu’avoir soloie. Car la bele ou mes cuers s’ottroie, Que tant aim que plus ne porroie, Maintenant veoir n’oseroie      En mi le vis. Et se desir tant que la voie Que mes dolens cuers s’en desvoie, Pour ce ne say que faire doie,      Tant sui despris. Amours, Amours, ce m’as tu fait Qui mas fait faire le meffait Qui toute ma joie deffait!      Car bien puis dire Que si estraingnis de ton trait Mon cuer, qu’on n’en eüst mot trait, S’avoir deüsse sans retrait      Toute l’empire. Pourquoy me feïs tu eslire Dame pour qui mes cuers soupire Tant qu’il ne congnoist joie d’ire,      Et tout a fait Me vues pour s’amour desconfire? Quant mon dolent cuer fais defrire Et fondre en amoureus martire,      Est ce bien fait? Helas! Que me demandes tu? Je t’aim de toute ma vertu. Or me hez et m’as abatu      De haut en bas, Et de tes verges si batu En ta chartre ou m’as embatu Que je me rens dessous l’escu      Veincus et mas. Si fais trop mal se tu me bas, Quant je me ren et que pris m’as, Car prisonnier on ne doit pas,      S’on l’a vaincu, Batre ne ferir en nul cas; Eins doit on voloir son respas. Helas! Or me bas en tes las,      Pris et rendu! Ce n’est pas ton honneur, ce croy, Quant je te ser en tele foy Qu’humblement a morir m’ottroy      Se c’est tes grez Pour ma dame que plus ne voy. Car doubte ay (dont je me marvoy) Que ses gentis cuers envers moy      Ne soit irez, Dont je sui trop mal atournez, Tristes, pensis, desconfortez, Quant tous mes biens as destournez.      Ne say pourquoy. S’en est mes vis descoulourez Et mes cuers de plours saoulez, De griés souspirs entremeslez,      Et tout par toy. Nompourquant pas ne m’en merveil — Quant le regart de son dous oueil Et son cler vis blanc et vermeil      Qui resplendist De biauté plus qu’or en soleil Et son corps gent qui n’a pareil De douceur, de cointe appareil      Vers moy guenchist — Se mes regars s’en esbloïst, Se la parole m’en tarist, Se ma vigour en amenrist.      Car par ton vueil Nature en moy s’en esbahist, Et mes sens s’en esvanuist, Dont li cuers me tramble et fremist.      De ce me dueil. Einsi sa parfaite biauté, Fresche et douce com fleur d’esté, Et la mervilleuse clarté      De son viaire, Dont je me vi enluminé, Le ray de son oueil que plus n’é, Mes .v. sens orent tost maté;      Plus n’en pos faire. Helas! S’en ay tant de contraire Que je ne say quele part traire; N’en moy joie plus ne repaire,      Ne gaieté. Car pour ce que j’aim sans meffaire, Tu me vues de tous poins deffaire Se la tres douce debonnaire      N’en a pité. En toy en est, bien t’en couveingne, Car je sui tiens, comment qu’il prengne. Mais je te pri qu’il te souveingne      Comment je port En mon cuer l’amoureuse enseingne Dou mal d’amours qui me mehaingne, Et qu’il n’est lieu dont il me veingne      Aucun confort. Et se ma dame est en acort De moy grever, je te pri fort Que tu li moustres qu’elle a tort      Et qu’elle teingne Tant de moy que, s’elle s’amort A moy grever, elle m’a mort; Et qu’elle est ma vie et ma mort,      Que qu’il aveingne. Je n’i say autre conseil mestre Se je ne vueil l’amer demestre. Mais c’est chose qui ne puet estre,      Car sans mentir, Se tous ceaus que Diex a fait nestre Estoient tuit aussi grant mestre Com Seneques d’art et de lettre,      Li deguerpir Ne me feroient pour morir, Car seur toutes l’aim et desir C’est celle ou sont tuit mi plaisir.      C’est ma main destre. C’est celle qui me puet garir Et faire en joie revenir Se de son regart mon desir      Deingnoit repestre. Las! Dolens! Or ne m’ose attendre Qu’envers moy fust jamais si tendre Qu’elle seur moy deingnast descendre      Son dous regart, Car tu me feïs tant mesprendre, De moy partir sans congié prendre Et sans nulle autre raison rendre,      Que tempre et tart Me fait ce dolereus depart Pleindre, plourer, et par son art Fait de cent mil a meins dou quart      Mon espoir mendre. Dont je morray, se Diex me gart, S’elle par toy ne me depart De ses douceurs aucune part      Pour moy deffendre. Car mes dolens cuers tant s’esmaie, Pour ce que m’esperence vraie N’est pas, qu’il n’est joie que j’aie.      Ce me tourmente. Ce me fait meinte mortel plaie. Ce me confont; ce me deplaie, Si qu’il n’est maus que je ne traie      Qu’autre amis sente. Car m’amour donnay en jouvente, Cuer, corps, ame, vie, et entente A ma tres douce dame gente,      Plaisant, et gaie. Las! Or langui en grief attente Et vif en pensee dolente. C’est le guerredon, c’est la rente      Qu’Amours me paie. Amours, ce n’est mie raison De moy donner tristece en don En lieu de joieus guerredon;      Eins est pechiez Quant je suis sans condition Tous mis en ta subjection. Or me mes a destruction      Et entrepiez, Qui deüsses estre mes chiés, Et par toy m’est li dez changiez. Et par toy de joie essilliez      Sans occoison Sui et de ma dame eslongiez. Mais s’auques einsi dure m’iez Confort n’espoir de mes meschiés,      Ne garison. Et quant Esperence ne joint A mon cuer, einsois s’en desjoint, Se Fol Espoir a li se joint,      N’est pas merveille, Puis que tu fais si mal a point Que tu m’as maté et empoint Par ton meffait en l’angle point,      Vueille ou ne vueille. La n’est il biens que je recueille. La mon vis de larmes se mueille. La n’est il riens qui me conseille,      Ne qui me doint Confort dou mal qui me traveille. La sens je doleur nompareille. La Pitez dort; la Desirs veille,      Qui trop me point. La suis je pis qu’en continue. La sens je doleur qui m’argue. La tramble mes cuers et tressue.      La m’asseür Que m’esperence est esperdue Se la grief doleur continue Qui tant s’est en mon cuer tenue      Que bon eür N’arai jamais; et se j’en jur, Diex scet que je ne m’en parjur. Pour ce toute joie forjur,      Qu’estre perdue Doit en moy quant j’aim de cuer pur. Et tous adés me sont plus dur Li mal que pour ma dame endur.      Ce me partue. Las! Dolens! C’est ce qui efface En moy d’esperence la grace. C’est ce qui a la mort me chace      Et fait penser Qu’ensement comme uns chiens de chace Aprés sa beste fuit et chace Et la sieut partout a la trace      Pour li tuer. Einsi Desirs de saouler Mes fols yex d’assez remirer De la bele et bonne sans per      La douce face Me berse et chasse sans cesser Et me cuide a la mort mener. Mais humblement vueil endurer,      Quoy qu’il me face. Mais il n’a pas si grant pooir De moy faire doleur avoir Com j’ay bon cuer dou recevoir.      Or y parra. Se pour ce que j’ay povre espoir De ma douce dame veoir Et qu’Amours m’a en nonchaloir,      Qu’il me fera? M’ocira il? Il ne porra, Car ma loiauté m’aidera. Qu’ai je dit? Einsois me sera      Contraire, espoir. Car puisqu’Amours me grevera Et Fortune, qui honni m’a, Ma grant loiauté m’ocira,      Si com j’espoir. Car mes cuers ne se porroit feindre D’amer ma dame ne refreindre; Einsois est toudis l’amour greindre      Qui en moy meint, Ne riens ne la porroit esteindre. Car quant elle me fait plus teindre, Dementer, gemir, et compleindre,      Tant plus m’enseint. J’ay oï recorder a meint Que quant uns malades se pleint Que sa doleur fait de son pleint      Un po remeindre. Las! Et c’est ce qui mon cuer teint. C’est ce qui plus griefment l’ateint. C’est ce qui tout mon bien esteint,      Sans joie ateindre Pour ce que riens de ma pensee Ne scet ma dame desiree, Seur toute creature amee      Dou cuer de mi, Ne la tres dure destinee Qui m’est pour li amer donnee, Et comment s’amour embrasee      Est toute en mi Mon cuer, qui est siens sans demi, Ne comment je pleure et gemi Souvent pour s’amour et fremi,      Qui enflamee Est en moy, dont je di “Aymi! Occirez vous dont vostre ami Entre les mains son annemi,      Dame honnouree?” C’est de Desir, qui mon cuer flame Et point de si diverse flame, Qu’en monde n’a homme ne fame      Qui medecine Y sceüst se ce n’est ma dame, Qui l’art, qui l’esprent, qui l’enflame Et bruïst d’amoureuse flame;      N’elle ne fine. Fortune est sa dure voisine, Et Amours l’assaut et le mine, Dont morir cuit en brief termine      Sans autre blasme. Mais s’einsi ma vie define, A ma dame qu’aim d’amour fine, Les mains jointes, la chiere encline,      Vueil rendre l’ame. Et quant a par moy debatus Me fui assez et combatus, Et fait ma pleinte et ma clamour De Fortune amere et d’Amour, Des grans doleurs et des meschiés Dont j’estoie et sui entichiés, (Qui m’orent volut travillier De geüner et de veillier, De soupirs en larmes noiez), Aussi fui com tous desvoiez De scens, de memoire, et de force Et de toute autre vigour. Pour ce Estoie je cheüs en transe Aussi com cils qui voit et pense Sa mort devant li toute preste. Si tournay un petit ma teste En gettant .i. plaint dolereus, Comme homs veins, mas, et langoreus. Et entrouvri l’un de mes yex Un petit, — car je ne pos miex — Pour ce que voloie veoir Entour moy. Mais je vi seoir Dalés moy la plus bele dame Qu’onques mais veïsse, par m’ame, Fors ma dame tant seulement. Car tant estoit parfaitement Bele, gente, et bien acesmee, Que se Diex de ses mains fourmee L’eüst; s’estoit elle d’affaire Bel, bon, gent, dous, et debonnaire. Mais il ne me fu mie avis Quant je l’esgardai vis a vis Que ce fust creature humeinne De li, ne qu’elle fust mondeinne, Dont j’avoie moult grant merveille. Car sa face blanche et vermeille Par juste compas faite a point Si que meffaçon n’i a point, Si clerement resplendissoit Que sa clarté esclarissoit Les tenebres, la nuit obscure De ma dolereuse aventure, Et de son ray persoit la nue Qui longuement s’estoit tenue Tourble, noire, anuble, et ombrage Seur mon cuer et seur mon visage Si que, comment qu’a meschief fusse Tel que de mort paour heüsse, Moult volentiers la resgardoie Pour ce qu’en veoir me sentoie Un petitet reconfortez De mes dures maleürtez. Car tout aussi com d’une drame Le bon maistre garist et drame L’ueil empeechié de catharacte, Dou quel il couvient qu’il abate Par soutil engien une toie Qui la clarté tient et desvoie, Et li rent sa clarté premiere, Tout einsi me rendoit lumiere De cuer, de memoire, et de l’ueil, Et me metoit d’umbre en soleil Sa clarté et sa resplendeur. Et aussi venoit une odeur De sa douceur tant precïeuse Et de saveur si gracïeuse Qu’onques ne fu plus douce chose En ciel, en mer, n’en terre enclose, N’onques odeur ne fu si fine, Ne douceur, tant fust enterine, Qui n’eüst encontre lui blasme, Tel com le fiel contre le basme; Si que li pourpris ou j’estoie En estoit pleins et bien sentoie Qu’odeur de li tant douce issoit Que ma dolour adoucissoit, Comment que nature esbahie Fust en moy, plus que je ne die. Lors, comme homs qui souvent souspir, Gettay .i. plaint et .i. souspir De parfont cuer, acompaingniés De plours et en larmes baingniés; Et tournai vers li a grant peinne Ma chiere teinte, pale, et pleinne De maniere desconfortee, Triste, dolente, et esplouree. Mais nulle riens ne li disoie Pour ce que parler ne pooie, Eins la regardoie a estat. Et quant elle vit mon estat, Si en sousrist moult doucement, Lors se treï courtoisement Vers moy pour savoir de mon estre, Et si me prist par la main destre De la sienne, blanche et polie, Pour miex savoir ma maladie; Si senti mon pous et ma veinne, Qui estoit foible, mate, et veinne. Mais sa main n’ostoit a nul fuer De la veinne qui vient dou cuer, Car bien savoit, la bonne et sage, Que dou cuer me venoit la rage Qui si griefment me demenoit Et que d’ailleurs ne me venoit. Et quant elle ot a son plaisir Veü mon estre, et a loisir, Et qu’elle sot sans couverture De mon mal toute l’encloüre, Et qu’en tele doleur estoie Des maus d’amours que je sentoie, Com celle qui la theorique Toute savoit et la pratique Qu’il failloit a ma medecine, Et qui bien congnoissoit l’orine Des yex dou cuer, qui fondanment Estoit faite amoureusement Et qui plus savoit de confort Que Fortune de desconfort, Et qui conforter me voloit Des maus dont mes cuers se doloit, Car il n’est viande si sade Com bon confort a un malade — Com fisicienne soutive, Sage, aperte, et confortative, D’une bele vois, clere et seinne, Plus douce que nulle douceinne, Me dist, quant elle m’ot sentu: “Dous amis, comment te sens tu? Et d’ou te vient ceste dolour Qui einsi desteint ta coulour? Certes, je croy qu’elle te teingne Au cuer et que d’amer te veingne. Si ne te dois pas desconfire Einsi, ne toy mettre a martyre, Car c’est grant honte et grans deffaus Puis que tu n’ies mauvais ne faus Envers ta dame que tu aimmes, Quant pour li amer las te claimmes. Je t’ay pluseurs fois öy dire Que tu ne vosisses eslire Autre bien n’autre souffissance, Fors que de sa douce sanblance Souvenirs et Douce Pensee Fussent en toy sans dessevree, Et que cil .ij. te garissoient De tous les maus qui te venoient. A qui tient il que ne les aies? Il tient a toy qui trop t’esmaies, Car ta dame, de jour en jour, Croist en biauté sans nul sejour, En douceur, et en tout le bien Qu’on puet penser, ce sai je bien. Et quant elle croist et abunde Plus qu’en dame qui soit ou munde En tout ce qu’on puet bon nommer, Tu ne te dois pas las clamer Se tu l’aimmes bien, n’esmaier Qu’elle ne te doie paier Plus mil fois que ne dessers En ce que tu l’aimmes et sers. Et aussi c’est chose petite A li de rendre a toy merite. Car tout le menre guerredon De qu’elle te puist faire don, Dont elle a sans fin et sans nombre, Vaut .vc. fois, s’a droit le nombre, Plus que desservir ne porroies, Se tu l’amoies et servoies, Nom pas tous les jours de ta vie, Mais autant com la monarchie De ce monde porra durer. Et loiaument te puis jurer Que tous les jours, en mil manieres, Riches, precïeuses, et chieres, Elle te guerredonneroit Que ja plus povre n’en seroit; Que biens en li tant s’abandonne Que plus en a quant elle plus donne, Mais que bonne Amour s’i consente. Et quant Amours t’a mis en sente De sa bonne grace esperer, Tu ne te dois pas desperer Pour un petit de mesprison, Quar mauvaistié ne traïson N’i ot, quant a la verité, Fors paour, honte, et nisseté Avec Amours qui s’i mesla, Quant servis fus de ce més la Qui te mist en cuer l’apostume, Dont ta douceur en amer tume. Encor dois tu penser aussi Pour toy mettre hors de soussi — Non mie penser, mais savoir, Se tu vues pais et ioie ravoir — Que puis qu’elle a parfaitement Tous les biens qu’on puet bonnement Ymaginer, dire, ou penser, Qui croissent en li sans cesser, Et qu’elle est des vertus paree, Et de tous vices separee, Qu’il couvient de neccessité Qu’en li soit Franchise et Pité, Humblesse et Charité s’amie; Et pour ce tu ne te dois mie Einsi mettre a desconfiture, Car Pitez est dessus Droiture, Qui jamais ne porroit souffrir Toy veoir a la mort offrir Pour amer, c’est chose certeinne, Ne Franchise, qui moult procheinne Est de Charité et d’Umblesse. Et se tu dis qu’Amours te blesse, Tu vues ressambler a celui Qui ne se loe de nelui, Eins se tourmente et se courresse Quant sa besongne bien adresse. Et certes tu li fais injure De dire a li qu’elle t’est dure, Et c’est pechiez d’ingratitude Et maniere mauvaise et rude. N’as tu mie dit en ton lay — Si as, se bien retenu l’ay — Qu’Amours, que tu en supplioies, A ta dame que tu amoies Porroit bien dire ton martyre Car tu ne li savoies dire? Et elle, com franche et honneste, A oÿ et fait ta requeste, Car elle a dit et descouvert L’amour que tu as tant couvert A ta dame si sagement Et de si tres bon sentement Qu’onques ne fu, ne jamais n’iere, Personne qui en tel maniere, Si bien, si bel, ne si a point, Li peüst dire que dou point De fine amour sens la pointure Pour sa biauté plaisant et pure — Ja soit ce qu’elle li deïst, Sans ce que parole en feïst. Mais bele chose oy tesmongnier: Po parler et bien besongnier. Si ne say que tu li demandes; Qu’elle a acompli tes demandes Et fait plus que tu ne voloies De ce que tu li requeroies. Mais chien qu’on nage, en lieu de paie, Quant il est passez, il abaie. Biaus dous amis, einsi fais tu, Et tout ce ne vaut .i. festu, Car il n’est chose si perdue Com bonté qui n’est cogneüe. Cuides tu que dame honnouree, Sage, loial, et avisee, Prise celui qui s’amour rueve Par mos polis, pleins de contrueve, Et qui en priant son langage Farde pour miex faire le sage, Ou qui la requiert baudement De s’amour, et hardiement? Certes, nennil! Ce ne puet estre, Eins laisse tels gens a senestre Com celle qui riens n’i aconte. Mais il n’ont vergongne, ne honte, Ne courrous s’il sont refusé; Car si mauvais et si rusé Sont qu’il ne doubtent ce qu’on dit A eaus quant on les escondit; Einsois ailleurs merci rouver Vont pour les dames esprouver. Mais quant une dame de pris Voit l’amant qui est entrepris, Qui n’use pas de faus samblant, Eins a membres et cuer tramblant, De paour desteint et nerci, Quant il li vuet rouver merci; Et qu’elle le voit si estreint Qu’Amours de li par force espreint La liqueur qui des yex degoute Parmi sa face goute a goute, Et qu’il li couvient recoper Ses paroles et sincoper Par souspirs puisiez en parfont Qui mut et taisant le parfont, Et qu’il l’estuet par force taire Et de honte ensus de li traire, Et qu’elle voit qu’en petit d’eure Qu’Amours son visage couleure De .iij. ou de .iiij. couleurs Pour les amoureuses doleurs Qu’il reçoit, dont ses esperis Par force d’Amours est peris, Saches que tantost a sa guise Congnoist qu’il aimme sans feintise, De vrai cuer d’ami. C’est la somme, N’en monde n’a si soutil homme, Tant soit apers, qui sans meffaire Sceüst un amant contrefaire, Qu’il n’i heüst trop a reprendre; Ne riens ne me feroit entendre Que il peüst soudeinnement Sa couleur müer proprement En .iiij. manieres diverses, Blanches, rouges, jaunes, ou perses. Mais Amours le fait a son vueil, Et pour ce chastoier te vueil, En toi moustrant que tu fais mal Qui te pleins de l’amoureus mal, Ne de chose qu’Amours te face; Car elle t’a fait plus de grace Que ne porroies desservir En li .vc. mille ans servir. Et si te vueil dire comment: Amours t’a fait loial amant A la milleur et la plus bele Qui vive; mais encor t’a elle Fait une moult grant courtoisie, Laquele tu ne congnois mie, Qu’elle li ha par sa puissance Donné certeinne congnoissance Par maniere sage et soutive De l’amour qui en toy s’avive, En approuvant par son decret Que cuer as loial et secret, Par la maniere dessus ditte, Qui est celle qui plus profite Et qui doit estre receüe Plus en gré et plus chier tenue. Car en ce cas, quoy que nuls die, Homs ne diroit sa maladie Jamais si proprement de bouche Com fait cil a qui elle touche Au cuer, si que dire ne puet Qu’il a, ne de quoy il se duet. Et einsi t’est il avenu. Or dis qu’il t’est mesavenu, Quant ta besongne bien te vient Et qu’Amours t’amie devient, Qui se dehüst miex de toy pleindre Que tu ne t’en doies compleindre. Aprés tu ne fais chose nulle Dont joie en ton cuer tant s’anulle, Ne dont tu aies tant d’irour, Comme de vivre en telle errour Que tu tiens ta dame pour fole. Et ce te destruit et affole, Que tu penses et ymagines, Ce m’est vis, songes ou devines, Qu’elle pas n’entende ou congnoisse L’amour qui en ton cuer s’engroisse, Et crois qu’elle ne voie goute. Mais si fait — de ce ne te doubte — Car elle est sage et parcevant De congnoistre .i. cuer decevant Au maintient et a la parole; Ne ja si soutil parabole Ne dira qu’elle ne l’entende; Et s’elle en voit .i. qui se rende En amours de vray sentement Pour vivre et morir loiaument, Si com tu le fais et as fait, De cuer, de pensee, et de fait, Legierement le congnoistra, Comment que fort a congnoistre a Cils qui vuet avoir sans doubtance La juste et vraie congnoissance Pour congnoistre le cuer loial Dou mauvais et dou desloial, Car c’est chose moult reponnue. Mais ta dame, qui est tenue Pour la millour et la plus sage Des dames, scet tout ton corage Qu’Amours li aprent et ensengne Par la vraie et loyal enseingne Que nuls faus amoureus ne porte; Qu’en cuer desloial elle est morte, Et en cuer loial liement Regne et resplendist clerement. La congnois tu? Certes, nennil! Car tu n’ies mie si soutil. Pour ce me vueil mettre a l’essay Dou dire, si com je le say. C’est .i. escut dont la matiere Est de souffrir a humble chiere, Et le champ est de fin asur. Mais il est si monde et si pur Qu’il n’i a d’autre couleur tache Qui le descouleure ne tache. .I. cuer de gueules ha enmi Feru d’une flesche par mi De sable; mais onques ne fu Tel fer qu’elle a, qu’il est de fu A cinc labiaus de fin argent; Et trop y affiert bel et gent Ce qu’il est tous semés de larmes. Ce sont les droites pleinnes armes Dou fin amant sans difference; Mais enarmez est d’esperence. Se tu ne scez que c’est a dire, Monstrer le te vueil et descrire. On recorde, et s’est avenu Souvent, que pluseurs sont venu A leur entente seulement Par souffrir bien et humblement; Que humblement souffrir a la fie Maint dur cuer veint et amolie, Et li proverbes qui recorde: ‘Qui sueffre, il veint,’ bien s’i acorde. Aprés des couleurs de l’escu, Pour ce que n’as pas tant vescu Que tu en saches l’ordenance, Te diray la signefiance. Saches de vray qu’en tout endroit Ou on descript armes a droit: La couleur de pers est clamee Asur, s’elle est a droit nommee, Le rouge gueules, le noir sable, Et le blanc argent, mais sans fable Je te di qu’on appelle encor Le vert sinople et le jaune or. Or te vueil ces couleurs aprendre, Comme en Amours les dois entendre: Saches que le pers signefie Loiauté qui het tricherie, Et le rouge amoureuse ardure Naissant d’amour loial et pure; Le noir te moustre en sa couleur Signefiance de doleur, Blanc joie, vert nouveleté; Et le jaune, c’est fausseté. Mais retien les .iiij. premiers Et laisse les .ij. darreniers. Car s’en l’escu fussent posees, Les armes en fussent faussees. Mais le fer ardant de la flesche Qui le cuer toudis art et seche, Sachiés certeinnement qu’il art Et bruïst par si soutil art Qu’il n’i pert tache ne arsure, Trace, plaie, ne blesseüre, Et einsi se keuve et engendre Com li charbons dessous la cendre. Mais comment que cils feus sensibles Soit au cuer, il est invisibles, Et aussi est cils qui l’alume. C’est Desirs qui lape et qui hume Le sanc dou cuer et la substance Qui en tel feu fait sa penance. Nompourquant c’est chose certeinne Qu’en ce feu n’a doleur ne peinne Uns cuers qu’est de bonne nature, Eins y prent douce norriture Et s’i delite en tel maniere Com li poissons en la riviere. Or t’ay devisé et apris — Se retenu l’as et compris — Comment ta dame puet savoir Que tu l’aimmes sans decevoir, Car les armes portes entieres En cuer, en vis, et en manieres, Fors tant que les enarmes toutes Sont sans cause en l’escut deroutes Pour ce qu’Esperence te faut, Ce te samble, par ton deffaut. Mais se tu me vues avouer, Je suis ci pour les renouer; Si les ferai milleurs que nueves, Ne qu’autres que saches ne trueves, Mais que tu teingnes le propos Que de toy ci dessus propos: C’est qu’en toy n’aies si grant vice Que ta dame cuides si nice Qu’elle n’ait bien aperceü Qu’Amours t’a pris et receü En sa douce religion Pour parfaire profession, Sans penser avoir, ne remort, Que n’i soies jusqu’a la mort, Et qu’il li plaist bien que siens soies. Pour ce te pri que tu me croies, Car je te jur seur ma creance, S’estre vues en ma gouvernance Qu’a tous besoins te porteray, Aiderai, et conforteray Tres loiaument et de bon vueil, Ne jamais laissier ne te vueil, Sain, malade, lié, ne mari, Ne que la femme son mari. Or pren cuer et te reconforte, Biaus dous amis, car je t’aporte La santé dont tu as desir. Et vraiement, je la desir. Mais pour toy un petit deduire Et pour tes maus a joie duire, Te vueil dire un chant nouvelet. Car chose plaist qui nouvele est.” L’ AMANT. Lors d’une vois douce et serie, Clere, seinne, en tel melodie Commensa son chant dalés mi C'un petitet m’i endormi, Mais ne fu pas si fermement Que n’entendisse proprement Qu’einsi commensa par revel Joliement son chant nouvel:

COMPLAINT He laughs in the morning who weeps at night, And a man trusts that Love labors To his benefit though she launches an assault      And does him an evil turn, And he thinks Joy hastens his way To help when in fact she never budges. Now Fortune is the source of all this harm      As she turns her wheel, Not waiting for day to dawn To start it in motion; rather she never rests, But turns, turns again, and turns it all around      Until she brings to the very top The man lying defeated in the gutter; The one on top she conveys to the bottom, Distressing and discouraging in a flash      Those who are most happy. For she is neither fixed nor reliable, Just, loyal, or truthful. When thought charitable,      She’s a miser, Harsh, fickle, terrifying, Traitorous, unpleasant, deceptive; And when you think she’s being friendly,      She’s hard-hearted instead. For though she appears a friend, As sweet as honey, true as any mother, The sting of a viper,      However incurable, Compares not in the least to her, For she would betray her own father, Dump him from honor into incredible      Misery. If Fortune loves, it’s from a distance. If needed, she never appears, Nor does she show affection to anyone,      Whether vile or virtuous. And I testify she’s deceptive enough To bear false witness and so put In a tough spot the finest friend      She has in the world. She flays more than she shears, And wickedness abounds in her, For she destroys whomever she fosters,      Never giving a rotten apple For anything she brings to ruin, Aiming to wreck her own works, And in this she is unrivaled and without peer.      Here’s the name I give her: “Dull-witted, half-blind, faithless, and tawdry.” Never doing enough ill to satisfy herself, She doesn’t care a fig for the whole world,      Instead dominating all In the manner of the moon, Which now is full, clear, and luminous, And yet in two weeks’ time      Loses shape and brightness, Save that Fortune knows no month or week, No fixed day, no dependable hour; Instead her vengeance is unpredictable;      As everyone knows, For when someone is most possessed Of the honor and riches of this world, As she turns, she brings him down to nothing,      Such is Fortune. Consider two pails in a well, For they provide an apt analogy. One’s full, while the other’s empty,      And if one goes up, The other descends; just so I find That Fortune, in what she does, Brings up one, sinks another down,      And is unconcerned if this is A king, duke, nobleman, or count: To one she gives honor, the other shame. One she disgraces; the other she exalts.      That’s her pleasure; She undermines and dominates all pride. But Boethius instructs Us to pay no attention      To the pain she causes. Fortune knows more of practicalities Than any master of physics, Of divinity, or logic,      Or even a beggar In regard to finding some obscure path; She flatters, she wounds, she stings, Thumbing her nose at one and all,      Smiling the whole time. She makes one insignificant, another great; She forces one back, advances the other. She laughs one minute, weeps the next, knowing      Not whom she loves, and so her Appeals are quite deceptive. She holds to nothing promised, And, in sum, spends all her time      Trying to make everyone fall. Nebuchadnezzar recounts How in a dream he saw a statue Huge and tall, whose face      Was horrifying, Its head all of gold, pure and rich, The arms and torso worked from silver, The stomach, thighs that it featured were      Made from bronze, Standing on legs forged of iron, With feet partly of iron And the rest terracotta. And then he saw      How, as it chanced, A stone, not thrown by hand, flew down And struck the statue between the feet, Shattering everything to fragments      And filth. The statue he mentions here Can be none other I think Than Fortune, who never rests      A day or hour. Her head is gold, if I dare admit it, Which encloses all wealth, Or so think fools she strings along,      Who live in an error That could not be more mistaken; For she hasn’t the power and strength To do other than bestow pain and suffering.      Retain this thought and gloss it: For her joys are but weeping, And her riches merely ice in an oven. And thus whoever opposes her      Acts most properly. For if you live with great wealth, You’ll never have true happiness, Only pain, desolation and gloom,      And you’ll fear Losing those riches, a deep wound, Or you’ll experience the bitterness and harshness Of avarice, the mistress      Of pestilences. And if you’re mired in poverty, You’ll lack the ability to endure it, But every day find your hand at the point of      Turning thief. Therefore you should value no power That lacks peace, security, and Satisfaction, offers only pain and misfortune,      Weeping and distress. Her arms and chest are fashioned of silver, But this is only deceptive show: For it is their bright shining      That dims the sight And blinds the eyes of many To whom she makes inflated promises, While in her bosom secretly      Nursing treason. With one arm she lifts them onto her wheel, More gently than any aloe; With the other she strikes them on the cheek      So brutally They are tossed into the mud, Mocking them then with her expression. This is the endowment Fortune grants      Those she adopts. Her belly and thighs are all bronze, But this is to signal with great clarity To all those close to her      How her changes are For the worse. You see there certain proof, For at the top her head is gold, And then comes silver, not tin.      Do I speak truth or am I lying? Finally there’s bronze, ignoble and unfitting. Surely, this is no good transformation. Only a fool anticipates such gifts,      Or holds out his hand, For by this mutability she avenges herself On those she flatters and deceives, Robbing them of their honor and reputation      Day after day. On legs of iron she stands, Demonstrating how in no way Does the man who possesses her      Fear storms, tempests, gales, Or whatever anyone might do or say. But this is mere false surface, For her feet are made of clay,      Slippery and fragile. And since her foundation is not Solid rock, but worthless sand, The man shames and fools himself      Who respects her enough To take to heart any of her teachings, For she plays tricks on her pupils And everywhere bruits about their foolishness,      Holding them in no esteem. In my view no man is estimable at all Who intends building something important On a worthless foundation      Without suffering disaster. For when the work is furiously Underway, its base collapses, Causing the entire edifice      To crumble and fall. Just so savage Fortune, When she’s been constructing some work And the building has reached its highest stage,      Makes the gale and storm Of adversity hurl on through, Laying waste to everything — Foundation, roof, and masonry —      With a single assault. Fortune has more than a thousand tricks To entrap and deceive her own; But this wretch possesses nothing      She can give them. She can promise plenty of her goods; But you are very much the fool to think That any of these might belong to you.      While sitting still she takes flight; Her right side is gracious, the other hostile; Her right hand bears flowers, leaves, and fruit. The other is bare, empty, and devoid      Of earthly goods. The right quite brilliantly blazes forth, The other most resembles dark night. And she’s amusingly divided between      Gold and garbage. Fortune is hateful love, Unfortunate good luck. She’s a miserly generosity.      She’s abandonment. She’s sad and painful health. She’s miserly wealth. She’s a nobility poor and shameful,      Void of loyalty. She’s prideful humility. She’s envious charity. She’s a perilous safety.      Too untrustworthy is she. She’s power in poverty. She’s repose in adversity. She’s famine in a satisfied heart.      She’s a raging joy. She’s hard-hearted suffering. She’s envious sufficiency. She’s a peace pained and troubled.      She’s vanity. She’s a domineering patience; She’s lazy diligence. She’s considerate neglect      Opposed to friendship. She’s the tree of inhumanity, Rooted in deception. The tree trunk shows that there are      Lies in her truth. Her flowers are of faithfulness, And the leaves of iniquity, But the fruit comes from a poverty      Hard and cruel. Her head is half bald. With one eye she laughs, the other pours tears. One cheek is vivid with life,      The other death itself. If one of her hands is your friend, The other’s your mortal enemy. One foot is well-formed, the other clubbed,      She twists what is straight. Her strength is that in falling she’s strong; She comforts herself in discomfort. Laughing, she’s the bearer of desolation,      Tears, and misery. Comforting, she troubles; She advances her own with bad treatment. She delights in every kind of evil deed,      No matter what anyone says. Fortune is above justice; She holds to her own statutes and laws Over emperors, popes, and kings,      And not one of these three Can oppose her, however fierce Haughty, or resolute he might be. For Fortune breaks and beats down      Whatever resistance they mount. It’s certainly true that she struggles And fights to advance men such as these, And lends them honor and rank,      For who knows how many months. But everywhere she betakes herself, She finds such great pleasure in playing tricks That, winning the game, she utters “checkmate”      In an arrogant tone. And this is what Fortune’s done to me, I believe, Just as I’ve recounted here; For once I possessed every joy      In abundance. But now this turn of events has laid me so low All my laughter has turned to bitter weeping, And all the goods that once were mine      Have vanished. For just now I would not dare look Upon the face of that belle to whom My heart is pledged, and whom I love so much      It could be no more. And yet my desire to gaze upon her is so great My miserable heart goes mad, And so I don’t know what to do      I am so undone. Love, Love, you did this to me, Making me fall into the error That has completely ruined the joy that’s mine!      For I can surely say Your shaft so afflicted my heart I could have said nothing at that moment Even had I been granted forever      The empire in its entirety. Why did you compel me to settle on A woman for whom my heart sighs So profoundly it cannot tell joy from anger?      And why is it your wish To destroy me utterly through the love I bear her? Since you set ablaze my sorrowful heart, It has melted in the suffering love brings.      Was this good to do? Alas! What are you asking of me? With all the power that’s mine I love you, Now you show me hate, striking      Me down from on high, And beating me so fiercely with your whip In the prison house where you’ve shoved me That, my shield lowered, I surrender myself,      Defeated and vanquished. And so you go too far wrong assaulting me When I surrender and am your captive, For, having proved the victor,      In no way should You keep striking and beating a prisoner. Rather you should wish for his recovery. Alas! Trapped in your bonds I am pummeled,      After giving up and being taken! This does not redound to your honor, I believe, When I serve you with such fidelity I humbly agree to die      Should it please you For the sake of the lady I no longer look upon. And so I fear (and it’s a marvel to me) Her noble heart might be      Angry with me. And thus I am poorly treated, Saddened, depressed, made miserable Because you’ve taken away what advantaged me,      And why, I do not know. And this has robbed the color from my face, Filling my heart to the brim with tears, Mingled with painful wailing,      And all because of you. At the same time I do not wonder — When the glance from her sweet eye And her face, shining, pale and rosy,      Glowing With beauty, more than gold in the sunlight, And her body, unrivaled In its sweetness, graciously      Turned in my direction — If my vision went blurry And words dried up in my mouth, If strength drained from me.      For it was by your wish That Nature delivered my body a shock And my senses deserted me, Making my heart tremble and flutter.      And so I lament. And this is how her perfect beauty, Fresh and sweet as any summer flower, And the incredible glow      Of her visage, By which I saw myself illuminated, The power of her glance, greater than all others, Completely bewildered my five senses;      I could do nothing more. Alas! And from this I’ve felt so much distress I don’t know what path to follow; Neither joy nor happiness      Remains now within me, But since I love without doing wrong, You’re intent on destroying me completely Unless the lady, kind and noble,      Takes pity on my situation. And it depends on you, as is quite appropriate For I’m yours, whatever might happen. But remember, I beg you,      How I bear In my heart the loving sign Of the lovesickness that wounds me, And that there’s no place      I might find any solace. And if my lady intends Me harm, I beg you passionately To point out her error and tell her      She possesses Me so completely that, if her aim Is to make me suffer, she’ll kill me; For she’s my life and death,      Whatever might happen. I don’t know what else to do Not wanting to get rid of the love I feel. And yet that cannot happen,      For, and no lie, If all those whom God brought to life Were each and every one as great a master Of arts and letters as was Seneca,      They could not persuade Me to give her up even on pain of death, For I love and desire her above all other women. All my pleasure is in her;      She is my right hand; She’s the one who can heal me And make my joy return Should she agree to rekindle      My desire with her look. Alas! Wretched! Now I dare not hope She might ever be so gracious As to deign let fall upon me      Her sweet look. For you made me tumble into the terrible error Of departing from her without taking leave While offering no explanation,      So that early and late This sorrowful desertion makes me Lament, weep, reducing with its power My hope from a hundred thousand      To less than one fourth. Thus I’ll die, so God protect me, If through you she does not share to me Some portion of the sweetness she possesses      To protect me. Indeed my grieving heart feels such distress, With my true hope now Vanished, that I have no joy at all.      This torments me; This inflicts on me many a mortal wound; This confounds me; this injures me, And so there is no ill afflicting      Other lovers I do not endure. For in my youth I granted my love, My heart, body, soul, life, and mind To my lady, so sweet and noble,      Attractive and filled with joy. Alas! Now I languish in miserable expectation And live on with painful thoughts; That’s the reward, these the wages      Love pays out to me. Love, it makes no sense To bestow on me the gift of sadness Instead of a reward full of joy;      Rather it is wrong When making no conditions I submit completely to your rule. Now you bring me to destruction      And walk all over me, You who should have been my patron, But have made the dice go against me. And because of you I’m exiled from joy,      Having done no Wrong, and estranged from my lady. But since you treat me so harshly, I expect no assuaging of my miseries,      Or any healing. And since Hope is not one With my heart, but rather has fled, And Foolish Hope is the heart’s companion,      That’s no surprise Because you’ve gone so wrong As to strike and beat me in this tight corner Where your misdeed’s trapped me,      Whether I wish or no. There nothing good comes my way; There my face runs with tears. There nothing offers consolation,      Or gives me any Comfort for the ill that besets me. There I suffer a pain worse than any other. There Pity sleeps; there Desire is wakeful,      Whose sting I too often feel. There I’m worse off than running a constant fever. There I feel pain attacking me. There my heart trembles and shakes.      There I feel certain My hope is lost Should this bitter pain endure, So deeply rooted itself in my heart      That happiness Will never be mine; and if I swear to this, God knows I’m not perjuring myself. And so I abjure all joy,      Which must be forsaken In me since I love with a pure heart. And always increasing in their harshness Are the ills I suffer for the sake of my lady.      That will finish me. Alas! Wretched! This is what destroys in me The grace of Hope. This is what hectors me to the point of death      And makes me think That just as a hunting hound Pursues and chases some wild thing, Tracks it down wherever it goes      In order to kill it, So Desire, in order to sate My foolish eyes with gazing sufficiently On the sweet face      Of that virtuous beauty unrivaled, Assaults and pursues me, never halting, But striving to drive me right to death. Even so, I intend to suffer humbly      Whatever he might put me through. And yet his power to make me Suffer pain is not as great As the ability of my good heart to endure.      And one thing becomes clear. If I have but little hope To see my lady And Love’s indifferent to me,      What can Desire do? Will he kill me? He cannot manage it Since loyalty will come to my aid. What have I said? Instead that one will      Perhaps oppose me. For since Love tortures me, And Fortune too, who’s shamed me, My great faithfulness will kill me,      Or so I expect. For my heart can neither pretend to love My lady nor refrain from doing so; Rather every day the love within      Me strengthens, Nor can anything extinguish it. But when she makes me grow even paler, Go madder with grief, as I moan and complain,      She entraps me ever more tightly. I’ve often heard it said That when a sick man complains, His complaint makes his pain somewhat      Easier to endure. Alas! This casts a shadow on my heart. This is what most grievously affects it. This is what ruins all my happiness,      Beyond expectation of joy: That the lady I desire (loved above All other creatures By this heart of mine) knows nothing      Of what is in my heart, Or the quite bitter destiny Meted out to me because I love her, Or how love for her smolders      Deep within My heart, which is hers completely, Or how I weep and moan Often for her love, and tremble as well,      How this love burns Inside me until I cry “Woe is me! Honored lady, will you then kill Through the hands of his enemy      The man who loves you?” Desire does this, scorching and scarring My heart with a flame so horrific No man or woman in the world      Can provide The cure except my lady herself, Who burns and sets it ablaze, who sears And singes it with the love’s flame;      Nor will she make an end. Fortune is the cruel neighbor of the heart, Which Love assaults and assails, And so I expect death will soon seize      Me with no further wrong committed. But if my life ends thus, To my lady, whom I love with a pure affection, I’ll render up my soul,      My hands joined, my head bowed. And after I’d debated All this, struggling fiercely and Composing my lament and complaint Against cruel Fortune and Love For the great suffering and misfortune That have continued to afflict me, (And their intention was to tax me With fasting and wakefulness, With sighs drowning in tears), I found myself drifting far away From reason, memory, strength, And all my other faculties. And this is why, Like someone who sees and imagines His death closing in on him, I fell into a trance, Turning my head a little And letting out a lament full of pain As if weakened and beaten down, bewildered. Unable to manage more, And I cracked open one eye, For I was eager to look Around. Now before me I saw Sitting the most beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes upon, by my soul, My lady alone excepted. For she was as perfectly Beautiful, genteel, and of refined appearance As if God had shaped her with His own hands; in manner she was Attractive, virtuous, noble, sweet, and refined. But, looking upon her face to face, I did not think She was a human creature, Or even of this world, And at this I much marveled; For her face, pale and rosy, In its proportions so perfect There was no defect. Shimmering quite brilliantly, The glow from her brightened The shadows, the dark night Of my miserable adventure, And its ray pierced the cloud, Desolate, black, obscure, and gloomy, That for so long had lowered over My heart and countenance And thus, though so distressed I almost died from fear, Quite eagerly I gazed upon her Because in this looking I found Some assuagement Of my bitter suffering. Just as a master physician heals And cures with a precious stone The eye distressed by a cataract, From which he must remove Through his subtle skill a film That impedes and diverts the light, Giving it back the clarity it once had, So her brightness and glow similarly Shed light on my heart, My memory, and my eyes, Took me from shadows to sunlight. And also a fragrance then wafted up From her, a sweetness that was so precious, And of a scent so lovely, Never was anything so delightful To be found in the heavens, sea, or land, And no aroma, however pure, Was ever so excellent or sweet, That just as balm surpasses gall That other would prove inferior. And so the enclosure where I was Was soon redolent with it, and I very much felt The scent emanating from her was so honeyed It assuaged my suffering, Though my body felt more distress Than I can put into words. Then, like a man used to sighing, I let out from deep in my heart A moan and sigh, accompanied By weeping and bathed in tears; And in great pain toward her I turned My face, which was pale, tear-stained, And sorrowful, as all could see, Sad, pained, and running with tears. But I spoke nary a word, Finding myself speechless. Instead I stared intently at her appearance. And seeing the state I was in, She smiled quite sweetly, Then moved toward me gracefully To make my acquaintance, And with her own hand, white And smooth, she took my right, The better to gauge my illness; She felt in my vein for a pulse, Which was weak, feeble, and faint. Never for a moment did she move her fingers Off the vein running from the heart, For, sharp and virtuous, she wisely thought, That my heart, and nowhere else within me, Was the source of the madness Then driving me crazy. And after to her satisfaction she’d Examined how I was, taking her time And learning the whole truth Of my illness, so no mystery remained, And how the painful state I endured Resulted from the lovesickness I felt, Like a woman who knows all the theory And practical steps as well That healing me required, And who was well aware of the fluid Flowing from the eyes of the heart, Whose essence derived from loving, And who knew more about consolation Than Fortune does of misery, And whose wish was to offer me comfort For the ills afflicting my heart Since there is no dish as satisfying As welcome comfort for those who are sick — Like a physician with a subtle mind, Wise, perceptive, and consoling, Her voice appealing, clear and soothing, Sweeter than any flute, She said to me, after taking my pulse: “Dear friend, how do you feel? And what is the cause of this painful suffering That has so robbed your face of color? Surely, I believe it grips Your heart and love is its origin. But you should not be this wretched, Nor should you torture yourself, For that’s quite shameful and a great mistake, And do not consider yourself unfortunate for loving her Since you’ve proven neither false nor ill-intentioned Toward this lady you love. Several times I’ve heard you say You’d choose no other Benefit or satisfaction, Save that the Memory and Sweet Thought Of her beautiful form Might remain within, never to depart, And that these two would heal All the ills besetting you. Whose fault is it that you lack these two? It’s your fault you are so distressed, Since your lady, from day to day, Constantly increases in beauty, In sweetness and every virtue Imaginable, this I know well. And since more than any other woman In the world she grows blessed With everything one could find good, You should not consider yourself desolate If you truly love her, nor be dismayed That she’s not obligated to pay you A thousand times more than what you deserve For the love and service you offer her. Moreover, it takes very little For her to pay out what you’ve earned Since even the tiniest grace She might show you (Which are hers in numberless infinity) Is worth five hundred times, to calculate rightly, What you’ve managed to merit Through loving and serving her, Not only all the days of your life, But for as long as the kingdom Of this earth manages to endure. And, telling no lies, I can swear to you That every day, and in a thousand ways Rich, precious, and dear, She’ll reward you So you’ll no longer be poor. For she possesses goods so abundantly That she more she gives, the more she has, Provided good Love consents. And since Love has put you on the path Of hoping to obtain her good mercy, You should not slip into despair Because of some small setback, For there’s no evil or betrayal In it, if truth be told, Only fear, shame, and foolishness, Along with Love, who was involved, When you were served the dish That fed this abscess in your heart, Turning your sweetness bitter. Here’s something else to remember In order to relieve your anxiety — Not just remember, but embrace If you wish to regain joy and peace — Namely that since she possesses perfectly All the qualities one might properly Imagine, speak of, or conceive, And these endlessly increase in her, And since she’s adorned with virtues Yet is free from vice of any kind, It clearly follows She must also possess Generosity and Pity, Humility, and her friend Charity; And for this reason you ought never allow Yourself to fall into despair, For above Justice stands Pity, Who could never endure watching You embrace a martyr’s death For the sake of love, that’s certain, Nor could Generosity, who is quite close To Humility and Charity. And if you maintain Love harms you, You make yourself out to be the kind of man Who listens to no one, But rather torments himself and rages on, While all the time his affairs go swimmingly. And certainly you do her wrong To say she’s hard on you, For this is the sin of ingratitude, And an ill-mannered, evil-minded way to behave. Haven’t you asserted in your lay — And you have, if memory serves me well — That Love, whom you petition, Could easily tell the lady You love how much you suffer Since you cannot tell her yourself? And Love, noble and honest as she is, Listened and did exactly what you asked, For the very love you’ve kept so hidden, She’s spoken of and made known To your lady in such a cunning fashion, And with such well-calculated sensitivity, That there never was or will be Anyone who in similar fashion, So expertly, so properly, or so appropriately, Could have told the woman how you feel The sting of pure love’s sharp point Through her beauty, pleasant and pure — It being the case that Love told her this Without having to utter a single word. Now here’s a useful precept I’ve seen proven: Say little, and you’ll succeed nicely. So I don’t know what you’re asking, For she’s fulfilled your requests, Doing more than you wished for Of what it is you asked to be done. Now a dog forced to swim, making it To the other bank, isn’t grateful, but yelps instead. Friend sweet and fair, you do the same, Which is worth less than a blade of grass, For there’s nothing less appreciated Than an unacknowledged good turn. Do you think an honorable lady, Who is wise, faithful, and considerate, Values a man who seeks her love With slippery words full of trickery, And who, advancing his suit, measures What he says so as to seem the wise man, Or, further, another who demands Her love rudely and by force? Surely, not at all! This cannot happen; Instead she shoves such men aside, Treating them as nothing. But they feel no shame, no chagrin, No outrage when refused because they’re So ill-intentioned and conniving They fear nothing anyone might say About their being rejected; Instead they go looking elsewhere to find Favor, putting other women to the test. But when a worthy lady Sees a lover who is dismayed, Not pretending to be someone he’s not, But whose limbs and heart tremble, And he’s flushed and red-faced with fear As he sets about seeking her favor. And when she sees him so sorely pressed That Love squeezes out from him by its power The liquid flowing from his eyes Down his face drop by drop, And the man can do nothing but Cut short his speech and punctuate it With sighs forced out from deep inside, Which render him speechless and silent, And so he’s forced to hold his peace, Shamefacedly shuffling away from her; And when in the space of a few moments She sees Love make his face Change color three or four times On account of love’s pangs, which He feels, so that the power of Love Devastates his spirit, Know that through his manner she recognizes At once how he loves without deception And with a lover’s true heart. That’s the gist, And in the world there is no man sharp enough, However calculating, who, without failing at it, Might be able to imitate a man in love And avoid detection as well as reproach, And nothing could lead me to credit That he might prove able on the spot To counterfeit convincingly The four different colors of a lover: White, red, yellow or blue. But Love manages this as she wishes. And so I teach you that it is an evident error By explaining how you go wrong In complaining about either lovesickness Or anything else Love does to you. For she has shown you more grace Than you could merit After serving her five hundred thousand years. And here, I tell you, is the reason: Love has made you the faithful lover Of the finest and loveliest woman alive, And yet she has shown you An even greater courtesy, Which you do not acknowledge in the least, For through her power she has provided The lady with a sure knowledge, In a fashion wise and subtle, Of the love that’s so vibrant in you, Approving through her decree How you possess a heart loyal and discreet, Just as I’ve described above, And this is what profits you most And which you should accept with greater Gratitude, valuing it more highly. For in such a case, no matter what anyone says, No man speaks as eloquently Of his sickness with his own mouth As when, touched to the very heart, he finds himself Unable to put into words what ails him Or what he suffers from. And so this is what has happened in your case. You play the fool, I say, When your affair proceeds this smoothly And Love’s become your ally, And she’s the one who more rightly might Lodge a complaint in the matter. Furthermore, you do nothing That so chases joy out of your heart, Or in which you err so greatly, As continuing in the great mistake Of thinking your lady a fool. And you’re devastated and enraged As you conjure and conceive, It seems, both dreams and fantasies of how She neither understands nor acknowledges The love growing stronger in your heart, And you believe she sees nothing of it. But she does — don’t doubt it — Because she’s wise and sharp enough To recognize through his words and manner When a man’s heart is bent on deception. And what he says will not be so deceptive She doesn’t spot the truth of the matter. And if she notices a heart surrendering Itself to love out of true emotion In order to live and die in faithfulness, As you do and have done In heart, thoughts, and deeds, She’ll easily grasp the fact of the matter, Even though it’s difficult for anyone Who’s eager to learn beyond any doubt In the proper fashion and for truth How to distinguish the faithful From the ill-intentioned and counterfeit heart, For this is something not easily seen. But your lady, who is considered The best and wisest of women, Knows everything in your heart Because Love points out and shows this Through the true and trustworthy ensign No pretend lover manages to display. For in the faithless heart this ensign has no life, While in the loyal heart it holds sway Joyfully and shines brilliantly. Do you recognize it? Surely, not at all! For you are not sufficiently versed. And so I will try to explain it From what I know. It’s a shield whose decorative theme Is to suffer with a humble demeanor, And the field is pure azure. But it is so pure and unsullied There’s no trace of any other color To deface or stain it. In the middle is a heart all in red Struck through by an arrow In black; now there never was A point such as this one, all of fire With five tongues of pure silver; And it is most fittingly attractive and noble, Covered with a scattering of tears. These are the true arms of the pure lover, Simple in their design, lacking nothing. But the shield-straps are fashioned from Hope. If you don’t understand what this means, I’ll offer a fuller account and description. Memory suggests, and it has often Happened, that many have achieved Their goals in a simple fashion, Through suffering properly and humbly; For patient suffering softens And overcomes many a hardened heart, And the proverb that applies, ‘Whoever endures conquers,’ suits this well. Now I’ll explain the arrangement Of the colors on the shield Since you haven’t lived long enough To know what meaning they have, Understand it as the truth about how arms Are properly described: The color ‘blue’ is called ‘Azure,’ to give it its proper name, Red is called ‘gules,’ black ‘sable,’ And white ‘argent,’ but — and no lie — I tell you further that green Is called ‘sinople’ and yellow ‘or.’ Now I’ll instruct you about the colors, How they should be understood in regard to Love: Know that blue signifies Loyalty, the enemy of betrayal, And red the passionate burning That comes from a love true and pure; The color black shows you How it stands for pain; White means joy, green newness; And yellow, why that’s falseness. But keep just these first four in mind And forget the last two; For if they found a place on a shield, The coat of arms would be ruined. But the flaming steel tip of the arrow That constantly sears and scorches the heart, Burns and sizzles (know this For certain) through such a subtle art That no spot or singed place, No trace, wound, or hurt appears. And in addition it smolders and remains aflame, Like charcoal under ashes. But even though the heart is aware Of this burning, it is as unseen As the one who set the fire. And that is Desire, who licks up and sucks Blood from the heart and flesh And does penance for this in the flames. Nonetheless, it’s certain That a heart whose nature is virtuous Feels no pain or misery in this blaze, But draws sweet nourishment And takes as much delight there As does a fish in a river stream. Now in this description I’ve taught you — If you’ve understood and retained it — How your lady might discover You love her yet intend no trickery, For you bear all these arms In heart, face, and demeanor, Except that the shield straps, for no reason Save that you lack Hope, Because of what you think is a misdeed, Have been severed on the shield. But if you put your trust in me, I’m here to make it right; I’ll render these straps better than new, Superior to any you might know or find, If only you keep to the plan I explained to you here above: Namely that you harbor no vice so great As to believe your lady foolish enough Not to have clearly perceived How Love has captured you In order to induct you into her sweet religion And complete your profession of faith With no remorse or second thought; And there you’ll remain till death. And she’s quite pleased you would be hers. So believe me, and I beg you To remain under my rule, For on my faith I swear In your every need I’ll provide Support, aid, and comfort too, Faithfully and willingly, And never will I abandon you, Either sick or healthy, happy or miserable, No more than a wife would desert her husband. Now take heart and console yourself, My sweet, handsome friend, for I’ll guide you Toward the state of well-being you desire; And in truth, this is what I want too. But to entertain you a little And transform your misery into happiness, I intend to sing a new song; For something new pleases.” THE LOVER Then with a voice clear and soothing, Sweet, consoling, she began her song By my side with a melody That soon set me to dozing, But not so deeply I did not properly attend to How her new song Began prettily and joyfully:

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1985 fol. 63r 1990 1995 2000 2005 2010 2015 2020 2025 2030 2035 2040 2045 2050 2055 fol. 63v 2060 2065 2070 2075 2080 2085 2090 2095 2100 2105 2110 2115 2120 fol. 64r 2125 2130 2135 2140 2145 2150 2155 2160 2165 2170 2175 2180 2185 2190 2195 fol. 64v 2200 2205 2210 2215 2220 2225 2230 2235 2240 2245 2250 2255 2260 2265 2270 2275 fol. 65r 2280 2285 2290 2295 2300 2305 2310 2315 2320 2325 2330 2335 2340 fol. 65v 2345 2350 2355 2360 2365 2370 2375 2380 2385 2390 2395 2400 2405 2410 2415 2420 fol. 66r 2425 2430 2435 2440 2445 2450 2455 2460 2465 2470 2475 2480 2485 2490 fol. 66v 2495 2500 2505 2510 2515 2520 2525 2530 2535 2540 2545 2550 2555 2560 2565 2570 fol. 67r 2575 2580 2585 2590 2595 2600 2605 2610 2615 2620 2625 2630 2635 2640 2645 fol. 67v 2650 2655 2660 2665 2670 2675 2680 2685 2690 2695 2700 2705 2710 2715 2720 fol. 68r 2726 2730 2735 2740 2745 2750 2755 2760 2765 2770 2775 2780 2785 2790 2795 2800 2805 fol. 68v 2810 2815 2820 2825 2830 2835 2840 2845 2850 2855

CHANSON ROIAL Joie, plaisence, et douce norriture, Vie d’onnour prennent maint en amer. Et pluseurs sont qui n’i ont fors pointure, Ardour, dolour, plour, tristece, et amer      Se dient; mais accorder      Ne me puis, qu’en la souffrence      D’amours ait nulle grevance,      Car tout ce qui vient de li          Plaist a cuer d’ami. Car vraie Amour en cuer d’amant figure Tres dous Espoir et gracïeus Penser: Espoirs attrait joie et bonne Aventure; Dous Pensers fait Plaisence en cuer entrer;      Si ne doit plus demander      Cils qui a bonne Esperence,      Dous Penser, Joie, et Plaisence,      Car qui plus requiert, je di          Qu’Amours l’a guerpi. Dont cils qui vit de si douce pasture Vie d’onneur puet bien et doit mener, Car de tous biens a a comble mesure, Plus qu’autres cuers ne saroit desirer,      Ne d’autre merci rouver      N’a desir, cuer, ne beance,      Pour ce qu’il ha Souffissance;      Et je ne say nommer ci          Nulle autre merci. Mais ceaus qui sont en tristesse, en ardure, En plours, en plains, en dolour sans cesser Et qui dient qu’Amours leur est si dure Qu’il ne puelent sans morir plus durer,      Je ne puis ymaginer      Qu’il aimment sans decevance      Et qu’en eaus trop ne s’avance      Desirs; pour ce sont einsi,          Qu’il l’ont desservi. Qu’Amours, qui est de si noble nature Qu’elle scet bien qui aimme sans fausser, Scet bien paier aus amans leur droiture: C’est les loiaus de joie saouler      Et d’eaus faire savourer      Ses douceurs en habundance;      Et les mauvais par sentence      Sont com traïtre failli          De sa court bani. L’ENVOY Amours, je say sans doubtance Qu’a .c. doubles as meri    Ceaus qui t’ont servi. L’AMANT Et quant elle ot son chant finé, Vers moy a son chief encliné En riant doucement com celle Que je tieng pour vierge et pucelle; Si mist sa main dessus mon chief Et me demanda derechief: LA DAME “Comment t’est? Que me diras tu Ay je ton chief bien debatu? Que te samble de ma chanson? Y a il noise ne tenson Qui te plaise ou qui te desplaise Ou dont tu soies plus aaise? Que c’est? Ne me diras tu rien Se je say chanter mal ou bien? Se ce n’estoit pour moy vanter, Je diroie de mon chanter Que c’est bien dit. Quant tu ne vues Respondre, ne say se tu pues. Mais je pense que tu te feingnes De parler et que tu ne deingnes. Je te pri, biaus tres dous amis, Que tu ne soies si remis Que tu te laisses einsi perdre; Car tu te dois penre et aërdre A ce que j’ay dit ci devant, Nom pas le temps tenir devant En oiseuse et en trufferie. Laisse toute merencolie Et tout ce qui t’i puet mouvoir Fors l’amer; qu’on ne puet avoir De bon temps fors ce qu’on en prent. Et s’est trop fols qui entreprent Pour une fole oppinion Sa mort et sa destruction Puis qu’il le puet bien amender. Et pour ce te vueil commander, Deprïer, enjoinder, et requerre Que pais faces de ceste guerre Qu’empris as contre toy meesmes, Car c’est fole emprise et fols esmes. Et je te promet et te jur Que je te feray asseür De ce dont yes en si grant doubte. Or te conforte et ne te doubte, Car se tu vues, tu yes garis, Et se ce non, tu yes honnis. Pren le grain et laisse la paille; De tristece plus ne te chaille, Car cils qui bien voit et mal prent, C’est a bon droit, s’il s’en repent. Et je t’offre toute m’aïe, Com ta bonne et parfaite amie. Si ne dois pas ci tant muser Que tu la doies refuser; Qu’on dit: ‘Qui ne fait quant il puet, Il ne fait mie quant il vuet; Et le fer chaut, on le doit batre.’ A toy ne m’en quier plus debatre; Mais je vueil bien que certeins soies Que tes besongnes seront moies, Car je t’aim et faire le doi.” L’AMANT Lors prist un anel en son doy, Bel, bon, chier, precïeus, et riche, Et doucement en mien le fiche. Et je qui encor sommilloie (Nom pas fort, car bien entendoie Ce qu’elle avoit chanté et dit En rime, en musique, et en dit), Senti la froideur de l’anel. Et lors d’esperit po inel Me tournai au miex que je pos Vers li et laissai le repos Ou sa belle vois clere et seinne, Plus douce que nulle sereinne, Qui les hommes scet enchanter Par la douceur de son chanter, M’avoit mis, si com dit vous ay. Et en moy tournant arrousay De larmes mon cuer et mes yex Et ma poitrine en pluseurs liex, En gettant .i. dolereus plaint Com cils qui moult se duet et plaint. Mais tout aussi com la clarté De ceste dame l’obscurté De mon cuer avoit esclarci Qu’Amours avoit teint et nercy, Et que sa douceur doucement Avoit adouci mon tourment, Tout einsi le tres dous parler De li, quant je l’oÿ parler, Me remist en cuer la parole, Dont ci presentement parole, Car de tous poins perdu l’avoie. Lors parlai, si com je pooie, Et li dis, sans faire demeure: “Dame, ce fu a la bonne heure Que fustes nee et conceüe Et que vous estes ci venue, Quant li bien dont estes garnie M’ont rendu santé, joie, et vie. Car presente m’estoit a Mors, Dont vraiement j’estoie mors, Ma dame, se vous ne fussiez Et s’esgardé ne m’eüssiez Des yex de vo cuer en pité. Mais vous m’avez ressuscité. Se vous depri devotement Et tant com je puis humblement, Ma dame, qu’il vous vueille plaire Que je sache de vostre affaire, Vostre nom et vostre venue, Et comment estes ci venue, Ne par ou; qu’onques mais, par m’ame, Se ce n’est l’amour de ma dame, Nulle riens tant ne desirai.” LA DAME “Amis, et je le te diray Volentiers, sans faire lonc plait; Car ce qui te plaist, il me plait. Je sui li confors des amans Qui font les amoureus commans; Je les aide; je les conseil. Je sui de leur estroit conseil. Je les deffen. Je les deporte. Je les secour. Je les conforte Contre Desir qui les assaut Et fait maint dolereus assaut. Je leur sui chastiaus et fortresse. Je leur sui servante et maistresse. Je leur sui dame et chamberiere. Je porte partout leur baniere. Je les tieng jolis et en joie. Je les met d’onneur en la voie. Je leur doing cuer et hardement D’entreprendre hardïement. A haute honneur les fais venir. Amoureus les fais devenir. Je les fais sagement parler, Rire, jouer, chanter, baler. Je les tieng gais et envoisiez. Je rapaise les despaisiez. Je les norri; je les alaite. Je leur sui mere, amie, et gaite. Je leur sui phisicienne et garde; De tous maus les deffen et garde. Il m’aourent; je les honneure. Il me prient, et je demeure. Je sui leur ressort, leur recours Par coustume et par entrecours. A tous besoins me truevent preste Par penser, sans autre requeste, Car j’oubeï a leurs pensees, Se trop ne sont desordenees. Mais tant sont de foible marrien Que sans moy il ne puelent rien. Et quant il ont mestier de mi, Je te di (comme a mon ami) Qu’aler ne me faut ne courir, Loing ne prés, pour euls secourir. Et se te dirai sans attendre Comment se tu y vues entendre.” L’AMANT “Oïl, dame, et je vous en pri.” LA DAME “Oi dont — je ferai ton depri. Je te di, et le moustre a l’ueil: Que tout aussi com le soleil De ses rais le munde enlumine Et de sa clarté pure et fine; Et qu’encontre le temps d’esté La terre, qui moult a esté En yver brehaingne et deserte, De noif et de glace couverte, Se resjoïst et se cointoie, Germe, adoucist, et renverdoie Pour la grant chaleur qu’elle sent Dou soleil qui seur li descent, Si qu’adont Nature la bele Li vest une robe nouvele De la couleur d’une panthere, Dont contre le printemps se pere — A dire est qu’elle est dyapree De toutes coulours et paree — Car racine n’est tant diverse Qui a ce printemps ne s’ahërse A geter, selonc sa nature, Fleur, fruit, fuelles, greinne, ou verdure (Se tele n’est que plus ne sime Et qu’il n’i ait verdeur ne chime), Et pour c’est la terre si cointe, Si belle, si gente, et si jointe, Qu’elle a sa robe despouillie, De l’iver crotée et mouillie; Et sans plus pour l’acointement Dou printemps est si cointement — Einsi di je, en samblant maniere Que tout aussi com la lumiere Dou soleil donne par le monde, Tant comme il tient a la reonde, Clarté, chalour, joie, plaisence De ses rais, qui par leur puissance Font que la terre qui s’esgaie En rit et devient cointe et gaie, Qu’ensement de moy li resplent Qui ci presentement resplent Donne clarté par tout le siecle, Par tout s’espant et par tout siecle Es amans vivans en amer Tant deça mer com dela mer, Et leur donne clarté, chalour, Joie, et plaisence en leur amour. Mais je qui sui leur droite mere Leur doing une clarté si clere, Si a point, si bien ordenee, Que la racine qui entee Est dedens leur cuer d’amours germe Fleur, fueille, fruit, et nouviau germe, Et les fais plus cointes vint temps Que la terre n’est au printemps, Si qu’einsi com le soleil donne Sa clarté loing et prés, sans bonne, Einsi fait mon resplent roial Partout en cuer d’ami loial. Et se Nature soutille ouevre Dont la terre reveste et cuevre (Pour ce que sa robe crostee De l’iver tans li est ostee, Et li donne robe a parer) Trop bien me puis ci comparer A li, car je fais .i. amant Cointe et joli. Scez tu commant? Tu le saras sans contredit. Recorde ce qu’ay devant dit. Et s’elle fait d’une racine Yssir fleur, et rose d’espine, Tout einsi fais je .i. cuer florir En toute joie et fais morir En li doleur; car je l’esserbe, Si que de mal n’i demeure herbe. Et de ma douceur que tu sens, Qui moult est plus douce qu’ensens, L’adouci, le conforte, et l’ong S’il le dessert, soit prés soit loing. Et pour ce que je te savoie Desconforté et nut de joie, Et qu’a conforter sui tenue Les amans, suis je ci venue. Mais c’est a ma propre personne, Com ta certeinne amie et bonne, Par tel maniere que veü Ne m’avoies, n’aperceü Pour ce que je sui invisible. Et quant je vueil, je sui visible. Et de mon nom que vues savoir, De legier pues apercevoir, Qu’a toy ne vueil estre celee: Esperence sui appellee.” Quant je vi que c’iert Esperence, Je pris confort et espoir en ce Plus que devant n’avoie fait, Si que mes esperis a fait Tous ensamble mis a force ay. Et lors de parler m’efforsay, Et li dis de plus vive chiere: “Ma dame reverent et chiere, Digne de löange et d’onnour, Excellent en toute valour Que cuers porroit ymaginer, Yex veoir, oreille escouter, Main figurer, ne bouche dire, Soutils entendemens descrire, Goust savourer, ne tast sentir, Desirs, voloirs, cuers asentir, De Dieu amie et de Nature Et de toute autre creature, Exemples vrais, miroirs de joie, Estoile clere qui ravoie Les cuers desvoiez a droit port, Contre doleur, santé, deport, Retour de mort et medecine, Fleur, estoc, et droite racine, Dont joie et toute douceur vient Ou vo ramembrance seurvient — Se tuit cil que Dieus a fait estre Et cil qui sont encor a nestre Estoient chascun plus soutil, Nom pas une fois, mais cent mil, En bien nombrer qu’Arismetique Et Pytagoras et Musique, Michalus, et Milesius, Et que li soutils Orpheüs. Et se vosissent encombrer Des biens et des douceurs nombrer, Dame, dont vous avez sans nombre, S’abaieroient il leur ombre. Car jamais n’i asseveroient, Ne que la mer espuiseroient. Et pour ce, dame de vaillance, Qu’en moy n’a pas scens ou scïence Pour vos biens et douceurs retraire — Si com je le dehüsse faire Et com volentiers le feroie, Mais en vain me travilleroie, Ma dame — tres humblement ren ge A vous grace, mercis, löange .C. mille fois, et vous salu. Car je suis au port de salu, Ce m’est vis, quant je vous regarde, Si met dou tout en vostre garde Cuer, corps, ame; car il n’est lieus Ou mettre les peüsse mieus Pour mon temps user lïement. Et se vous promet loiaument Qu’en vostre douce compaingnie Vueil mon temps user et ma vie, Quar je voy bien tout en appert Que cils qui vous pert, il se pert. Pour ce jamais partir n’en quier. Mais je vous depri et requier, Ma dame, qu’il ne vous desplaise, Se de ce qui moult me mesaise Vous fais encor une demande.” ESPERENCE “Nennil! Seürement demande!” L’AMANT “Volentiers, dame. Dit m’avez, Si com bien faire le savez: Comment je me doy maintenir, Se je vueil a santé venir; Comment Amours m’a secouru; Comment vous avez acouru Pour moy aidier et conforter; Les armes qu’amans doit porter; Et quel fust la signefiance Des couleurs et de leur samblance, Dont moult bon gré sceü vous é; Comment vous m’avez espousé De vostre anelet savoureus Et chanté vos chans amoureus; Comment li amant riens ne puelent Qui departir de vous se vuelent, Car vous estes tous leurs effors, Leurs murs, leurs chastiaus, leurs confors; Comment vo clarté loing et prés Esclarcist les amans; aprés Comment vostre douceur, plus douce Qu’autre douceur, leurs maus adouce; Vostre venue et vostre non, Qui est de moult noble renon, Et quele chose est de merci; Dont cent mille fois vous merci. Mais riens n’avez dit de Fortune, Qui einsi le monde fortune, Qui n’est, n’onques ne fu seüre, Mais quant les siens plus asseüre, Ceaus sont qu’elle plus griefment bat Et qu’en bas de plus haut abat. Je m’en say bien a quoy tenir, Car seulement dou souvenir De ses assaus, de ses estours, De ses faus ris, de ses faus tours Ay tel paour que tuit mi membre M’en fremissent quant il m’en membre. Pour ce, dame, je vous demant: Qu’a moy vueilliez dire commant Je me porray de li deffendre, Car si gieu sont pour .i. cuer fendre, Mais qu’il soit de loial amant Et fust plus dur que dyamant; Et se aus autres est si diverse Et de nature si perverse Comme a moy, qu’elle heüst occi, Se Dieus ne vous heüst tost ci Amenee, pour moy destordre Dou mors dont elle me volt mordre.” ESPERENCE “Biaus dous amis, que te diroie De Fortune? Ne t’en saroie Plus dire que tu en dit as En ta complainte que ditas, Fors tant que jadis fu usages Que li ancien .ij. visages Li faisoient ça en arrier: L’un devant et l’autre darrier. Ce te demoustre chose clere, Que Fortune est douce et amere. Car adont douce te sera Quant elle te resgardera Dou visage qu’elle a devant, Et largement t’avra couvent, Douceur, joie, bonneürté, Affublez de maleürté. Car einsi le dois tu entendre, Ja soit ce que li mundes prendre Ne le vueille mie ensement. Mais c’est le droit entendement; Dont maint ont esté deceü Qui trop ont son couvent creü, Et tant s’en faisoient afin Qu’il s’en perdoient a la fin. Et se resgardés yes de l’autre, Garde toy; car lance seur fautre, Se vient encontre toy combatre Pour toy de toute honneur abatre, Sans menasse et sans deffier; Si que tu ne t’i dois fier, Ne qu’en baston d’un champion. Et, selonc mon oppinion, Des biens qu’elle donne et envoie, De l’un pren ne de l’autre joie, Si qu’einsi vois par sa figure La douce fortune et la sure. Car tele fourme li donnoient Li ancien qui la figuroient. Et pour ce que je t’ai acquis, Et que d’umble cuer m’as enquis Quelle deffense il te faudra Avoir quant elle t’assaudra De l’ueil de sa darreinne face Qui fiert einsois qu’elle menace Si qu’il n’est homs qui amender Le puist je te vueil demander; A ton avis, le quel tu tiens Estre milleur de ces deus biens: Ou le bien que tu ne porroies Perdre ou celui que bien perdroies?” L’AMANT “Dame, la response est legiere.” ESPERENCE “Di la dont.” L’AMANT         “Certes, dame chiere, Le bien qu’on ne pert est milleur.” ESPERENCE “Dont est cils qu’on pert le pieur?” L’AMANT “Dame, c’est voirs; je m’i acort.” ESPERENCE “Or sommes nous donc en acort; Si te vueil moustrer clerement Que tu as fait bon jugement. Cuides tu, se prosperité Est en li, que felicité Avec la boneürté vraie Y soient? De ce ne t’esmaie, Car c’est chose qui ne se puet Joindre. Et vez ci ce qui me muet: La bonneürté souvereinne Et la felicité certeinne Sont souverein bien de Nature, Qui use de Raison la pure. Et tels biens, on ne les puet perdre. Pour ce comparer ne aërdre Ne s’i puelent cil de Fortune. Car on voit (et chose est commune) Que qui plus en a, plus en pert. Si que je te moustre en appert Que Fortune n’a riens seür, Felicité ne boneür. Et se de li garder te vues, Je te dirai que faire pues. Et pour estre boneüreus. Dont n’as tu riens si precïeus Comme toy?” L’AMANT.         “Ma dame, nennil!” ESPERENCE. “Or tien dont son pooir si vil Qu’aies de toy la signourie. Garde que Raisons te maistrie Et qu’aies en toy pacïence Et la vertu de souffissance, Car bonneürtez vraiement Vient de souffrir pacïenment. N’il n’est homme, a mon essïent, Que quant il est impacïent, Qui ne vosist avoir fait change De son estat a .i. estrange. Et ce le fait maleüreus Et vivre en estat perilleus. Aussi ne dois tu la puissance De Fortune, ne sa muance En ton cuer amer ne prisier, Mais haïr, fuïr, desprisier, Ne tels biens ne desire en toy. Et se tu retiens mon chastoy, Tu aras le bien sans faillir Qu’elle ne te porroit tollir. Et comment que moult fort te plaingnes En ta complainte et que tu teingnes Que Fortune t’a esté dure, Amere, diverse, et obscure, Et que maintes fois appellee L’as fausse, traïtre prouvee Et ton anemie en tous cas, Je vueil estre ses advocas. Et te vuel prouver par raison Qu’onques ne te fist traïson, N’onques ne te fu annemie. Einsois t’a esté bonne amie Selonc ce qu’elle scet amer Et estre douce en son amer. Et pour miex prouver ton contraire, Te vueil ceste demande faire. Fait cils mal qui fait son devoir?” L’AMANT “Nennil, ma dame.” ESPERENCE         “Tu dis voir. Mais encor avec ton tesmoing Je di par raison et tesmoing Que, se Fortune t’a osté De la joie ou tu as esté, Dont tu as receü maint mal, Que traïson ne fait, ne mal. Car elle fait ce qu’elle doit, Et ce te mousterrai je au doit. S’elle estoit toudis en un point Et de raison usoit a point, Si qu’envers tous fust juste et une, Elle ne seroit pas Fortune. Mais pour ce qu’elle ne sejourne, Eins se change, mue, et bestourne En fait, en dit, en renommee, Est elle Fortune nommee. Comment que sa mobilité En mouvant soit estableté, C’est ses estas, c’est sa nature, Ce sont ses meurs, c’est sa droiture. Dont, puis qu’elle fait son dehü, Je di que tu has tort heü De li laidengier, ne blasmer, Ne de ses ouevres diffamer. Car se tu yes cheüs en peinne Par sa mutation soudeinne, Estrange, diverse, et sauvage, Qui fist chanseller ton corage, Certes, amis, tu n’ies pas seuls. Car autant en fait elle a ceuls Qui demeurent en paiennime, Sans resgarder raison ne rime, Ne pour toy seul ne fu pas faite, Ne pour toy ne sera deffaite Sa roe qui se fait congnoistre Entre les mondeins et en cloister. Et quant tu bien la congnoissoies, Di moy pour quoy tu y montoies. Se tu en as le vis pali, C’est plus par toy que n’est par li. Car quant tu empreïs l’amer, Tu te meïs enmi la mer Entre les perilleuses ondes Cornues et plates et rondes, Qui se transportent en po d’eure, L’une au dessous, l’autre au desseure, Dont la mer s’engroisse et se trouble, Si que toute l’iaue en est trouble. Et si te meïs en servage De Fortune, qui tant est sage Que nuls ne devient de sa court Qu’il ne couveingne brief et court Qu’il face sa franchise serve Puis qu’il face tant qu’il la serve. Se tu estens au vent ton voile, Fait de main de maistre et de toile, Tu scez bien que ta nef ira La ou li vens la conduira, Pour ce, sans plus, que la franchise De ta nef au vent sera mise. Einsi est puis que tant t’assers A Fortune que tu la sers Et yes mis en sa servitute Y couvient par force que tu te Mettes a nagier et a rime, Selonc ce qu’elle nage et rime, Et qu’a ses meurs tu te conformes En tous cas et en toutes formes Puis que tu yes de ses maisnies. Prouvé le t’ay se tu le nies. Mais or me respon sans muser, Car encor la vueil excuser De ce que devant has prouvé Que tu l’as amere trouvé; Et ce a demander m’a meü. Di, dou quel tu as plus heü De li, ou de mal ou de bien?” L’AMANT “Dame, de mal. Ce sai je bien.” ESPERENCE “Certes tu ne sces que tu dis. Il m’est vis que tu arrudis, Que tes cuers le contraire en sent, Nom pas en .i. cas, mais en cent.” L’AMANT “Fait, dame?” ESPERENCE         “Oïl, je le te prueve.” L’AMANT “Je vous en pri, car je ne trueve Riens en moy dont loer me doie Fors dou bien et de la grant joie Qui me vient de vostre presence.” ESPERENCE “C’est par deffaut de congnoissance; Car se tu fusses bien apris, En ton cuer heüsses compris Qu’a l’issir dou ventre ta mere Elle ne te fu pas amere, Einsois te fu moult amiable, Douce, courtoise, et charitable. Si n’ies pas au blasmer tenus, Car de tous biens estoies nus, Et elle te prist erraument Et t’alaita diligenment De son lait — c’est de ses richesses, De ses honneurs, de ses noblesses — Et te fu norrisse et maistresse, Favorable admenisteresse De la gloire, t’environna De tous les biens ou raison a, C’est des biens qui sont de son droit. Et tu t’en plains? Fais tu a droit? Que vues tu qu’elle plus te face? Ne t’a elle fait assez grace Quant elle t’a (se bien le gloses) Fait user des estranges choses? Car elles ne sont mie tiennes Einsois sont de son droit et siennes. Et quant riens n’i a qui soit tiens, Fols yes s’a mal paiez te tiens S’elle vuet ravoir en sa main Ce qui sien est, de hui a demain. Tu sambles trop bien a celui Qui a emprunté de l’autrui, Et quant il est temps qu’il le rende, Il a courrous s’on li demande. Einsi fais tu, ne plus, ne mains. Mais pour ce que tu yes es mains De Fortune, dont je parole, Je te pri, retien de m’escole: Que la ou elle est, si bien sont. Et s’elle s’en part, il s’en vont. Et cui elle aide, il est aidiés, Cui elle laist, il est laissiez, Ce m’est avis; car par son cerne Au jour de hui chascuns se gouverne. Mais il samble, a bien discerner, Que tu la vueilles gouverner Et que tu la vueilles contreindre, Si qu’estable doie remeindre, Ou autrement tu t’en pleindras. Mais certes, assés a pleindre as, S’oster la vues de sa nature, Qui tous jours a duré et dure, Ne jamais autre ne sera Tant com li siecles durera. Tu vois la mer quoie et paisible Aucune fois, et puis horrible La vois et pleinne de tourment Pour ce que le vent si forment Y fiert que ce sont mons et vaus, Plus tost courans que nuls chevaus; Ne tous li mondes contrester Ne porroit pas pour l’arrester. Tout einsi Fortune se mue, Ne jamais ne seroit tenue Par force, ne par biau parler Si tost qu’elle s’en vuet aler. Mais richesse et honneur enporte, Et tous biens qui sont de tel sorte Com siens propres, ou nuls ne part Se sa grace ne l’en repart. Si ne t’en deheüsses pas pleindre. Mais pour la verité ateindre Dou mal que dis qu’elle t’a fait, Je di que riens ne t’a meffait, Einsois a fait assés pour toy.” L’AMANT “Dame, comment? Dites le moy.” ESPERENCE “Volentiers! Elle t’a laissié Ton sens qu’elle n’a point blecié, Et ce qu’aimmes plus et desires, C’est la vie dont tu yes sires. Aprés s’elle a sa face double, Qui en fait et en dit se double, Tourné vers toy a meins dou quart Et fait de travers un regart, T’en faut il einsi dementer, Pleindre, plourer, et tourmenter? Tu dehüsses en sa muence Penre cuer et bonne esperence De miex avoir se fusses sages. Ne dist on que li homs sauvages S’esjoïst quant il voit plouvoir, Et chante? Qui l’i fait mouvoir? L’espoir qu’il prent en son revel Qu’aprés le lait il fera bel. Ne tu n’as pooir de savoir Que c’est joie sans mal avoir. Et aussi je t’apreng et moustre Que proprement Fortune est moustre De maleürté a venir. Si te deüst bien souvenir Quant en si haut degré estoies, Qu’en aucun temps descenderoies. Mais Amour, qui maint cuer aveugle, De yex et de cuer te fist aveugle Si que tu ne pensoies mie A mener jamais autre vie Qu’elle ne te faisoit present, Fors seulement dou temps present. Mais en tout ce que tu proposes Dois resgarder la fin des choses. Et s’aucune fois en meschiet, Pour une, cent fois bien en chiet, Car il n’est regle qui ne faille. Pour ce ce proverbe te baille: Que d’ore en avant bien te gardes Qu’a la fin des choses regardes. Et se bien pris garde y heüsses, Ja de Fortune ne te fusses Einsi pleins, ne de bonne Amour, Car ça esté pour ton millour Quanqu’elles ont fait, et tout pour toy. Pour c’escuser les vueil et doy, Que donné t’ont par leur douçour Cent joies pour une dolour. Et tu meintiens tout le contraire, Ce que pas ne deüsses faire. Se te pri que plus ne t’aveingne, Et qu’il te ramembre et souveingne Que tu ne prises une prune Desormais les biens de Fortune; Ne te chaille s’il vont et viennent. Et së avec toy ne se tiennent, N’en dois estre liez ne dolens, Car plus que oiselés sont volens. Cils qui plus en a, plus li faut. Dont ont li roy plus grant deffaut Que n’ont la povre gent menue D’or, d’argent, et de joiaus nue, Et par deffaut de souffissance, Car en leur cuer se boute et lance .I. ardant rain de convoitise Qui si les ambrase et atise Qu’il les art jusques es entrailles. Et si sont tous leurs esplois failles, Tant comme il sont en telle ardure. Je ne di mie que Nature De po de chose n’ait assez. Mais se li mondes entassez Estoit dou ciel jusqu’a la terre De quanque cuers porroit requerre, Dire, et ymaginer d’avoir, N’en y porroit il tant avoir Qu’il peüst jamais, a droit dire, A .i. cuer couvoiteus souffire, Non certes .vc. mille mondes Qui par .vc. mille fois combles Fussent, si com je le devis! Scez tu pour quoy? Il m’est avis Que, selonc mon jugement nice, Riens ne souffist a Advarice; De quoy on voit tout en apert Que qui tout couvoite tout pert. Car on en pert l’ame et le corps, Joie, honneur. Et c’est mes acors. Encor te pri je trop de cuer Que tu n’oublies a nul fuer Les .ij. precïeuses vertus Que je t’ay nommé ci dessus: L’une est Souffissance la belle; L’autre est Pacïence, s’encelle. Se tu les as, tu n’as regart De Fortune au double regart, Car elles sont si vertueuses, Si dignes, et si precïeuses, Que riens ne prisent le dangier De Fortune, ne son changier; Eins mettent l’omme a seürté En chemin de Bonneürté. Bonneürté est, ce me samble, Ce qui donne ces .vj. ensamble: Gloire, Deli, et Reverence, Puissance, Honneur, et Souffissance. C’est bien parfait et souverain Qui vient dou Maistre Premerain, Qui est fin et commancement, Trebles en .i. conjointement, .I. en trois et .i. tout seul bien Ou il ne failli onques rien. Je ne vueil mie que tu penses Que d’amer te face defenses. Eins vueil et te pri chierement Que tu aimmes tres loiaument, Qu’amy vray ne sont pas en compte Des biens Fortune, qui bien compte, Mais entre les biens de vertu. Et pour ce t’enseingne que tu Aies cuer vray tant com vivras, Car grant joie et gloire en avras; Et loiauté ja ne despite, Se ça jus n’en as la merite, Qu’elle ne puet estre perdue Qu’a cent doubles ne soit rendue. Se ci ne l’est, c’est chose voire, Se l’iert elle en sige de gloire. Je t’ai dit ce que tu feras Et qu’en verité trouveras. Se tu le fais, bien t’en venra, Et ce non, il le mescherra. Je te lairay, si m’en iray. Mais au partir tant te diray: Que se tu has mestier de my, Amie entiere, sans demy, Me trouveras a toutes heures. Si n’est pas bon que plus demeures, Que vers ta dame ne te traies. Mais garde bien que ne t’esmaies; Car ja ne te sera si fiere Qu’elle te laidenge ne fiere Se ce n’est de ses tres dous yex Rians, attraians, et soutiex. Mais je les tesmogne pour tels Que leurs cops ne sont pas mortels, Car douce en est la blesseüre Et aggreable la pointure. Et se tu estoies si pris De veoir ta dame de pris Que ne peüsses endurer Ses dous yex, ne contre eaus durer, Et qu’entrepris de fine amour Fusses, de honte et de paour, Si que coulour et contenance Perdisses, aies ramembrance De moy toudis, comment qu’il aille. Car ja n’iert si fort leur bataille Qu’elles ne soient desconfies Dou tout, mais que tu ne m’oublies, Car onques mes amis n’oubli. Et se tu me mes en oubli, Soies tous seürs et tous fis Qu’en l’eure seras desconfis. A Dieu te commant; je m’en vois. Mais einsois de ma clere vois Te diray une baladelle, De chant et de ditté nouvelle, La quele tu en porteras, Et en alant la chanteras, Afin que tes cuers s’i deduise S’il a pensee qui li nuise.

CHANT ROYAL Joy, pleasure, and sweet nourishment, A life of honor is what many discover in love; And there are some who experience only suffering, Pain, yearning, weeping, sadness, and displeasure.      Or so they affirm; but I cannot      Concur, for in the suffering Love brings      There can be no misery      Since all that comes from Love          Pleases the heart of a lover. Now true Love in a lover’s heart gives form to Very sweet Hope and gracious Thought: Hope attracts Joy and Good Luck; Sweet Thought makes Pleasure enter the heart.      Whoever possesses good Hope,      Sweet Thought, Joy, and Pleasure      Should request nothing further;      For whoever asks for more, I say          Love will throw him over. So the man living with such sweet nourishment Certainly can and should live his life honorably, For his is every kind of benefit in abundance, More than other hearts would even know to want;      Nor should his be the desire, heart, or impulse      To seek out some other form of favor      Because he has Sufficiency;      And it would be impossible for me          To list here every other kind of mercy. But those who are sad, filled with yearning, Who weep and groan as they endure endless pain, Saying Love is so hard on them, They can, short of dying, go on no longer,      I cannot conceive that those people      Love yet intend no deception,      Or that Desire has taken a firm hold      Of them. They are only in these straits          Because they have so deserved. For Love, who is so noble in nature She knows clearly who loves without pretense, Can quite readily pay lovers their due: Satisfying the faithful with joy      And having them partake of      Her sweet goods in abundance,      While banishing the evil-minded      From the court, condemning          Them as wretched traitors. ENVOY Love, I know beyond any doubt You’ve rewarded your servants    A hundredfold and more. THE LOVER And after finishing her song, She turned her head toward me, Laughing sweetly like a woman Who seemed both virgin and maiden; Then she put her hand on my head And straightaway put me this question: THE LADY “How are you? What do you say? Have I begun the debate with you in good style? What do you think of my song? Is there some theme or notion That pleases or offends, Or does this put you more at ease? What about it? Say something, won’t you? Can I sing well? Or poorly? Were it not boasting to do so, I’d say this about my song: That what it said, it said well. Since you won’t Answer, I wonder if you can. Now I think you’re either slow To respond or unwilling to do so. So I beg you, fair sweet friend, Don’t be so irresponsible You let yourself perish this way. For you should understand and take to heart What I’ve said here above, Rather than wasting what time you have In idleness and nonsense. Give up all this melancholy And what causes it — save love. For no one enjoys good fortune Unless he seizes the chance for it. And that man’s too stupid who decides Out of some crazy notion To bring about his own death and destruction When he can change how he thinks. It’s my intention to command, Urge, enjoin, and request You to make peace in the war You’ve prosecuted against yourself, A foolish thing to think of and do. And I promise and swear To provide assurance about what You seem to doubt so much. So take heart and abandon your fear, For you’ll be healed if you wish, And if you don’t, shame will be your fate. Take the grain and leave the chaff. Have no more truck with sadness, For the man who is sharp enough But makes bad decisions should rightly repent. What I offer is all my assistance As your good and true friend. Now don’t get so lost in thought You wind up refusing this offer; For they say, “Whoever fails to act When he can, cannot act when he will. And if the iron is hot, you should strike.” I won’t discuss this further; But I’m very eager for you to be certain I’ll help with whatever problems you have, For I love you, just as I must.” THE LOVER At this point she pulled from her finger a ring Pretty, worthy, precious, and valuable, Pushing it gently onto my own. And I who was still dozing a bit (Not deeply, for I heard clearly What she had sung and recited In rhyme and music, and words as well) Felt the coolness of the ring. And then, still somewhat drowsy, As best I could manage I turned Toward her, waking from the sleep In which her voice, clear and soothing, Sweeter than that of any siren (Who is able to enchant men With the beauty of her song), Had put me, as I told you earlier. And, facing her, I flooded With tears my heart and my eyes, My breast too here and there, Letting out a sorrowful moan Like someone in great anguish and misery. But just as the bright glow Emanating from the lady had dispersed The darkness then clouding my heart, Discolored and blackened by Love, And her sweetness gently Assuaged the torment I felt, In the same way, the very sweet words She spoke, as I heard them uttered, Returned to my heart the power of speech, Which I’m making use of now, But had at that time completely lost. So I spoke up, now able to do so, Saying this to her without delay: “Lady, it was great good fortune You were conceived and born, And have made your way here, For the goodness that overflows in you Has returned me to health, joy, and life. For Death was staring me in the face, And truly I should have died, My lady, if you weren’t here Looking with pity upon me With the eyes of your heart. But you have brought me back to life. So this I beg you with as much devotion And humility as I can muster, My lady, might I please Know something about you, Your name too, and where you are from, As well as your reason for coming here, And how you did so: for never, upon my soul, Save for the love of my lady, Have I desired anything so fervently.” THE LADY “Friend, I’ll tell you Willingly, and not make it a long story, For whatever pleases you, pleases me too. It is I who comfort lovers Who obey the commandments of love. I afford them help; I advise them. I am their closest counselor. I defend them. I raise their spirits. I offer them assistance. I comfort them By opposing Desire, who is aggressive, Launching many a painful assault. I am their castle and fortress. I am their servant and mistress. I am their lady and chambermaid. I advance their banner everywhere. I keep them happy and filled with joy. I put them on a path of honor. I give them the heart and courage To act with boldness. I bring them to a place of high esteem. I make them fall in love. I have them speak with wisdom, Laugh, rejoice, sing, dance. I keep them bright and happy. I give peace to the restless. I sustain them; I suckle them. I am their mother, friend, and guardian. I am their physician and watchman. I defend and protect them from every misery. They adore me, I honor them. They petition me, and I stand by their side. I am their resort and recourse By custom and agreement. In every tight spot they need make no appeal, Keeping me in mind is all that’s required, For I am the servant of their thoughts, Providing these are not too off track. For by nature lovers are too weak To accomplish anything without me. And when they require me, I tell you (as if speaking to a friend) I’ve no need to hasten or travel, Near or far, in order to assist them; And straightaway I’ll tell you Why if you’re willing to listen: THE LOVER “Indeed, lady, and I beg you please.” THE LADY “All right, then — I’ll do as you request. Here’s the truth as an explanation: In the same way that the sun With its rays illuminates the world, With its brightness pure and exalted, And in response to summertime The earth, which for a long time has been Wasted and devoid of greenery in winter, Covered with snow and ice, Rejoices and adorns itself, Bursts with new growth, turns luxuriant And verdant again as it senses the heat From the sunlight streaming down upon it, And lovely Nature Adorns it with a new robe Colored like the panther, Prettying it for the springtime — And that beast is dappled And decorated with every hue — For there is no plant so strange That does not in the spring bend itself To producing, according to its nature, Flowers, fruit, leaves, seeds, or greenery, (Unless it is the sort that grows no more Or brings forth no leaves or seed), And as a result the earth is so gorgeous, So pretty, so attractive, and bursting with life, For she divests herself of her wretched winter Raiment, moldy and stained with mud; And for no reason other than the beauty Of spring has it become so lovely — And so, this is what I’m saying, In a similar fashion and just as the light From the sun produces throughout The world, as much as it encompasses, Brightness, heat, joy, pleasure From its rays, which through their power Make the earth grow merry And smile, turning it gorgeous and elegant, Just so the radiance that shines From me at this very moment Sheds light upon the whole world, Reaching everywhere and enduring forever In the lives of those who love On this side and the other of the sea, And this brings them splendor, warmth, Joy, delight in their loving. But I who am their proper mother Lend them a radiance so shimmering, So exalted, and belonging to them, That the root planted In their lovers’ hearts brings forth Flowers, leaves, fruit, and new seeds, Making them twenty times lovelier Than the earth in springtime, So that just as the sun sends forth Its sparkle near and far with no limit, So my regal splendor gleams Everywhere in the faithful lover’s heart. And if Nature in her subtlety urges The earth to re-clothe and refit herself (For her filthy winter dress Has been discarded, and a new One’s been presented her to don), Then I can justly compare myself To her because I turn a man who’s smitten Attractive and gracious. Do you know how? No question but that you’ll learn. Bear in mind what I said before. And if Nature prompts a plant To bring forth fruit, and a briar to bear roses, I do just the same when making a heart blossom With every kind of joy, killing the anguish Within; for I tend it so well No trace of weedy distress remains. And with the deliciousness you smell, Sweeter than any incense, I assuage, comfort, and anoint it, If it so deserves, either far or near. And because I know you’re Disconsolate and denuded of joy, And my task is to comfort Lovers, I made my way to this place In my proper role As your faithful and good friend, And in a way you didn’t see, Not noticing I was there Because I’m invisible. And whenever I want, I can be seen. And about your desire to learn My name, this you can easily do, As I will not keep it secret from you: Hope is what I am called.” When I knew she was Hope, I felt consoled and more hopeful About my situation than I had before, And so I gathered my thoughts As my senses recovered, And I tried my best to speak, Addressing her with more confidence: “My lady, cherished and dear, Worthy of praise and honor, Excellent in every virtue That a heart might imagine, Eyes look upon, ears hear, Hand portray, or mouth describe, Keen intelligence delineate, Taste savor, or touch feel, Desire, will, or heart agree to; Friend of God and Nature, And of every other creature; True exemplar, mirror of joy, Bright star who conducts Wretched hearts to their true port; Pain’s remedy, well-being, happiness, Reprieve from death, and medicine, Flower, stalk, and true root From which flow all joy and sweetness Wherever anyone thinks of you — If all those whom God has brought to life, And too those yet to be born, Were each and every one a hundred Thousand times more skilled in accurate Computation than were Arithmetic, Pythagoras, and Music, Michalus and Millesius And artful Orpheus, And these were eager to take on the task Of counting the goods and sweet qualities, Lady, that you possess beyond counting, They would be howling at their own shadow. For these people would never succeed, No more than they could turn the ocean to desert. And because, worthy lady, I lack the discernment and wisdom To describe your virtues and appealing qualities — As properly as I should do And willingly would do, But in vain would I labor, My lady — very humbly I offer you Gratitude, mercy, and praise one hundred Thousand times, saluting you. For I arrived at a port of safety, It seems, as soon as I laid eyes upon you. So I surrender to your protection My entire heart, body, soul; for nowhere Might I better dispose them If I wish to live a happy life. And you have my faithful promise To pass my days and life In your sweet company, For I see quite well and clearly That whoever loses you is himself lost. So I will never leave your side. But please don’t be cross, I beg and pray, If I ask one more question About what quite terribly afflicts me.” HOPE “Not at all, don’t hesitate!” THE LOVER “Gladly, lady. You’ve told me, As you can do so well, How I should conduct myself If wishing to regain my health; How Love has come to my aid; How you’ve hastened To assist and console me; The arms that lovers should bear, The meaning and import Of their colors and shape, For all of which I’m quite grateful; How you wedded me With your delightful little ring And sang your song about love; How lovers can manage nothing If they choose to desert you, For you are all the power they possess, Their wall, their castle, their refuge; How your brilliance sheds its glow On lovers near and far; and then How your graciousness, sweeter Than any other sweetness, assuages their ills; Your coming here, and your name as well, Which is of very noble renown; And what kind of thing mercy is, for all of which I thank you one hundred thousand times. But not in the least have you informed me about Fortune, Who provides the world with its destiny, Who is not, and who never was, stable; For even as she assures her own the most She most grievously assaults them, Hurling them from high to low. My mind is quite clear about this, But just from the memory alone Of her assaults, of the strife she fosters, As well as her deceptive smiles and tricky deeds, I feel such terror that all my limbs Tremble whenever my thoughts turn to her. And so, my lady, I ask you Please tell me how To defend myself against her, For her sport is breaking hearts, Even those of faithful lovers, And she is harder than any diamond, And to those like me so hostile And perverse by nature She would have destroyed me Had God not brought you here In the nick of time to deflect the sting She’d have used to finish me off. HOPE “Fair sweet friend, what can I tell you About Fortune? I can hardly add To what you’ve said yourself In the complaint you recited, Except that formerly the custom Of the ancients in days gone by Was to portray her with two faces, One in front and the other behind. This clarifies for you How Fortune is both bitter and sweet. For she’ll favor you When gazing in your direction With the face in front, Generously promising Pleasure, joy, lucky chances, But these are all muffled in ill luck. Now this is the point you should remember, No matter who busies himself Promoting something different. My understanding is the correct one; And many people have been deceived By trusting too much to what she promises, Considering her such a trusty ally That they were destroyed in the end. And if that other face looks toward you, Watch out; for, lance at the ready, She’s coming to attack you And rob all the honor that’s yours, Uttering no words of threat or defiance; So you should trust no more to her Than to some club-wielding tough. And those goods she sends and bestows, In my view you should Take no joy in any one or the other. And in her face you can observe A destiny both hostile and friendly, For it was this image the ancients Crafted who depicted her. And because I’ve made you one of my own, And with a humble heart you asked What kind of defense you must mount When she launches an attack With the eye of the face that’s behind, Which strikes before making a threat, So no man alive can do anything To stop it. Let me put you this question: In your view, which do you consider The better of two goods, The good you cannot forfeit, Or the one you might readily lose?” THE LOVER “Lady, the answer is easy enough to give.” HOPE “Then speak it.” THE LOVER         “Surely, dear lady, The good you cannot lose is better.” HOPE “And so the one you can lose is inferior?” THE LOVER “Lady, that’s true enough, I agree.” HOPE “So we are very much in accord; And I intend to demonstrate clearly That you’ve rendered a good judgment. Do you believe, if prosperity Lies in her power, that Fortune possesses True happiness and felicity As well? Don’t puzzle over it, For these states cannot co-exist. And here is what I consider the proof: Sovereign happiness And assured felicity Are the sovereign goods of Nature, Who is ruled by pure Reason. And such goods no one can forfeit. And those of Fortune cannot Be compared to or equated with them. For it appears (a commonplace) That whoever possesses more, loses more. With this I offer firm proof There’s nothing secure in Fortune, Neither felicity nor happiness. And if you’d protect yourself from her, I say that this is possible for you. In order to achieve happiness. Do you possess anything more precious Than yourself? THE LOVER         “Nothing at all, my lady.” HOPE “Then consider her power so vile That you claim lordship over yourself. Make sure Reason is your master And that you possess patience And the virtue of sufficiency, For happiness in truth Comes from suffering patiently. And there’s no man, to my knowledge, Who, when he has run out of patience, Would not wish his present condition To change into something yet unknown to him. And this sinks him into despondency And makes him live on in a dangerous fix. In a similar fashion, in your heart You shouldn’t love or prize Fortune’s power and mutability, But hate, flee, and denigrate these things, Never eager that her goods should become yours. Heed my admonition and without fail You’ll come to possess the good She cannot steal from you. And though you loudly bemoan what’s happened to you In your complaint, and there affirm How Fortune has treated you harshly, Has been bitter, hostile, and dark-intentioned, And you’ve often called her False, and a proven traitor as well, And your foe in every trial you’ve endured, I think to act as her advocate And using reason prove She never acted as a traitor toward you, Was never your enemy either. Instead she’s been your good friend In so far as she is able to show love And proffer favor in her bitterness. And the better to refute your view, I want you to answer this question: Does someone who does his duty go wrong?” THE LOVER “In no way, my lady.” HOPE         “You speak the truth. Yet, with you before me as witness, I affirm and testify in a reasonable fashion That if Fortune has deprived you of The joy that once was yours, And that this has surely grieved you, She committed no treason or wrong so doing. For she does whatever it is that she must, And I’ll indicate and demonstrate why this is. If she always held firm to one position And acted with reason, Being both just and the same to all, She would not be Fortune. Now because she doesn’t remain at rest, But rather changes, alters, and varies In her deeds, speech, and reputation, She is named Fortune. Even though her variability As she alters is her stability, That’s her condition, that’s her nature. Such is her custom, such her right. And so, because she does what she should, I maintain you’ve been wrong To vilify and disparage her, Or denigrate what she does; For if you tumbled into misery Through her mutability, which is unexpected, Unexampled, unfriendly, and inhumane, And this shocked you right to the heart, Certainly, friend, you were not alone. For she has done the same to people Who live in pagan lands, Paying no mind to rhyme or reason, Neither was her wheel built for, Or will it be wrecked by you, And the wheel makes itself known Among both the cloistered and the secular. And since you know this well, Tell me your reason for climbing on. If you find your face pale, The fault is more yours than hers. For when you undertook to love, You set out on the ocean Between perilous waves, As they swelled, crested, and broke, Swirling to and fro, One after another, as the sea Loomed higher and grew troubled, Roiling the water everywhere. Just so you entered the service Of Fortune, who is so wise There’s no man of her court Who’s not forced in a flash and quickly To exchange his freedom for slavery The moment he becomes her servant. If you unfurl your sail to the wind, A thing made by hand from broadcloth, You know well your ship will travel Wherever the wind drives it, And the reason, simply enough, is that the freedom Of your vessel has been surrendered to the wind. And in similar fashion, having committed yourself To Fortune, you become her servant And, entering into servitude for her sake, You’ll find yourself compelled To sail and work your oar Just as she sails and rows, Conforming to her way of living In everything and in all you do Because you are of her household. I’ve offered proof of this even if you dissent. But now answer me, and no equivocation, Because I intend to offer further explanation Of what you experienced earlier, Namely that you found her bitter; And this prompts a question from me. Tell me, what have you received More of from her, good or bad?” THE LOVER “My lady, it’s bad, as I so well know.” HOPE “You surely don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re ill-informed, as I see it, For in your heart you feel the opposite, Not just this time, but in a hundred other instances.” THE LOVER “Is that so, lady?” HOPE         “Yes, and I’ll prove it to you.” THE LOVER “Please do, for nothing in my situation Gives me cause to boast, Save the goodness and great joy That flow from your presence.” HOPE “It’s a case of inadequate knowledge; For were you sufficiently informed, You’d have understood in your heart How Fortune has not been harsh Since you left your mother’s womb, But has showed you friendship instead, Sweetness, courtesy, and charity. So you’ve no reason to blame her. For, naked, you then owned no goods, And she took you under her wing, Nursing you diligently With her milk, in other words with her riches, With her honors and distinctions And she was your guardian and mistress, A governor who to your favor distributed Glory, showering you with all The goods of which reason approved, In short, the goods she possesses by right. And you complain? Are you right to do so? What more do you want her to do for you? Hasn’t she shown you favor enough When she has (if you study this well) Given you goods that are not yours? For these are not yours in the least But belong to her by right, And since nothing is truly yours, You’re foolish to think yourself ill-paid When she decides to take back into her hands, One day or another, what is hers. You resemble too closely the man Who, obtaining a loan, Gets angry when asked In due time to make repayment. You’re doing the same — no more, no less. But since you are in the hands Of Fortune, whom I am describing, Remember this lesson, I beg you: Wherever she is, there are her goods; And if she leaves, so do they. Whomever she helps is helped, And whomever she leaves is left, In my view. For everyone must act Day after day according to her wheel. But it seems, if I’m right, You’d like to be her sovereign And make her endure the limitation Of remaining stable; If not, you’ll lodge a complaint. But surely you’ll have enough to complain about If you intend to alter her nature, Which is now as it has always been, Nor will it ever be otherwise Until the world comes to its end. The sea, as you look at it, is calm and peaceful At times, and then you watch it turn Terrifying and rough Because of the wind that so mightily Beats against it, making waves tower and crash, Galloping faster than any racehorse; Nor would the whole world suffice to Compel them to remain at rest. And so Fortune changes And will never be restrained By force or pretty words From shifting at once when she wishes to move. Then she takes riches and honor with her, And all the goods of this sort Belonging to her, in which no one shares If not graced by her with this favor. So you ought not utter complaints. But, to come to the truth Of the wrongs you say she’s done you, She’s not mistreated you at all, so I say, Yet has done much to your profit.” THE LOVER “Lady, and how? Tell me.” HOPE “Gladly. She’s left you your mind, Not harming it in the least, And what you desire most and love, Which is the life of which you are master. And if she then turned her double face, Which is duplicitous in word and deed, Just a bit in your direction, Looking askance at you, Are you forced to carry on this perversely, Moaning, weeping, and torturing yourself? Her mutability should give you Heart and a good hope To possess better, if you use wisdom. Do we not say that the savage Celebrates and sings loudly when he sees Rain? What moves him to do so? His merrymaking reflects a hope That after ugly weather fair days will come. Now you cannot discover what joy is If you don’t suffer ill luck. In turn, I instruct and demonstrate That, properly speaking, good luck is the sign Of misfortune yet to come. So you should carefully remember When you have risen up high That at any time you might descend. But Love, who blinds many a heart, Has so dimmed your eyes and your heart You didn’t consider That she might at some time Make you lead a life Different from the one she makes you lead at present. And yet in all the plans you make You must look to how things might end up. And for every time they go wrong, There are a hundred others when they go well, For there is no rule without exceptions. And that’s why I mention this proverb: Namely that from now on you look to How things turn out in the end. And had you kept this in mind, You would never have complained Of either Fortune or Good Love, For whatever they have done for you Has been for the best, it’s all to your good. So I must and intend to excuse them, For through their kindness they’ve bestowed One hundred joys for every sorrow. And you maintain the contrary. And this is what you should not do. So don’t let it happen again, I beg you, For you should remember and keep in mind Not to give a fig from now on For the goods of Fortune; Don’t be concerned as they come and go; And if they do not remain with you, You should be neither happy nor sad, For they are flightier than any bird. The more goods one has, the more one needs; And so kings are needier Than poor people of low degree In regard to gold, silver, and precious gems, And they lack a sense of sufficiency Because a flaming torch of covetousness Rampages through their hearts, injuring, Inciting, and enflaming them, Setting their very guts on fire. And all their plans come to nothing As long as they burn this way. I don’t maintain in the least That Nature is satisfied with only a little. But if the world were piled high From the heavens down to the earth With the goods that hearts could demand, Request, and imagine possessing, Even that would not truly be enough To suffice the heart racked by desire, And that’s impossible: Not even five hundred thousand Such worlds, stocked five hundred thousand times, Would be enough, or so I think! And do you know why? I believe, And this may be a naïve view, That nothing can satisfy Avarice; So you can see it’s obvious That whoever wants everything loses it all. On that path, you lose body and soul, Joy, honor. That’s how I see it. Also and from the heart I beg you fervently Not to neglect at any time The two precious virtues Noted for you here above: One is lovely Sufficiency, The other Patience, her lady in waiting. Possessing them, you need not worry About double-faced Fortune, For these two are so filled with virtue, So worthy, and so precious They think nothing of the domination Of Fortune and her mutability; But lead a man toward security Down the path of Happiness. Happiness, so it seems to me, Is the source of these six goods altogether: Glory, Delight, and Respect, Power, Honor, and Sufficiency. And the sovereign, perfect good is Happiness, Which comes from the First Master, Who is both end and beginning, Three in one conjointly, One in three, and one single good In whom nothing is lacking. I don’t want you to think I forbid you to love. Instead I wish and beg you, To love very faithfully; For a true lover is not numbered Among Fortune’s goods, if we think rightly, But among the goods pertaining to virtue. And so I admonish you To have a faithful heart as long as you live, For great joy and glory will be yours; Do not scorn faithfulness Even if here below you get no reward, For your merit will not be forfeit but repaid A hundred fold and more, If not on earth, then in heaven’s Seat of glory, and that’s true enough. I’ve told you what to do And what you’ll discover is the truth; If you act accordingly, good will come your way; And if not, misfortune will fall to your lot. I leave you now to go my way. But in parting I’ll say this much: If you need me, You’ll find me at all times A true friend, and not by half. You should not remain here And fail to approach your lady; But take care not to let yourself be discouraged, For she’ll never be so haughty To heap reproaches or blows on you Unless it’s from her delightful eyes, Smiling, appealing, and seductive. But I bear witness that by nature Their blows are not fatal. For the wound is sweet, The stab agreeable. And if you are so consumed With looking upon your worthy lady, That you cannot endure under Her sweet eyes, or withstand them, And you are so overcome by pure Love, by shame and fear as well, You turn pale and lose composure, Keep me always in mind, No matter what might happen. But their assault will never be so fierce The eyes won’t find themselves overwhelmed Completely, if you don’t neglect me, For I never forget my friends. And if you do forget about me, Be absolutely sure and certain You’ll be vanquished within the hour. I commend you to God as I take my leave. But first with my clear voice I’ll recite a baladelle, Its words and music newly composed, Which you’ll take with you To sing as you go along In order to delight your heart Whenever some thought troubles you.

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BALLADELLE En amer ha douce vie         Et jolie, Qui bien la scet meintenir, Car tant plaist la maladie,         Quant norrie Est en amoureus desir Que l’amant fait esbaudir         Et querir Comment elle monteplie. C’est dous maus a soustenir,         Qu’esjoïr Fait cuer d’ami et d’amie. Qu’Amours par sa signourie         Humelie L’amoureus cuer a souffrir, Et par sa noble maistrie         Le maistrie Si qu’il ne puet riens sentir, Que tout au goust de joïr         Par plaisir Ne prengne, je n’en doubt mie. Einsi saous de merir,         Sans merir, Fait cuer d’ami et d’amie. Si doit bien estre cherie         Et servie, Quant elle puet assevir Chascun qui li rueve et prïe         De s’aïe, Sans son tresor amenrir. De la mort puet garentir         Et garir Cuer qui de santé mendie; De souffissance enrichir         Et franchir Fait cuer d’ami et d’amie. Quant elle ot finé sa balade, Qui moult me fu plaisant et sade Dedens le cuer et a l’oïe, Pour ce qu’onques mais armonie Si tres douce n’avoie oÿ, Moult durement m’en esjoÿ. Mais se li dous chans m’en plaisoit, Tel joie le dit me faisoit Que ne savoie auquel entendre. Si mis moult grant peinne a l’aprendre, Et la sceus en si po d’espace Qu’eins qu’elle partist de la place, Ne que toute l’eüst pardit, Je la sceus par chant et par dit. Et pour ce que ne l’oubliasse, Failloit il que la recordasse. Mais si com je l’imaginoie En mon cuer, et la recordoie De si tres bonne affection Que toute l’inclination Des .v. sens que Diex m’a donné Y estoient si ordonné Que n’avoie cuer ne penser Que lors peüsse ailleurs penser (Fors tant qu’adés me souvenoit De celle dont mes biens venoit). La dame fu esvanoïe. Mais onques en jour de ma vie Ne vi chose si tost perdue; Car j’en perdi si la veüe Que je ne sceus qu’elle devint. Lors plus de .x. fois ou de vint Resgardai entour la haiette, Mais je ne vi riens fors herbette, Arbres, fueilles, fleurs, et verdure. Car il n’i avoit creature Fors moy seulet. Et quant je vi Qu’Esperence avoit assevi Tout ce que dire me voloit, Et qu’einsi elle s’envoloit Soudeinnement a recelee, Je cheï en moult grant pensee Et par ordre a recorder pris Tout ce qu’elle m’avoit apris De point en point, car bien pensoie Qu’encor grant mestier en aroie. Et par maniere de memoire Tout le fait de li et l’istoire, Si com je l’ai devant escript, Estoit en mon cuer en escript Par vray certein entendement Miex .c. fois et plus proprement Que clers ne le porroit escrire De main en parchemin, n’en cire. Et c’estoit chose necessaire Puis que je me voloie traire Vers celle que Raisons doctrine Que j’ensieuisse sa doctrine, Et que souvent m’en souvenist, Par quoy, se li cas avenist Qu’Amours fust vers moy dongereuse Et Biauté Fine desdaingneuse, Honte dame, Paour maistresse, Et Dous Resgars en tele aspresse Fust qu’il ne me deingnast veoir, Qu’encontre leur puissant pooir Fusse viguereus et vassaus Pour recevoir tous leurs assaus, Pour tout souffrir en pacïence. Car grant vertus et grant vaillence Est de vaincre son adversaire Par souffrir de cuer debonnaire. Quant j’eus tout recordé par ordre, Si qu’il n’i avoit que remordre, Et en mon cuer la douce empreinte De ses enseingnemens empreinte, Je m’en senti trop plus seür, Plus fort, plus rassis, plus meür. Lors en mon estant me dressay Et vers le guichet m’adressay Par ou j’estoie la venus. Mais je m’aperçu bien que nuls N’estoit alez par ceste voie, Depuis que venus y estoie, Qu’en riens n’i estoit depassee L’erbe poingnant, et la rousee, Clere et luisant seur l’erbe drue, N’estoit pas encor abatue. Et cil oisillon qui miex miex En plus de .xxx. mille liex Tout aussi com par estrivees Chantoient, les gueles baees, Si qu’il faisoient restentir Tout le vergier. Et sans mentir, Eins qu’Esperence viseté M’eüst en ma neccessité, Mes scens estoit si pervertis Qu’encor ne m’estoie avertis Des oisillons, ne de leur noise, Ne comment chascuns se degoise. Mais ce a mal ne me doit tourner, Car .ij. choses font bestourner Le scens et müer en folour: Ce sont grant joie et grant dolour. Et grant dolour tel m’atournoit Que mon memoire bestournoit Et qu’a nulle riens n’entendoie, Fors au grief mal que je sentoie. Si m’abelli tant leurs dous chans Qu’einsois qu’il fust soleil couchans, Je m’en senti a volenté De cuer, de corps, et de santé, Tant pour la douce remembrance Que j’avoie en Bonne Esperence, Comme de ce que je pensoie Que briefment ma dame verroie. Et pour ce qu’estoie au retour De veoir son tres noble atour, Tantost fis en dit et en chant Ce ci que presentement chant:

BALADELLE When you love, life         Is sweet and merry If you can keep it so, For this sickness pleases so much         When nourished By amorous desire It makes the lover eager         To look How it might increase. It’s a sweet ill to endure,         Which brings joy to The hearts of lover and beloved. For with its domination Love         Humbles The lover’s heart through suffering, And with noble lordship         Masters it, So it does not fail to find In anything it senses         The joyful taste Of pleasure, of this I have no doubt. Thus she makes sated         With unmerited reward The hearts of lover and beloved. So Love must be cherished         And served Since she can come to the aid of Every man who begs and requests         Her aid, Not drawing on her treasure. She can prevent his death         And cure The heart begging for health. What she bestows is sufficient         As she frees The hearts of lover and beloved. When she’d finished her ballade, Which my heart found pleasant And appealing as I listened, Because I had never heard A harmony that was so sweet, I was quite overcome with joy. But if the sweet notes pleased me, The lyrics gave me such delight, More than anyone could imagine. And so I took great pains to learn it, And did so in such a short time That before she took her leave, Or ended her performance, I’d memorized the words and tune. And in order not to forget, I needed to burn it into my memory. But while learning the ballade By heart and there recording it, My admiration was so strong For this song that all the faculties Of the five senses God had given me Were so directed toward this end, I had no intention or thought Of concentrating on anything else Save that I was remembering her From whom all my blessings come, The lady disappeared. Surely I have never seen Anything vanish so quickly. For I so completely lost her from sight I did not know what had become of her. Then at least ten, maybe twenty times, I searched around the hedge Yet saw nothing but shrubbery, Trees, leaves, flowers, and greenery. For there was no person there Save me alone. And when I realized That Hope had told me All she intended to impart And had then flown off Suddenly and unobserved, I fell into a very deep study, And point by point began mulling over All the instructions she’d delivered, One after another, being quite certain I would later have need of them. And through the workings of memory, Everything about her and her story, Just as I’ve written it down, Was imprinted on my heart Through true and certain understanding One hundred times better and more properly Than any clerk might copy it By hand on parchment or wax. And this was quite necessary Since I intended to draw toward Her whose teachings, as Reason Instructs, I should follow, Often bringing them to mind, Because if it came to pass That Love turned haughty toward me And Pure Beauty disdainful, Shame a grand lady and Fear a mistress, And Sweet Look so harsh As to refuse to meet my gaze, I should be strong and courageous enough Against their awesome power To withstand all their assaults, To suffer everything patiently. For it is quite virtuous And rather brave to defeat an enemy By enduring with a patient heart. After I had committed everything to memory In proper order, omitting nothing, And the gracious imprint of her teachings Had been inscribed on my heart, I felt much more confident, Stronger, more self-assured, more mature. I got to my feet And made my way to the wicket Through which I’d walked there, But I marked well that no one Had gone down that same path Since I had passed along it, For the sharp-bladed grass was nowhere Tramped down, and the dew, Clear and shining on the greenery, Had not been disturbed. Now the birds in more than Thirty thousand places were Chirping away, as if competing with One another, their throats opened wide, And they made the whole garden Resound with their song. And, it’s no lie, Before Hope came to me In my time of great need, My senses had been so dulled I’d taken no notice Of the birds or of their sound, Or how they were making so merry, But this should not be held against me Because two things shake up the senses And dispose them to folly: These are extraordinary joy and melancholy. And great sadness then so oppressed me My mind was quite confused And I paid heed to nothing Save for the miserable pain I felt. Now their sweet music so pleased me That before the sun sank to its rest, I seemed myself again In heart, body, and proper state of mind, As much for the lovely memory I had of Good Hope As for my expectation Of seeing my lady before too long. And because I was returning In order to gaze upon her very noble presence, On the spot I composed the words and music For what I will now put into song:

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BALADE Dame, de qui toute ma joie vient, Je ne vous puis trop amer, ne chierir, N’assés loer, si com il apartient, Servir, doubter, honnourer, n’obeïr;       Car le gracïeus espoir, Douce dame, que j’ay de vous veoir, Me fait cent fois plus de bien et de joie, Qu’en cent mille ans desservir ne porroie. Cils dous espoirs en vie me soustient Et me norrist en amoureus desir, Et dedens moy met tout ce qui couvient Pour conforter mon cuer et resjoïr;       N’il ne s’en part main ne soir, Einsois me fait doucement recevoir Plus des dous biens qu’Amours aus siens ottroie, Qu’en cent mille ans desservir ne porroie. Et quant Espoir qui en mon cuer se tient Fait dedens moy si grant joie venir, Lonteins de vous, ma dame, s’il avient Que vo biauté voie que moult desir,       Ma joie, si com j’espoir, Ymaginer, penser, ne concevoir Ne porroit nuls, car trop plus en aroie, Qu’en cent mille ans desservir ne porroie. Einsi fis mon chant et finay Et au guichet m’acheminay Par le chemin qui fu tout vert; Mais ne le trouvay pas ouvert, Car einsi com je le fermay, Estoit; adont le deffermay. Quant ouvers fu, je passay outre Et le refermay bien au ploutre. Ce fait, je me mis a la voie. Mais trop durement liés estoie De ce que nulle creature Ne savoit riens de m’aventure. Si m’en aloie tout chantant Et deduisant en mon chant tant Que je vi en assez po d’eure Le lieu ou ma dame demeure. Quant je le vi, je m’arrestay, Et pensé en mon arrest ay, .I. petitet, que je feroie, Ne comment je me cheviroie. Car li cuers en corps me trambloit Si tres forment qu’il me sambloit Qu’en .ij. partir deüst ou fendre. Si n’en savoie conseil prendre, Car j’estoie tous estahis Dou veoir, et si esbahis, Que vraiement retournez fusse S’Esperence avec moy n’eüsse. Mais Esperence, qui ha song D’aidier ses amis au besong, Et qui ne dort pas ne sommeille Pour eaus conforter, einsois veille, A celle heure ne dormi pas, Eins me dist: “Biaus amis, mi pas Ne sont pas ci endroit perdu. Di: qui t’a einsi esperdu? Que te faut? Ne que te demandes? Il couvient que raison m’en rendes, Dont viennent ces pensees veinnes, Que sans cause einsi te demeinnes.” L’AMANT “Je ne say, dame, par ma foy, Fors que je sui en grant effroy, Et en doubte m’estuet manoir, Pour ce qu’ay veü le manoir Ou mes cuers et ma dame meint. Si pri Dieu qu’a joie m’i meint, Car se je n’ay milleur conduit Que de Paour qui me conduit, Je ne voy pas comment je y aille.” ESPERENCE “Comment? Crois tu que je te faille Et que je fausse le couvent Que je t’ay heü en couvent?” L’AMANT “Dame, nennil.” ESPERENCE         “Certes, si fais, Ce m’est avis, quant einsi fais. Di moy dont te vient la paour Que tu as, ne celle freour. Has tu doubtance de ton ombre? Je croy que c’est ce qui t’encombre.” L’AMANT “Dame, sauf vostre reverence, De mon ombre n’ai pas doubtance. Mais je ne say quele chalour Qui s’est convertie en froidour M’a seurpris et me tient au cuer Si soudeinnement qu’a nul fuer Ne porroie dire en quel point Sui, ne comment elle me point. Car j’ay chaut et froit si ensamble Que tout a .i. cop sue et tramble, Et s’ay toute vigour perdue; Et aussi comme beste mue Sui estahis enmi ces chans; Dont mes ris, ma joie, et mes chans Sont si feni, ne say pourquoy, Qu’il me couvient taire tout coy, Se ce n’est pour ceste raison Que j’ay veüe la maison Qui trop plus belle est de tout estre, Que ne soit paradis terrestre. C’est li lieus ou ma douce amour Et mes cuers aussi font demour. Autre raison n’i say trouver. Et pour ce vous vueil je rouver, Dame, que vous me consilliez, Ou perdus suis et essilliez, Qu’en monde riens tant ne desir Com veoir ma dame a loisir. Mais je n’i voy tour ne ateinte Sans vous, dont ma coulour est teinte.” ESPERENCE “Et comment te conseilleroie? Pour neant me travilleroie Car je pers en toy mon langage. Uns oiselés en une cage N’a pas l’entendement si dur Com tu as! Juré t’ay, et jur, Qu’a tous besoins me trouveras Preste quant mestier en aras, Biaus amis, et tu ne m’en crois, Dont tes maus durement acrois. Tu le vois par experïence, Car pour alegier la grevence Qui moult te grieve et a neü, Aussi tost com je l’ay sceü, Tu m’as plus tost pour toy aidier Que ne peüsses soushaidier. Je t’avoie dit et enjoin Que ton cuer fust a moy si joint Qu’adés de moy te souvenist Loing et prés, quoy qu’il avenist. Or voy bien qu’il ne t’en souvient, Et pour ce estre einsi te couvient, Car s’il t’en fust bien souvenu, Ja ce ne te fust avenu. Pren cuer et va seürement Vers ta dame, que vraiement Gaite, escuz, defense, et fortresse Te seray bonne, et la promesse Que je t’ay promis te tendrai; Et sans prïere a toy venray, Com celle qui serai tes chiés En tes biens et en tes meschiés. Si dois estre moult asseür, Quant partout einsi t’asseür Et la chalour qui en froidure Est couvertie, c’est l’ardure Qui s’est moult longuement couverte En ton cuer: or est descouverte Et parmi ton corps espandue, Dont a .i. cop tramble et tressue. Et pour ce que le feu aproches D’Amours, qui te point de ses broches, Pers tu maniere et contenence, Scens, joie, vigour, et puissance. Et aussi retien de mon art; ‘Qui plus est prés dou feu, plus s’art.’ Orendroit plus ne t’en diray. A Dieu, je me departiray, Sans ce que de toy me departe. Car il couvient que je me parte En plus de cent mille parties Qui aus amans sont departies. Et quant de ci departiras, Droitement celle part iras Que tu verras ta dame gente, Et tu yes en la droite sente.” L’AMANT Lors s’en parti; je demouray Et moult doucement savouray En mon cuer ce que dit m’avoit; Et si tres bon goust me savoit, Que je fui tous asseürez Des mouvemens qui figurez Estoient en mon cuer si fort Qu’en moy ne savoie confort. Et quant riens plus ne ressongnay, A .ij. genous m’agenouillay Emmi la sentelette estroite, Les mains jointes, la face droite Vers le lieu precïeus et digne Qui m’estoit apparence et signe A l’esperence que j’avoie Que la ma dame trouveroie. Et pour ce qu’il n’afferoit pas Qu’avant alasse .i. tout seul pas, Que ne me meïsse en la garde D’Amours et d’Espoir, qui me garde De cuer devost, a humble chiere, Encommensai ceste prïere, En eaus merciant doucement De leurs biens tout premierement: PRIERE “Amours, je te lo et graci Cent mille fois et remerci, Quant mon cuer qu’avoies nerci, Tourblé, desteint, et obscurcy, Et en ton martire adurci,       Par ta puissance, As amé et vues amer si Que de ta douceur adouci Et de ta clarté esclarci L’as et fait dous son amer si Que desirer me fais merci       En Esperence. Amours, je te vueil aourer Com mon dieu secont et douter, De toutes mes vertus loer, Servir, oubeïr, honnourer De cuer, de corps, et de penser.       Car en m’enfance Me feïs loiaument amer, Et les biens de toy desirer; Aprés les me fais esperer, Et si doucement savourer Qu’en vraie foy te vueil porter       Oubeïssance. Amours, je ne savoie rien, Nés differer le mal dou bien, Quant a mon vrai cuer, que je tien, Sans riens retenir, pour tout tien, Donnas par ton soutil engien       La congnoissance D’amer et d’estre en ton lien, Et le presentas sans moien Avec le corps et tout le mien A ma dame, ce say je bien. Car tout li ottriay com sien       Pour sa vaillance. Et se folement me sui pleins, En moy dementez et compleins De toy et des amoureus pleins, Dont j’estoie chargiez et plains, Je te depri a jointes mains       Que a grevence Ne me tourt, et que plus ne meins Ne t’en soit, car tiens suis remeins. Si m’en dois estre plus humeins; Et se vois bien et yes certeins Que tu es mes chiés premereins,       Et ma creance. Aussi doi je, se trop ne fail, Loer Esperence, a qui bail De moy et de mon cuer le bail, Et mercïer. Car se riens vail Et s’a bien faire me travail,       C’iert sans doubtance Par li; car en mortel travail Fui entre le coing et le mail, Si que je ne donnasse .i. ail De ma vie. Mais soustenail Me fu, dame, amie et murail,       Tour et deffense. Douce Esperence, c’est le port De ma joie et de mon deport. C’est ma richesse, mon ressort. C’est celle en qui je me deport. Car es maus d’amours que je port       Ay tel plaisence Car, quant il font plus leur effort De moy grever, plus me confort. Et tout par son noble confort Suis je respitez de la mort, Qui m’eüst, s’elle ne fust, mort       Sans deffiance. Elle m’a fait trop plus d’amour, De courtoisie, de douçour, D’onneur, de profit, de tenrour, Qu’a nul autre; car nuit et jour Contre Desir soustient l’estour,       Qui point et lance Mon cuer d’une amoureuse ardour. C’est ce qui garit ma dolour. C’est ce qui me tient en vigour. C’est mon refuge; c’est ma tour. C’est celle ou sont tuit mi retour.       C’est ma fiance. C’est celle qui m’a congneü Par tout ou elle m’a sceü Nu de joie et depourveü. La doucement m’a repeü De tous les biens qu’elle a peü,       Et d’aligence. C’est celle qui a descreü Mon mal, et ma joie acreü; De dous confort m’a pourveü, Sans salaire avoir ne treü, Et des yex de son cuer veü       En ma souffrance. Et quant par vous tel bien recueil Que de toute joie en l’escueil Sui, plus assez que je ne sueil, D’umble cuer et d’amoureus vueil Vous pri, com cils qui aimme et vueil       Vostre acointance, Que vous me menez jusqu’au sueil Ou je verray le Dous Acueil De ma dame; et se lors me dueil, Se vous n’avez le cuer et l’ueil Vers moy, je serai mors de dueil       En sa presence. Et se ma dame, que Diex gart, Deingne descendre son regart Seur moy, a moitié ou a quart, Je vous pri qu’aie scens ou art Pour congnoistre de son espart       La difference, S’il vient d’amours ou d’autre part. Car se son dous oueil me repart Par amours de l’amoureus dart, De riens n’arai jamais regart. Se non, en moy sera trop tart       Desesperence. Vous savez aussi que humblement L’aim, serf, crein, desir loyaument Plus qu’autre, ne moy proprement, Et que siens sui si ligement Que c’est sans nul departement       Et sans muence. Si devez mouvoir doucement Son cuer et amoureusement Pour moy donner aligement, Et li faire avoir sentement Tel com je l’ay, ou autrement       C’iert decevence. Or en soit a vostre plaisir, Car sans vous ne puis avenir A la joie que tant desir. Mais je vous vueil tant oubeïr Que pour ma dame vueil morir       En pacïence, Se c’est vos grez; et se merir, Sans l’onneur ma dame amenrir, Me volez, vueilliez me enrichir D’assez li veoir et oïr. S’arai pais, merci, mon desir,       Et souffissance.” Et quant j’eus finé mon depri, La ne fis pas moult lonc detri Eins me levay en mon estant. Si m’aloient amonnestant Amours, Desir, et Bon Espoir De ma chiere dame veoir, Tant que tantost m’acheminay Par la sente et mon chemin ay Pris en bon espoir vers la tour Ou maint ma dame au gent atour. Mais n’alay pas le trait d’un arc Que prés de la tour vi un parc Ou preaus ot et fonteneles, Dames, chevaliers, et pucelles, Et d’autre gent grant compaingnie, Moult joieuse et moult envoisie, Qui dansoient joliement. N’il n’avoient la instrument, Ne menestrels fors chansonnettes Deduisans, courtoises, et nettes. Quant je les vi, moult m’esjoÿ, Et plus, quant je les entroï. Lors alai tantost celle part. Mais Amours, qui de moy ne part, Ne Esperence, ma douce amie, De moy ne s’eslongierent mie, Eins me tenoient par le frein. Et je, qui pas ne me refrein D’aler vers euls, si me hastay Qu’outre une haiette hatay, Et puis tantost fu en la place Ou Diex me fist si belle grace Que je vi que c’estoit ma dame. Mais je n’os corps, ne cuer, në ame, Ne sanc qui ne fremist en mi, Quant je la vi; car si fremi, Que, se Diex de li me doint joie, Grant paour de cheoir avoie. Mais d’Esperence me souvint; Et vraiement, adont couvint, Se je voloie avoir victoire, Que je recourisse au memoire Que j’avoie escript en mon cuer, Et que je ne gettasse en puer Nuls de ses dous commandemens, Ne de ses bons ensengnemens. Si recordai si ma leçon Qu’eins qu’on heüst dit la chanson Que une pucelette chantoit, Mes cuers plus seürs se sentoit. Car Douce Esperence asseür Le faisoit d’aucun bon eür. Si me trei prés de la danse Com cils qui a sa dame pense. Mais la bonne et bien enseignie, Que Raison gouverne et maistrie, Qui tant scet, tant puet, et tant vaut Que riens de bien en li ne faut, De sa bonté tant m’enrichist Que ses dous yex vers moy guenchist. Mais ce fu si tres doucement Qu’il me sambla, se Diex m’ament, Qu’elle m’amast de fine amour. Et quant elle ot fait demi tour Que plus de moy fu aprochie, En riant de sa courtoisie, Moult courtoisement m’apella, En disant: “Que faites vous la, Biau sire? Danciez avec nous!” Et tantost me mis a genous Et humblement la saluay. Mais coulour pluseurs fois muay, Einsi com je parloie a li, Dont j’eus le vis teint et pali. Et vraiement, y me fu vis Qu’elle congnut bien a mon vis L’amour, le desir, et l’ardure De moy, et toute l’encloüre: Comment siens a tous jours estoie Et comment par amours l’amoie. Si me rendi courtoisement Mon salu, et assez briefment, Pour ce qu’on ne s’aperceüst Que pour s’amour einsi me fust. Si me tendi son petit doy. Et je, qui faire vueil et doy Son voloir, ne fui pas remis Dou penre et a dancier me mis. Mais dancié n’os pas longuement Quant elle me dist doucement Qu’il couvenoit que je chantasse Et que de chanter m’avisasse, Car venu estoit a mon tour. Je li respondi sans demour: “Ma dame, vo commandement Vueil faire; mais petitement Me say de chanter entremestre. Mais c’est chose qui couvient estre, Puis qu'il vous plaist.” Lors sans delay Encommensai ce virelay Qu’on claimme chanson baladee. Einsi doit elle estre nommee.

BALADE Lady, source of all my joy, I cannot love or cherish you too much, Or praise you enough, or properly Serve, respect, honor, and obey you.       For the gracious hope, Sweet lady, I have of seeing you, Affords me joy and goodness a hundredfold more Than I could deserve in a thousand years. This sweet hope sustains my life And nourishes me in amorous desire, Providing all that’s needed To comfort and bring joy to my heart.       Never to desert me day or night, But instead makes me receive graciously More of the sweet goods Love sends her own Than I could deserve in a thousand years. And since Hope, which remains within my heart, Makes such great ecstasy come to me when I am Far from you, my lady, if it happened I could look upon your beauty, as I greatly desire,       I think no one could Imagine my joy, comprehend Or conceive it, for I’d come to have much more Than I could deserve in a thousand years. And so I composed and sang my song While making my way to the wicket On a path that was solid green; But I did not find the gate open, For it was closed, just as I had left it; So I unlocked it, And, once it was open, passed through And relocked it carefully. This done, I set out on my way. That no one at all knew Anything of my adventure Made me quite happy. So I walked along, singing the whole time, And taking such delight in my song That in just a brief time I spied The dwelling where my lady was staying. Catching sight of the place, I halted, And while resting mulled over, For a while what to do And what plan I would follow. For in my chest my heart beat With such violence it seemed About to break or even split in two. And I had no idea how to proceed, But found myself completely flustered On glimpsing the place, and so dumbstruck I truly would have beaten a retreat Had Hope not then been my companion. But Hope, who devotes herself To helping her friends in times of need, And who does not doze or nap But is always awake to comfort them, At that moment was not asleep, And she spoke these words: “Sweet friend, I’ve not Wasted my steps coming here. Tell me: what has so upset you? What do you need? What is troubling you? You must explain to me Where these foolish thoughts come from That, with no reason, disturb you so much.” THE LOVER “I don’t know, my lady, upon my faith, Except that I feel great terror Even as fear has rooted me to the spot Because I’ve caught sight of the manor house Where my heart and my lady now reside. So I pray God leads me there in joy Because with no better guide Than Fear, who now is my companion, I don’t see how I can make my way there.” HOPE “What’s this? Do you think I’d disappoint you By reneging on the promise I agreed to uphold?” THE LOVER “My lady, never.” HOPE         “Indeed, you do, As I think when you act this way. Tell me then the source of the fear And anxiety you feel. Are you afraid of your own shadow? That’s what bothers you, I believe.” THE LOVER “My lady, with all due respect, I’m not afraid of my shadow. But I don’t know what kind of fever Since become a chill Has so unexpectedly seized My heart there’s no way I could tell you what’s wrong Or what it is that afflicts me. For I feel cold and heat so commingled I sweat and shiver at the same time, While strength fails me utterly; And just like some dumb beast in the meadow I was struck speechless in the midst of singing, And so laughter, joy, and song Have abandoned me, and I’m reduced To silence, why I don’t know, Unless the reason is that I’m now Gazing upon a manor house Lovelier than all places in every respect Than the earthly paradise itself. There my sweetheart and my love Are now together in residence; I can find no other explanation. And so I’m prompted to make this request, My lady, please advise me, Or I am lost and ruined, For in this world I desire nothing more Than seeing my lady as I’d like. Now you, as I see it, offer my only chance and path, And this has drained the color from my face.” HOPE “And what advice should I offer? I labor in vain because on you My words are wasted. Not even a caged bird Has a brain as thick As yours! I swore to you, and I swear now You’ll find me in your every need Ready for whatever you require, Sweet friend, and yet you don’t trust me, And so your difficulties painfully increase. What has happened makes this clear, Since to assuage the misery That troubled and now greatly pains you, As soon as I discovered this I was at your side to help, faster than you Could have wished me to appear. I instructed and enjoined you To bind me so tightly to your heart You would always remember me Far and near, no matter what happened. You didn’t remember, as I now see, And were thus reduced to this state; Now if you’d held tightly to this memory, This would never have happened. Take heart and make your way with confidence To your lady because for you I’ll truly be A worthy guide, shield, defense, And fortress, and I’ll fulfill The promise I made; And without being summoned I’ll come To guide you in good times And when things go amiss. So you should feel quite confident With my offering such assurance, no matter what. And the fever that turned into A chill is the burning passion So long concealed in your heart. And no longer confined, this Has spread through your body And makes you tremble and shiver at the same time. And because you draw near the fire Of Love, which singes you with its brands, Composure and bearing fail you, As do sense, joy, strength, and power. Also keep in mind what I now say: ‘The one closest to the fire is the most burned.’ At this moment I have nothing to add. Farewell, I’ll take my leave, Though I will never part from you, For I must divide myself Into more than a hundred thousand parts To be shared out to those who love, And once you leave here, You’ll go right to the place Where you’ll catch sight of your noble lady, For the path you follow is the right one.” THE LOVER Then she left; I stayed behind And it gave my heart much pleasure To savor the words she’d spoken. And their flavor was so pleasing I felt completely reassured About the rumblings then welling up So forcefully in my heart I could not alleviate them. And since I no longer feared anything, I got down on my two knees Right in the middle of that small path, My hands joined together, facing Straight toward the place precious and worthy That for me was a revelation and sign Of the hope I entertained Of finding my lady there. And, it not being fitting I should advance even one step Without putting myself under the protection Of Love and Hope, then escorting me, I began the prayer that here follows With devout heart and humble demeanor, Thanking them in all humility most especially For what they had done to my benefit: PRAYER “Love, I praise you gratefully, Thanking you a hundred thousand times Because in your power you have loved my heart, (After making it black, troubled, discolored, And dim), and you strengthened it       Through the suffering You sent, determined to show My heart so much love your sweetness mollified it, Making it glow with your brilliance And healing its bitterness so much That you made me wish for mercy       From Hope. Love, I intend to adore And worship you as my second divinity, Praising, serving, honoring, and respecting You with all the strength that I possess, With heart, body, and mind.       For from childhood You’ve led me to love faithfully And to desire your blessings; Later you made me hope for And with such delight rejoice in them That in true faith I wish to render you       Homage. Love, I knew nothing, Not even how to tell good from bad, When to my true heart, which I affirm Is yours with nothing held back, Through your subtle art you provided       Me with an understanding Of love and of living in its bonds, And you presented my heart, and not by half, Along with my body and all that’s mine, To my lady, as I know well. For as her man I granted her everything       Because of her virtue. And if I was crazy to have complained, Lamenting and railing against Lamenting and railing against That filled me to the brim and more, With hands joined I beg you       Don’t hold this against me, But think no more or less about it, For yours I remain. So you should Show me more goodwill; For you see well and are certain You’re my sovereign lord       And source of my faith. Also, if I’m not to fail miserably, I must Praise Hope, to whom I grant sovereignty Over myself and my heart, And thank her too. For if I’m worthy at all And take pains to do what’s right,       She will be The reason why because I was in deadly straits, Between the hammer and the wedge, And wouldn’t have given a garlic clove For my life. But you were my sustainer, My lady, my friend and rampart,       Tower and bulwark. Sweet Hope, she’s the harbor Of my joy and my happiness. She’s my store of wealth, my refuge. She’s the one in whom I take pleasure; For in these pains of Love I endure       I find such pleasure Because, when they do their worst To afflict me, I’m that much more consoled. And by the noble comfort she alone affords I am saved from death, who, had she Not been there, would have killed me       Without warning. She has bestowed on me more love, Courtesy, graciousness, Honor, profit, tenderness Than on any other; for night and day She holds firm in the battle against Desire,       Who stabs and pierces My heart with love’s passion. She’s the one who heals my pains. She’s the one who keeps me strong. She’s my refuge; she’s my tower. She’s where I find all my recourse.       She’s my faith. She’s the one who has always Acknowledged me wherever she learned I lacked and was deprived of joy. At those times she nourished me graciously With all the blessings she could muster,       And with relief as well. She’s the one who has lessened the pain I feel, making my joy increase; She provided me with sweet comfort, Taking no payment or tribute, And with the eyes of her heart she gazed on       My suffering. And when I receive such blessings from you Joy of every kind overwhelms me, More than I ever knew before, With humble heart and a lover’s will, I beg, as one who loves and desires       Your acquaintance, That you will convey me to the threshold Where I’ll catch sight of the Sweet Welcome Of my lady; and if this pains me, That misery will be my death In her presence if you don’t look after me       With heart and eye. And if my lady — may God protect her! — Should deign to let her look fall On me, if only somewhat or even less, I pray you have the sense or skill To discern clearly from her glow       If it Expresses love or otherwise. For if her sweet eye affectionately shoots Me with the shaft of love, I’ll never have eyes for any other. If not, despair will be too slow       Overtaking me. You know also how I love, serve, And respect her humbly, desire her faithfully More than any other, more than myself, And am so loyal her servant, She shares me with no one,       And I will never change. So you should gently and lovingly Persuade her heart To grant me relief, And make her reciprocate My feelings, for otherwise       I will feel cheated. Now let this proceed as you wish, For without you I cannot gain The joy I desire so much. But I shall obey you so strictly That I’d willingly die for my lady       Without a murmur Should you wish; and if you would Reward me without diminishing my lady’s Honor, please enrich me By letting me look upon and listen to her often, And mine will be peace, mercy, desire,       And satisfaction.” And finishing my prayer, I stayed there no longer But got up from my knees. Love, Desire, and Sweet Hope So admonished me, continually and fervently, To see my sweet lady dear That I began walking straightaway Along the path and set out In good hope toward the tower Where then dwelt my lady in her fine array. But I had gone no further than a bowshot When by the tower I spied a park With fountains and green spaces, Ladies, knights, and maidens, And a great company of others as well Who were quite jolly and full of fun, Dancing happily away; There were no instruments Or minstrels, only pleasant, but refined And lively, little songs. Noticing all this, I felt quite happy, Even more so when I heard them. Then I hastened to the spot. But Love, who never leaves my side, And Hope, my dear friend, Did not flee at all, But held me by the bridle. And I, who did not hesitate From walking toward the group, hurried on And moved quickly beyond a hedgerow, And in a flash I’d arrived Where God blessed me so sweetly By letting me see this was my lady. But my body, heart, soul, And blood were in turmoil. And I trembled so much Laying eyes upon her, so God give me joy, I greatly feared falling. But my thoughts turned to Hope; What was then needed, If I intended to succeed, Was to have recourse to the memory Of what Hope had told me with good heart, And not throw into the garbage Her gracious commandments Or useful instruction. So I went over my lesson, And before a young girl finished Singing her song I felt more confident at heart. For sweet Hope assured me That all would turn out well. And I strolled close to the dancing, My lady uppermost in my thoughts, But that virtuous and courtly damsel, Governed and ruled by Reason, So wise and capable and virtuous, No good quality lacking, Enriched me so much by her excellence As her dear eyes fell upon me. But this was done with such finesse That it seemed, so God help me, She loved me with pure affection. And when she turned around a bit, Approaching me, She laughed politely And quite courteously called out to me with these words: “What are you doing there, Fair sir? Come dance with us!” And at once I fell to my knees To greet her humbly. Blushing and growing wan several times As I spoke to her, Which left me ashen, then flustered. And truly it seemed She clearly recognized in my face The love, desire, and passion I felt, and what that meant: How every day I was her man And loved her in love’s way. And she courteously returned My greeting, and quite quickly, So no one might take notice of the state I was in because I loved her. She offered me her little finger, And I, eager and obligated to do Her will, was not slow To take it, and joined in the dancing. But I’d not been dancing very long When she graciously told me I had to sing and should Ready myself to do so, For it was now my turn. Not hesitating, I answered her: “My lady, my intention is to follow Your command; but I know little About the singing of songs. Even so, I must now join in Since it pleases you that I do.” Not delaying, I began with this virelai, Also referred to as a dance-song; And that’s what it should be called.

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3455 3460 3465 3470 3475 3480 fol. 74v 3485 3490 3495 3500 3505 3510 3515 3520 3525 3530 3535 3540 3545 3550 3555 3560 fol. 75r 3565 3570 3575 3580 3585 3590 3595 3600 3605 3610 3615 3620 3625 3630 3635 3640 fol. 75v 3645 3650 3655 3660 3665 3670 3675 3680 3685 3690 3695 3700 3705 3710 3715 3720 fol. 76r 3725 3730 3735 3740 3745 3750 3755 3760 3765 3770 3775 3780 3785 3790 fol. 76v 3796 3800 3805 3810 3815 3820 3825 3830 3835 3840 3845 3850 3855 3860 3865 3870 fol. 77r 3875 3880 3885 3890 3895 3900 3905 3910 3915 3920 3925 3930 3935 3940 3945 3950 fol. 77v 3956 3960 3965 3970 3975 3980 3985 3990 3995 4000 4005 4010 4015 4020 4025 4030 fol. 78r 4036 4040 4045 4050 4055 4060 4065 4070 4075 4080 4085 4090 4095 4100 4105

CHANSON BALADEE Dame, a vous sans retollir Dong cuer, pensee, desir,         Corps, et amour, Comme a toute la millour         Qu’on puist choisir, Ne qui vivre ne morir         Puist a ce jour. I. Si ne me doit a folour Tourner, se je vous aour,         Car sans mentir, Bonté passés en valour, Toute flour en douce odour         Qu’on puet sentir. Vostre biauté fait tarir Toute autre et anïentir,         Et vo douçour Passe tout; rose en coulour         Vous doi tenir, Et vos regars puet garir         Toute dolour. Dame, a vous sans retollir Dong cuer, pensee, desir,         Corps, et amour, Comme a toute la millour         Qu’on puist choisir, Ne qui vivre ne morir         Puist a ce jour. II. Pour ce, dame, je m’atour De tres toute ma vigour         A vous servir, Et met sans nul villain tour Mon cuer, ma vie, et m’onnour         En vo plaisir. Et se Pité consentir Vuet que me daingniez oïr         En ma clamour, Je ne quier de mon labour         Autre merir Qu’il ne me porroit venir         Joie gringnour. Dame, a vous sans retollir Dong cuer, pensee, desir,         Corps, et amour, Comme a toute la millour         Qu’on puist choisir, Ne qui vivre ne morir         Puist a ce jour. III. Dame, ou sont tuit mi retour, Souvent m’estuet en destour         Pleindre et gemir, Et, present vous, descoulour Quant vous ne savez l’ardour         Qu’ay a souffrir Pour vous qu’aim tant et desir Que plus ne le puis couvrir.         Et se tenrour N’en avez, en grant tristour         M’estuet fenir. Nompourquant jusqu’au morir         Vostre demour. Dame, a vous sans retollir Dong cuer, pensee, desir,         Corps, et amour, Comme a toute la millour         Qu’on puist choisir, Ne qui vivre ne morir         Puist a ce jour. Aprés ma chanson commansa Une dame qui la dansa, Qui moult me sambloit envoisie, Car elle estoit cointe et jolie, Si prist a chanter sans demeure: “Diex, quant venra li temps et l’eure Que je voie ce que j’aim si?” Et sa chanson fina einsi. Quant finé l’ot, ma dame dit: “C’est bien et joliement dit, Mais il est temps de nous retraire.” Et lors se mirent au repaire Vers le manoir tuit aprés li. N’il n’ot en la place celi Ne celle qui contredeïst Chose que ma dame dëist. Si laissierent tuit le dancier Et s’en alerent sans tancier, Ci .i., ci .ij., ci .iij., ci iiij, Pour eaus soulacier et esbatre. Et ma dame m’arraisonna Et d’encoste li me mena, En demandant de mon affaire, Einsi comme elle soloit faire, Et m’enquist moult dont je venoie, Et comment tant tenus m’estoie Que je ne l’avoie veü, Et aussi que j’avoie heü Quant je parti darreinnement De li. Car moult soudeinnement M’en parti, sans penre congié, Ne onques mais si eslongié, Ce dist, ne me vit de raison Com la, et pour quele occoison Ce fu que ne li vos despondre Sa demande, n’a li respondre, Et que toute la verité Li deïsse, ou j’avoie esté, Sans mentir et sans couverture, Et dont venoit ceste aventure. Quant elle m’ot fait sa requeste, Qui fu raisonnable et honneste (Car dame a loy de demander Seur amant et de commander) Je, qui souvent de cuer souspir, Gettai un plaint et .i. souspir, Car bien vi qu’il me couvenoit Respondre, et il appartenoit. Lors recouri je sans paresse A Esperence, ma deësse, Qui me mist en cuer et en bouche De dire ce qui plus me touche. Si que moult paoureusement Respondi assez simplement: “Ma dame, refuser ne puis Vostre commandement, et puis Qu’il vous plaist, je vous en diray Le voir, ne ja n’en mentiray, Qu’a vous verité n’iert couverte De moy pour gaaing ne pour perte; Mais volentiers m’en deportasse, S’il vous pleüst, dame, et je osasse. Si vous pri, ma dame, pour Dieu, Que se je di en aucun lieu Chose qui vous puist anuier, Vueilliés mon deffaut supplier, Et vous pri qu’escusez en soie; Car volentiers pas ne diroie Chose qui vous deüst desplaire. De ce Dieu vueil a tesmong traire. Ma dame, tout premierement Vous dirai le commencement, L’estat, le fons, et la racine Qui la verité determine De ce que vous me demandez, Puis que vous le me commandez. J’estoie juenes et petis, Nices, enfes, et enfantis, Nus de scens et pleins d’innocence, D’assez petite congnoissance, D’estre en oiseuse coustumiers, Dame, quant je vous vi premiers, Ja soit einsi qu’encor en soie Miex garnis que je ne vorroie. Si que l’imagination De moy et l’inclination Si mis et toute ma plaisence En vous, dame; que sans doubtance Vous m’estiés exemplaire et voie De tout ce que faire devoie; Në il ne m’estoit mie avis Que sans vous veoir fusse vis, Et en vous si toute m’entente, Mon cuer mettoie, et ma jouvente, Que vostre oueil, vos fais, et vos dis Estoient mon droit paradis. Si m’avisay que je feroie Selonc ce que je sentiroie Pour vous et a vostre löange Lay, complainte, ou chanson estrange; Qu’a vous n’osasse, ne sceüsse Dire autrement ce que j’eüsse, Et me sambloit chose plus bele De dire en ma chanson nouvelle Ce qui mon cuer estreint et serre, Que par autre guise requerre. Si fis .i. lay dou sentement Que j’avoie au commancement, Et fu devant vous aportez, Dont puis fu si desconfortez Que je cuidai bien que la mort M’eüst sans remede la mort. Car, ma dame, vous m’apellastes Et lui lire me commandastes. Si le vous lus de point en point, Rudettement et mal a point, Comme cils qui en grant frisson Fu qu’il n’i heüst mesprison. Et pour ce que nuls ne savoit Encor qui ce lay fait avoit, Ma dame, vous me demandastes Qui l’avoit fait, et me priastes Que sans mentir le vous deïsse. Et je, qui jamais ne feïsse Riens qui desplaire vous deüst, Fors ce qui plaire vous peüst, Et qui mentir ne vous voloie — Et aussi, dame, je n’osoie Dire que ce fust de mon fait Pour ce que je l’avoie fait Et que je vous eüsse ouvert L’amour que tant vous ay couvert Que plus ne la vous puis couvrir, Einsois la m’estuet descouvrir — S’estoit mes cuers en fait contraire Ou de respondre ou de moy taire. Car lequel faire ne savoie. Pour ce pris la moienne voie Et me parti de present vous En tel dueil et en tel courrous Qu’a po que mes cuers ne partoit, Quant mes corps einsi s’en partoit. Et certes, pour tres tout l’avoir Qu’on porroit desirer n’avoir, Ne vous heüsse respondu, Tant me senti je confundu De scens, de force, et de parler. Et pour ce m’en couvint aler Plaingnant, plourant, et soupirant, La mort querant et desirant, Tant que je vins par aventure En une trop belle closture. Si m’en alai en .i. destour, Et la fis je de ma tristour Et de Fortune une compleinte, Par qui ma joie estoit esteinte. Et vraiement, j’estoie mors Sans avoir de vie remors. Mais Douce Esperence acouri, Qui au besoing me secouri, Et vint en trop plus belle fourme Mil fois que Nature ne fourme. Car, a briés mos, elle fu telle Qu’elle sambla esperituele, N’onques mais riens si bel ne vi, Ne si cler. Et la me plevi Amour, loiauté, compaingnie, Foy, secours, confort, et aïe, Se je la voloie ensuïr Et desesperence fuïr. La doucement me conforta. La me gari; la m’aporta Pais, joie, honneur, santé, richesse, Et m’osta doleur et tristesse. Les armes qui sont en l’escu Des vrais amans et la vertu Des coulours m’aprist a congnoistre, Sans oublier ne descongnoistre, Et comment Fortune a constance En li mouvant; ceste doubtance M’osta et dist par raison clere Comment en douceur est amere. Aprés, dame, elle m’a si duit Qu’elle m’a jusqu’a vous conduit, Car, par m’ame, jamais n’i fusse Venus, s’avec moy ne l’eüsse. Se vous suppli de cuer devost, Chiere dame, puis qu’elle vost Et vuet, encor que sans partie Aiés mon cuer, mon corps, ma vie Que vous ne la vueilliez desdire De ce qu’elle m’a volu dire. Car, dame, se vous l’avouez, La serai ou je sui vouez; Et ce non, il faurra partir Mon cuer et morir com martir Pour vous tres dolereusement, Qu’a moy n’apartient nullement, Dame, que je face depri A vous de joie ne d’ottri. Car refus de dame perit En amant cuer et esperit, Chiere dame, et se je l’avoie, Certes, bien sai que je morroie. S’aim miex qu’elle soit refusee Que moy, et s’elle est avouee, J’arai quanque mes cuers desire; Si me devra plus que souffire. Et s’il vous plaist, ma dame chiere, A resgarder la darreniere Chansonnette que je chantay, Que fait en dit et en chant ay, Vous porrez de legier savoir Se je mens ou se je di voir. Se vous pri qu’il vous en souveingne Et que pité de moy vous preingne, Car si vostres sui et serai Que jamais autre n’amerai.” Quant j’os parfiné ma response, Ma dame, qui rest et qui ponse Mes maus, mes anuis, mes durtés, Et toutes mes maleürtez Seulement de son dous regart, Me respondi: “Se Diex me gart, Ceste aventure est gracïeuse, Comment qu’elle soit mervilleuse, Qu’onques mais n’oÿ la pareille. Et pour ce en ai je grant merveille. Mais de ce lay que vous me distes, Est ce voirs que vous le feïstes?” L’AMANT “Certeinnement, ma dame, oïl.” LA DAME “Vous aida nuls?” L’AMANT           “Dame, nennil, Fors vous seule en qui je prenoie Chant, rime, et matere de joie.” LA DAME “Et pour qui le feïstes vous?” L’AMANT “Pour vous, dame, a qui je sui tous.” LA DAME “Estes?” L’AMANT      “Oïl.” LA DAME           “C’est fort a croire.” L’AMANT “Par m’ame, c’est parole voire, Einsi comme est la patenostre, Que le fis et que je sui vostre, Ma dame, et vostre honneur soit sauve Que j’aim, vueil, desir, quier, et sauve, Com celle que je vueil sauver Tant com m’ame qu’ay a sauver.” LA DAME “Et veïstes vous Esperence En la fourme et en la semblance Que ci le m’avez devisé?” L’AMANT “Ma dame, oïl. Et se visé Y avoie et pensé .c. ans, Ne diroie je de .c. tans Sa bonté, ne sa grant biauté, Ne la parfaite loiauté Qu’elle m’a promis a tenir. Et pour ce m’a fait ci venir Et m’a promis vie joieuse, Et qu’a moy seriés gracïeuse. Si vous devez moult aviser Que sa requeste refuser Ne vueilliés; et mentir n’en quier. Se riens vous depri ou requier, C’est de par li et en son nom, Qui est de si noble renom Qu’en monde n’a païs ne regne Qu’elle n’i soit, qu’elle n’i regne, Et que chascuns ne se resjoie, Que de li vuet avoir la joie. Nompourquant vous estes si sage, Dame, et de si noble corage, Que veoir pouez a mon plaint Qu’assez rueve qui se complaint. Mais riens demander ne vous ose, Amour, merci, në autre chose, Qu’a moy n’apartient nullement, Et on dit que communement Demander vient de villonnie, Et löange de courtoisie.” LA DAME “Vous dites voir; c’est ce qu’on dist. Et aussi cils qu’on escondist Doit estre honteus, s’il est sages, Soit grans, petis, vallés, ou pages. Il couvient que pour fol se rende Qui ne s’avise, eins qu’il demande. Et aussi vient souvent contraire De parler quant on se doit taire, Car on dist que trop parler cuit. Et vraiement, si com je cuit. Qui plus couvoite qu’il ne doit, Sa couvoitise le deçoit. Et demander de couvoitise Est engenrez contre franchise; N’on ne doit pas si haut monter Qu’on ait honte dou desvaler. Eins doit on le moien eslire. Car meintes foys ay oï dire Qui plus haut monte qu’il ne doit De plus haut chiet qu’il ne vorroit. Pour ce fait bon parler a point Par scens, par avis, et par point, Doucement, sans maniere ruste, Et demander ce qui est juste, Car encontre bon demandeur Appartient bon escondisseur. Et, biau sire, Bonne Esperence, Qui moult a valour et puissance, Comme sage et bien doctrinee, Loial, juste, et bien avisee, Vous a consillié sagement, Ce m’est avis. Et vraiement, Tant vaut, tant scet, tant a pooir, Tant puet aidier, tant puet valoir, Tant est pour chascun neccessaire, Tant est courtoise, debonnaire, Bonne, gentil, franche, amiable, Loial, noble, honneste, creable, Large de joie et de confort, Abandonnee en reconfort, A bien faire et raison encline, Tant par est nette, pure, et fine En fais et en meurs que son oeuvre Bonne appert partout ou elle ouevre. Tant est bonne en condicion Et vraie, qu’a m’entention On ne deveroit riens escondire Qu’elle vosist faire ne dire. Si ne seroie pas vaillant Se je li estoie faillant, Ne s’en riens la desavouoie. Pour ce dou tout mes cuers s’ottroie A son plaisir et a son vueil, Car tout ce qu’elle vuet je vueil; N’a ce mon cuer n’iert anemi Qu’elle a dit et promis de mi, Eins yert bonnement avouee, Sans penre terme ne journee. Si que, biaus dous loiaus amis, Tout ce qu’elle vous a promis Aveu, ratefi, et tenray, Si que ja contre ne venray. Pour ce vous pri que desormais Soiez cointes, jolis, et gais, Loiaus, secrez sans venterie, Car vous avez loial amie. Et certes, amis, bien pensoie Que la vostre amour estoit moie Comment que riens n’en deïssiez Et que samblant n’en feïssiez. Mais quant Esperence s’en mesle, Je ne doy pas estre rebelle A son voloir, eins vous ottroy Loiaument de m’amour l’ottroy, Qu’elle m’a dit que vous m’amez Et vuet qu’amis soiez clamez.” L’AMANT Adont me mis sans detrïer A genous pour li mercïer. Mais elle tantost s’abaissa Vers moy et pas ne m’i laissa, Einsois volt que je me dressasse Et qu’en alant a li parlasse. Si que je me levay tous drois Et la merciay, ce fu drois, Nom pas einsi com je devoie, Mais si com faire le savoie. Et quant je l’os remercïé Cent mille fois et gracïé De l’onneur qu’elle me faisoit, Quant mon cuer einsi appaisoit (Comment que, sans riens retenir, Siens fusse et siens me vueil tenir, Einsi com ci dessus dit l’ay), Encores li renouvelay Et li donnay le cuer de my, Corps, foy, et loiauté d’amy A tousjours mais sans dessevrer, Tant que mors m’en fera sevrer. Et elle les reçut et prist, Dont mon cuer de grant joie esprist. Et pour ce qu’on n’aperceüst Riens de nos amours ou sceüst, Une damoiselle appella, Qui tost oÿ son appel a. Si li parla d’autre matiere; Et lors je me treï arriere Devers dames et damoiselles, Qui enquirent de mes nouvelles Et me firent pluseurs partures D’amours et de leurs aventures. Certes, et je leur respondoie Moult long de ce que je pensoie, Car toudis leur fis dou blanc noir, Tant que nous fumes au manoir De quoy nous estiens assez prés. Si y venimes tuit aprés Ma dame, qui devant aloit. Drois fu, car Raisons le voloit. Quant la fumes, ce fu mes grez. Si montames par les degrez En une chapelle moult cointe, D’or et de main de maistre pointe Et des plus tres fines coulours Qu’onques mais veïsse que lours. Si fu la messe apparillie, Devotement ditte, et oÿe. Et la fis je mes orisons A Dieu, et mes afflictions, Qu’il me vosist sauver ma dame En honneur, en corps, et en ame, Et qu’eür, scens, grace, et vigour De garder sa pais et s’onnour Me donnast, et de li servir Pouoir si com je le desir; Et qu’elle heüst com raisonnable Mon petit service aggreable. Ce fu la fin de ma prïere. Quant la messe fu ditte entiere, J’oï sonner une trompette Dont uns chambellains haut trompette. Qui adont veïst gent de court! Chascuns a son office accourt, L’un devers la paneterie Et l’autre en la boutillerie; Li autre vont en la cuisine Selonc ce que chascuns cuisine. Messagiers et garsons d’estables Dressent fourmes, trestiaus, et tables. Qui les veïst troter et courre, Herbe aporter, tapis escourre, Braire, crïer, et ramonner, Et l’un a l’autre raisonner, François, breton, et alemant, Lombart, anglois, oc, et norment Et meint autre divers langage, C’estoit a oïr droite rage. Qui d’autre part veïst pingnier, Polir, cointoier, alignier Vallés tranchans et eaus parer, Et pour leur maistre pain parer, Faire tailloirs, demander napes Et de leurs mains oster les rapes, L’un seoir jus, l’autre troter, Et l’autre ses crotes froter, Laver et nettoier leurs mains, A l’un plus et a l’autre mains, Einsois qu’on alast asseoir — C’estoit merveilles a veoir. Car il menoient moult grant noise, Einsi com chascuns crie et noise: “Faites tost; la messe est chantee, Et l’iaue est grant piessa cornee.” Quant on ot chanté tout attrait, Chascuns ala a son retrait, Qui dut son corset desvestir, Pour le seurcot ouvert vestir. Aprés vint chascuns en la sale, Qui ne fu vileinne ne sale, Ou chascuns fu, ce m’est avis, A point honnourez et servis Einsi de vin et de viande Com corps et appetis demande. Et la pris je ma soustenance En regardant la contenance, L’estat, le maintieng, et le port De celle ou sont tuit mi deport. Mais qui veïst aprés mengier Venir menestrels sans dangier, Pingniez et mis en puré corps. La firent mains divers acors, Car je vi la tout en un cerne Viële, rubebe, guiterne, Leü, morache, michanon, Citole, et le psalterion, Harpes, tabours, trompes, naquaires, Orgues, cornes, plus de dis paires, Cornemuses, flajos, chevrettes, Douceinnes, simbales, clochettes, Tymbre, la flaüste brehaingne, Et le grant cornet d’Alemaingne, Flajos de saus, fistule, pipe, Muse d’Aussay, trompe petite, Buisines, eles, monocorde, Ou il n’a c’une seule corde, Et muse de blef tout ensamble. Et certeinnement, y me semble Qu’onques mais tele melodie Ne fu veüe ne oïe, Car chascuns d’eaus, selonc l’acort De son instrument, sans descort, Viële, guiterne, citole, Harpe, trompe, cornc, flajole, Pipe, souffle, muse, naquaire, Taboure, et quanquë on puet faire De dois, de penne, et de l’archet Oÿ j’et vi en ce parchet. Quant fait eurent une estampie, Les dames et leur compaignie S’en alerent, ci .ij., ci .iij., En elles tenant par les dois, Jusque en une chambre moult belle. Et la n’ot il celui ne celle Qui se vosist esbanier, Dancier, chanter, ou festier De tables, d’eschaz, de parsons, Par gieus, par notes, ou par sons Qui la ne trouvast sans arrest A son vueil l’esbatement prest. Et si ot des musicïens Milleurs assez et plus scïens En la viez et nouvele forge Que Musique qui les chans forge, N’Orpheüs, qui si bien chanta Que tous ceaus d’enfer enchanta Par la douceur de son chanter, Devant eaus ne sceüst chanter. Quant on ot rusé longuement, Uns chevaliers isneslement Hucha le vin et les espices. Bien croy que ce fu ses offices, Car en l’eure, sans delaier, Y coururent li escuier. Quant on ot espices eü Et de ce vermillet beü, Midi passa. La nonne vint Pour ce penre congié convint; Si le prist chascuns et chascune Selonc la maniere commune. Mais j’atendi tous des darriens, Com cils qui ne pensoie a riens, Fors a ma douce dame gente Que je veoie la presente. Et quant je vi qu’il fu a point D’aler vers li, n’atendi point, Einsois m’alai recommander A li et congié demander. Si li dis d’une vois bassette Et de maniere assez simplette: “Moy et mon cuer vous recommant, Ma dame, et a Dieu vous commant, Com cils qui vivre ne porroie, Se par amours ne vous amoie, Car l’amour de vous me soustient En vie et en joie me tient.” Elle, com vaillant et courtoise, Bonne et sage, sans faire noise, Me respondi: LA DAME           “Mes chiers amis, Puis qu’Amours ad ce nous ha mis Que nos .ij. cuers ensamble joindre Vuet sans partir et sans desjoindre, Et que faire vuet .i de .ij., Pour Dieu, ne faisons paire d’euls. Car il sont perdu et honni Se si pareil et si onni Ne sont qu’en bien et mal commun Soient, et en tous cas comme un, Sans pensee avoir de maistrie, De haussage ou de signourie, Qu’adés a tençon et rumour Entre signourie et amour. Et seurtout que chascuns regarde Qu’onneur et pais a l’autre garde. Et pour ma pais je vueil savoir Dont cil annelés vint, qu’avoir Ne vous vi onques mais anel.” L’AMANT Je dis: “Ma dame, ce m’est bel Que le sachiés; si le sarez, Et se vous volez, vous l’arez. Esperence le me donna Quant a moy tant s’abandonna Que foy et amour me promist, Et de son doi en mien le mist.” LA DAME “Fist?” L’AMANT      “Ma dame, oïl, vraiement.” LA DAME “Et je vueil qu’amiablement De vostre anel au mien changons, Et que ce soient nos changons.” L’AMANT Et je, qui de ce grant joie eus, Li respondi com moult joieus: “Chiere dame, Dieus le vous mire!” Lors prist doucement a sousrire Et de sa blanche main polie, Poteleuse, nette, et onnie, En signe d’eüreus amant Me mist .i. trop biau diamant En mon doy et prist l’anelet D’Esperence, tel comme il est. Mais tout einsi qu’elle tenoit Mon doy soudeinnement venoit Entre nous .ij. Douce Esperence Pour parfaire ceste alience, Dont moult lié et moult joieus fumes Quant a nostre conseil l’eümes, Pour ce que, se li uns deïst Riens contre l’autre ou meffeïst Qu’elle le peüst corrigier Et selonc son meffait jugier Avec Amour et Loiauté, Qui ont la souvereinneté Et qui sont des amoureus juge Pour ce que chascuns a droit juge; Et qu’elle peüst tesmongnage Porter que de loial corage Me donna s’amour et je li. Si que de nous n’i ot celi Qui adont par dit et par fait Ne l’acordast de cuer parfait. Atant de ma dame parti. Mais d’un regart me reparti Si vray et d'un si dous langage Qu’elle retint mon cuer en gage, Dont si liez fu et si joians Quant Esperence ot assevi Si bien ce qu’elle m’ot plevi; Et pour la joie que j’avoie Ce rondelet fis en ma voie:

CHANSON BALADEE My lady, to you without reservation I grant heart, mind, desire,         Body, and love, As to the finest woman         Any man might choose And who is alive or has died         In this present age. I. And it should not seem Madness if I adore you,         For, and no lie, You’re worthier than goodness itself And surpass in fragrance any flower         You might smell. Your beauty makes all other blooms Dry up and wither,         And your delicacy Surpasses every other; your complexion         I think is like a rose, And your glance could heal         Any ill. My lady, to you without reservation I grant heart, mind, desire,         Body, and love, As to the finest woman         Any man might choose And who is alive or has died         In this present age. II. And so, my lady, I ready myself To serve you with all         The strength that’s mine, And I surrender, intending no impropriety, My heart, life, and honor         To your pleasure. And if Pity consents, And you deign hear         My appeal. I do not seek through my efforts         To merit more, For no greater joy         Could come my way. My lady, to you without reservation I grant heart, mind, desire,         Body, and love, As to the finest woman         Any man might choose And who is alive or has died         In this present age. III. My lady, in whom is all my recourse, Often in some byway I’m driven         To moan and complain, And, with you present, I grow pale Since you know not the passion         That’s mine to suffer On account of you, whom I love so much And desire, more than I can conceal.         And if there were No tenderness in you, I must         End in great sadness. Even so, until my death         I will remain yours. My lady, to you without reservation I grant heart, mind, desire,         Body, and love, As to the finest woman         Any man might choose And who is alive or has died         In this present age. After I began my song A lady who was dancing there And seemed full of fun, Being delightful and pretty, Right away began to sing: “Dear God, when will come the day and time I see the one I love so much?” And with this line she ended. After this, my lady said: “That’s well and properly sung, But it’s time we should withdraw.” Then the company made ready to trail After her to the manor house. For no man or woman in that party Would offer a contrary opinion To whatever the lady might say. And so they abandoned their dancing And set off without a murmur, Some singly, others in pairs or threesomes, Or groups of four to divert and enjoy themselves. And my lady kept me close, Leading me along as she spoke, And asking for my news, As was her custom. And she was eager to learn where I’d come from And why I’d stayed away And had not seen her, As well as what had made me Depart her company not long ago, For all of a sudden I’d disappeared, not taking leave, And never before, she said, had she Seen me depart so hastily for any reason, And could I offer some explanation For not wanting to answer Her question, or otherwise respond, And that the whole truth is what I should tell her, Where I had been, Not dissembling or concealing anything, As well as the reasons for such goings-on. After she made this request, Which was reasonable and straightforward (For a lady enjoys the right to question Her lover and command him), Sighing often in a heartfelt way, I let out a moan from deep inside, For I realized clearly I was obliged To give an answer, for it was fitting. At this moment I quickly resorted Without hesitation to my goddess Hope, Who inspired my heart to feel My innermost emotions and give them voice. With much trepidation, I responded rather simply: “My lady, I cannot refuse Your command, and since you’re So pleased, I’ll tell you the fact Of the matter with no dissembling, So the truth will not be kept From you, to my profit or loss. I’d much prefer refusing to speak of this, If it pleased you, my lady, and if I dared. So I beg you, my lady, for God’s sake Please forgive my failings If at any point I say something That causes you annoyance, And I pray you’ll excuse me. For I’d never willingly say Anything to displease you. I call upon God as my witness. My lady, I will first say something Of how this situation arose, Its nature, background, and origin, Everything that pertains to the truth Of the answers you seek Since this is what you command. I was young and not yet mature, Foolish, childish, and inexperienced, Devoid of good sense, yet filled with ignorance, Possessed of little if any knowledge, Accustomed to indolence, My lady, when first I laid eyes upon you, And even now I’m more inclined To be this way than I’d wish. And so I devoted to you My thoughts, my enthusiasm, And my inclination toward pleasure, My lady; and beyond any doubt, You’ve been the model and inspiration For all I have since felt my life should be; And I’d find it impossible, I think, To manage living without seeing you, And you are what I strive for, While my heart and youth are dedicated to you, So that your regard, what you do and say, There constitute my true paradise. And from these emotions I determined to compose for you And in your praise a lay, Complaint, or new song; For I did not dare or know how To otherwise express what I felt, And it seemed better To express in a new song What gripped and weighed on my heart Than to contrive some other way of doing so. So I composed a lay that drew on the emotions I’ve experienced from the outset, And this lay made its way to you, Which so completely devastated me I was convinced death would make An end of me, with no recovery. For, my lady, you called upon And commanded me to recite it. And so I read it, from beginning To end, if in a bumbling and artless fashion, Like a man so seized by terror Everyone present would take note. And because no one there knew Who had authored the lay, My lady, you asked me Who was its composer, begging Me for a clear answer. And I, who would never do Anything to annoy you, Only what you might find pleasing, I who had no wish to lie to you — I dared not confess To being the author; For my having written it, Would reveal to you the love I’ve kept quite hidden, And so this would no longer remain secret, But rather be made public — And in my heart I could not decide Whether to answer or hold my peace. Uncertain as to which course to follow, I chose the middle path. And I made my way from you In such sorrow and confusion My heart almost broke As I withdrew from your presence. And surely, for all the treasure any man Could either desire or possess, I’d not have answered you With my senses, thoughts, And power of speech in such turmoil. And so I had to steal away Lamenting, weeping, and sighing, Eager for and desirous of death, Until by chance I entered into A quite beautiful enclosed garden. And I strolled over to a lonely spot, There composing a complaint From the sadness I felt, whose theme was Fortune, Who had wrecked my happiness. And truly my death was close, And I had little expectation of living longer. But Sweet Hope quickly was on the scene, And helped me in this time of trouble, And she appeared in a form a thousand Times lovelier than what Nature creates. Indeed, to put this briefly, She seemed a spiritual being, For I’d never seen anyone else so lovely Or radiant. And on the spot she pledged Me love, loyalty, and companionship, Faith, help, consolation, and assistance If I would follow her And abandon despair. There she graciously comforted me; There she healed me; there she made me the gifts of Peace, joy, honor, well-being, wealth, Delivering me from pain and sorrow. She taught me to recognize, Without slighting or misinterpreting, The significance of the shield Of true lovers, as well as the power of colors, And how Fortune attains to constancy Through her mutability; she extinguished my Fear of Fortune, explaining with persuasive reasons How in her sweetness lies bitterness. Afterward, my lady, she was my guide And conducted me to you, for upon my soul Never would I have made my way Here without her by my side. So with a devout heart I beg Dear lady, since it was and is her desire still, That you, and you alone, Should possess my heart, my body, my life, Please raise no objections To all I have said, for she wished it so. Now, my lady, if you consent, I’ll remain right where I have so pledged. And, if not, I must abandon my heart And die a martyr’s death In terrible pain and all for you, Since it’s improper, my lady, For me to ask you for Either joy or favor. In the event a lady’s refusal destroys The lover’s body and soul, Dear lady, and should you refuse me, It would certainly mean my death. I’d rather Hope be refused Than me, and if she finds favor I’ll possess all that my heart desires, Which should more than satisfy. And if it pleases you, my lady dear, To look over that last Little song I sang, Whose words and music I composed, You can readily see Whether I lie or speak the truth. So give this some thought, I beg you, And let pity for me take root, For I am so truly yours, and will always be, I’ll never fall in love with another.” After I finished responding, My lady, who heals and alleviates My ills, my troubles, my hardships, And all that disturbs me Through her sweet look alone, Answered me thus: “So God help me, This is a quite happy accident, However strange it might seem, For I’ve never heard the like And so am quite amazed. But about this lay you recited for me, Is it true that you composed it?” THE LOVER “Truly, my lady, yes.” THE LADY “No one helped you?” THE LOVER           “No one, my lady, Except for you, who inspired The song, the rhymes, and the joyful theme.” THE LADY “And for whom did you compose it?” THE LOVER “For you, my lady, to whom I am completely devoted.” THE LADY “You are?” THE LOVER      “Yes.” THE LADY           “That’s difficult to believe.” THE LOVER “By my soul, these words are every bit As true as the Our Father: I am the author, and I am yours, My lady, and may your honor be preserved, Which I love, care for, desire, seek, and protect, And which I intend to keep safe as much As I seek salvation for my own soul.” THE LADY “And did you see Hope In the very form and shape You’ve described to me here?” THE LOVER “Indeed, my lady. And even after considering And thinking about it for a hundred years, I’d prove unable to describe the hundredth part Of her goodness or great beauty, Or the perfect faithfulness She swore to bear me. And this explains why she led me here With the promise of a joyful life And gracious treatment from you. And you should mull it over a bit Before deciding to turn down this request. I’ve no wish to lie about the matter; If I request or ask for anything from you, It’s on her behalf and in her name, Which is of such noble renown That in this world there’s no country or realm Where she is not, where she does not rule, And where everyone eager to possess The joy she brings does not rejoice. Nevertheless, my lady, you have Such wisdom and noble courage, My plaint will convince you That he who laments wants much. But I don’t dare ask anything from you, Not love, favor, or whatever else Might not be appropriate, For one and all maintain That making requests is bad form, But praise is pure courtliness.” THE LADY “You speak the truth; one does hear this said. And, further, a man who’s refused, If wise enough, should feel shamed. Whether of high degree or low, a valet or a page, He must consider himself foolish For not thinking carefully before petitioning. Moreover, words often give offense When silence is what’s called for, For too much talk is a mistake. And truly, I believe That whoever desires what he shouldn’t Is often fooled by his own covetousness. And to press a suit out of covetousness Is to act against generosity. No one should climb so high That, descending, is chagrined. Instead he should choose the middle way. For I’ve heard it said many times: Whoever climbs higher than he should Slips even further than he would. And so it’s good to speak appropriately, With common sense, forethought, and directness, With grace and not in some rude way, And to request what is fitting, For whoever seeks what is inappropriate Properly receives a just refusal. And, fair sir, Good Hope, Who is possessed of such virtue and strength And is so wise and well-informed, Faithful, fair-minded, and considerate, Has counseled you wisely; Such is my view. And truly She is so worthy, knowledgeable, mighty, So able to help, such a shining example, So indispensable to one and all, So courtly and poised, Virtuous, noble, generous, friendly, so loyal, Of good stock, so honest, trustworthy, Generous with good cheer and consolation, Freely providing comfort, Inclined toward right and reasonable action, So unblemished, pure, and upright In her manner and demeanor that all she does Also shows her goodness wherever she asserts herself. By nature she is so filled with virtue And truth that, as I see it, No one should oppose anything She might choose to state or assert. So I’d hardly be worthy If I disappointed her Or said no to anything she proposed. And so with all my heart I surrender Myself to her pleasure and will, For what she desires, I do as well; Nor will my heart offer opposition to Whatever she’s said and promised to me, But will graciously accept it, Imposing no terms or conditions. And so, my fair, precious, and loyal lover, Everything she has promised you I accept, ratify, and uphold, Never disagreeing. Therefore, I beg you henceforth To be merry, pleasant, and happy, Loyal, discreet but not boastful, For you possess a faithful sweetheart. And surely, my friend, I was convinced You were in love with me Though you said nothing about it, And made as if it were not so. But since Hope has taken a hand I ought not struggle against What she wishes, but rather grant you In true faith the bestowal of my love, For she’s said you are in love with me And wants you to bear the name of lover.” THE LOVER Then, not hesitating, I got down On my knees to thank her. But she at once stooped Toward me and would not allow it, Wishing instead that I’d get to my feet And speak with her while we walked. So I stood up right away And thanked her, as was proper, Not as I should have done, But as ably as I knew how. And after I expressed my gratitude A thousand times and thanked Her for the honor she had done me By putting my heart at ease, (Even though, holding back nothing, I had been hers, and hers I intended to remain, Just as I have said here above), I renewed these pledges to her, Bestowing upon her my heart, My body, my good faith, and my lover’s loyalty For all time henceforth, never to depart, Until death should separate me from her. And she accepted and acknowledged all this, Which set my heart to burning with joy. And so that no one might take notice Of our love affair, or find out about it, She summoned a damsel, Who quickly answered the call. And she spoke to her of some other matter. Meanwhile I strolled back Toward the ladies and damsels, Who asked me for news And sang for me some songs About love as well as its twists and turns. Surely what I said to them in response Was not in the least what I was thinking, For over and over I made white black for them Until we arrived at the manor house, Not far distant from where we were then. And we all made our way there following My lady, who walked in front. That was proper, for Reason wished it so. When we arrived, I found myself pleased And mounted the staircase To a chapel that was quite splendid, Painted in gold by the hand of a master And with colors more beautiful Than any I’d ever seen. There was celebrated a mass That was devoutly recited and attended, And, while doing my penance, I also prayed God To preserve the honor, Body, and soul of my lady; To afford me the good chance, perspicacity, Grace, and strength to guard her honor And her peace, as well as the strength To serve her as I wished to do; And to make sure she’d find appropriate The small, pleasant services I intended to perform. That’s how my prayer ended. After the mass had been said to its end, I heard ring out a trumpet That one of the chamberlains blew loudly. What a sight then of all the servants! Everyone rushed to do his office: One toward the pantry, Another to the wine cellar, While others went to the kitchen, To the places where they did the cooking. Messengers and stable boys Set up the benches, trestles, and tables. You should have seen them racing here and there, Bringing hay, laying out carpets, Yelling, shouting, and pushing brooms, Chatting with one another In French, Breton, and German, Lombard, English, Occitan, and Norman, And many other odd tongues, And this was quite a babble to hear. And to see elsewhere in the room the carvers Polishing, setting up, and cleaning Even as they set about readying the water, And slicing the bread for their master, Getting the platters ready, calling for tablecloths, And removing the cheesecloth covers by hand, Here a man sitting, there one running, Yet another brushing off crumbs, People washing and drying their hands, Some more, others less, Before they go sit. — That was a marvel indeed to witness. For they made a great deal of noise, With everyone shouting and yelling: “Make it quick! Mass has been sung, And the call for washing sounded some time back.” Once mass had been duly sung, Every man went off to his room To remove his corset And don an open surcoat instead. They all then proceeded to the dining hall, Which was hardly inelegant or ill-appointed, And there, I believe, the whole company Received fine treatment and was served with As much wine and meat As body and appetite demanded. And while taking my meal, I took stock of the demeanor, The manner, the bearing, and the carriage Of the woman in whom all my pleasure is found. What a sight when after the meal, Minstrels came freely forward, With hair elaborately done and fancy dress. There they played many a tune. For gathered in a circle I caught sight of Vielle, rebec, gittern, The lute, which came from Arabia, “halved” psaltery, Citole, and psaltery, Harp, tabor, straight trumpets, nakers, Portative organs, more than ten pairs of horns, Bagpipes, one-handed flutes, smallpipes, Douçaines, cymbals, small bells, The tambourine, the transverse flute, as the Bohemians play, And the great cornett from Germany, Willow flutes, fife, pipe, The Alsatian bagpipe, small trumpet, Buisines, the harp-psaltery, monochord, With its single string, And the pan-pipes — all of these together. And, to be sure, never before Had such a melody Been heard or attended to, For in that little park I heard and noticed Each of them according to the pitch Of that instrument with no disharmony: Vielle, gittern, citole, Harp, straight trumpet, horn, whistle, Pipe, bladder pipe, smallpipe, nakers, Tabor, and whatever one might play With finger, plectrum, or bow. After they had performed an estampie The ladies and the rest of the company Went off in pairs and threesomes, Holding each other by the hand, To a quite lovely room, And no man or woman present Was not then eager for entertainment, Dancing, singing, or making merry With backgammon, chess, and parsons, With games, singing, and music, And who did not find ready the opportunity To do so as they wished with no trouble. And there present were musicians More skilled and practiced In established and new styles, Better singers among that company Than Music, the origin of songs, Or Orpheus, who sang so ably He enchanted all those in Hell With the sweetness of his song. Such amusements proceeded for some time Before one of the knights suddenly Called for wine and spices; I certainly think this was one of his offices, For at once, without delay, Squires were in haste. After all present had taken pleasure in The spices and the light red wine, It was past midday. The hour of three approached, And time for those in the company to take their leave, So every man and woman said goodbye According to the usual custom. I waited among the very last, Like someone with nothing on his mind Except my sweet and noble lady, Whom I was gazing at before me. And sensing the moment had come, I made my way to her, Strolled over to commend myself And ask for leave to depart. And, in a whisper, and without Any fuss, I said to her: “I give you my heart and my person, My lady, and commend you to God, For I’m a man who could live no longer If not loving you with passion Since my love for you sustains My life and keeps me full of joy.” She, worthy and courtly, Virtuous and wise, not making a scene, Answered me in this way: THE LADY           “My dear friend, Since Love has brought you to this point And wishes our two hearts joined together, Never to part and never to separate, Eager as she is to turn two into one, For God’s sake let us make them equal; For they are lost and shamed If, so similar and united, They do not feel in common both good And evil, and are not in all matters as one, With no thought of claiming mastery, Higher rank, or dominion; For love and lordship together Make for constant argument and quarrels. And especially let each Protect the other’s honor and peace. And for my own peace of mind I want to know Where this ring comes from since I Never noticed before that you have one. THE LOVER I said: “My lady, I’m happy to Have you know; and if you so desire, You will learn the truth of the matter. Hope gave it to me When she granted so much In promising me her faith and love, Then she placed it on my finger.” THE LADY “She did?” THE LOVER      “Truly, my lady, yes.” THE LADY “Well, I’d like to exchange Your ring for the one I wear, As a sign of our bond.” THE LOVER This gave me great joy, and so I Answered her with much pleasure: “Dear lady, may God look down upon you!” Then she began to smile sweetly And with her smooth, pale hand, Plump, soft, and unwrinkled, She put a very elegant diamond On my finger as a sign that I was A fortunate lover, and she accepted Hope’s Ring when it was offered. But as she took hold of My finger, Sweet Hope suddenly Appeared between us In order to establish our union, And we were ecstatic and delighted To have her as our counselor Since if one of us should say Or do anything to displease the other She could remedy it And judge the misdeed Before Love and Loyalty, Who wield sovereignty Over lovers and act as their judges, Because Hope judges everyone justly And can bear witness That the lady faithfully gave me Her love as I presented her with mine, And so neither of us failed To uphold this agreement wholeheartedly From that moment, in word and deed. At this I departed from my lady, But she gave me a look that was So full of truth and of such sweet expression She took my heart hostage. And thus I was so happy and jubilant, For Hope had fulfilled her promise About everything she’d pledged; And in response to the gratitude I felt I composed this rondelet as I went my way.

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fol. 78v 4110 4115 fol. 79r 4120 4125 4130 4135 4140 4145 4150 4155 4160 4165 4170 4175 4180 4185 4190 fol. 79v 4196 4200 4205 4210 4215 4220 4225 4230 4235 4240 4245 4250 4255 4260 4265 4270 fol. 80r 4275 4280 4285 4290 4295

RONDELET Dame, mon cuer en vous remaint Comment que de vous me departe. De fine amour qui en moy maint, Dame, mon cuer en vous remaint. Or pri Dieu que li vostres m’aint, Sans ce qu’en nulle autre amour parte. Dame, mon cuer en vous remaint, Comment que de vous me departe. Quant j’eus finé mon rondelet, Je me mis en un sentelet Qui me mena en une marche Ou toute joie maint et marche, D’armes, d’amours, de festoier, De jouster, et de tournoier, Et de toute autre bonne vie. Si me mis en la compaingnie Et fis a mon petit pooir Selonc ce que je pos veoir Que li autre se demenoient, Et vos faire ce qu’il faisoient, Comment qu’a droit ne le feïsse; Mais il failloit que j’aprenisse, Car qui n’aprent en sa juenesse, Il s’en repent en sa vieillesse, S’il est tels qu’il le sache entendre: Car trop noble chose est d’aprendre. Pour ce mes cuers s’i deduisoit, Car ma dame ad ce me duisoit. La demouray longuettement En joie et en esbatement, Tant qu’il fu temps de repairier Vers celle ou sont mi desirier. Si me mis briefment au retour Vers son gent et faitis atour Cointe et bel; s’i vins a tele heure Que je cuidai, se Diex m’onneure, Que li cuers me deüst partir. Car je vi de moy departir Ses tres dous yex et autre part Traire et lancier leur dous espart. Et ne sceus se ce fu a certes; Mais j’en fui prés de morir, certes. Car de samblant et de maniere, De cuer; de regart, et de chiere Qu’amis doit recevoir d'amie, Me fu vis qu’elle estoit changie, Et pensay qu’elle le faisoit Pour autre qui miex li plaisoit. Lors renouvela ma pesence, Et cheï en une doubtance Si grief, si pesant, et si pesme Que de joie ne que de cresme Dedens mon cuer ne demouroit Pour la doubte qui l’acouroit. Lors fu en grant merencolie Comme cils qui pense et colie, Contrepense, estudie, et muse, S’a certes estoit, ou par ruse, Ou se ses cuers einsi plaier Me voloit pour moy essaier. Mais si tres aviseement Le faisoit et si soutieument Que je ne pos onques le voir De la mansonge concevoir. Si m’avisai que je feroie, Et pensai que je li diroie: “Ma chiere dame, vous savez Comment moy et mon cuer avez, Comment je vous aim sans retraire, Comment vous me poez deffaire Et mettre a mort, se vous volez, Se vo dous regart me tolés. Dame, et se vous avez corage D’autre recevoir en hommage, Ou de moy tenir en penser Qu’envers moy daingnissiés fausser, Ou de moy de vous estrangier, Qui sui en vostre dous dangier, Pour Dieu, dame, tant vous fïez De moy, las! que vous m’ocïez En moy disant sans couverture Que vous n’avez mais de moy cure. Car y me vaut trop miex morir Pour vous a .i. cop que languir.” Si que tout einsi, sans attente, Li dis tout mon cuer et m’entente. Si m’escouta diligenment Et me respondi erranment: “Biaus dous amis, soiez en pais De tout ce que je di et fais; Car je le fais pour le millour Et pour miex celer nostre amour, Car qui en amours ne scet feindre, Il ne puet a grant joie ateindre, N’il n’a pooir de bien celer Ce qu’il ne vorroit reveler. Car li mondes est si divers, Si mesdisans, et si pervers Et pleins de si fausse contrueve Qu’au jour de hui on dit et contrueve Ce qui onques ne fu pensé. Amis, et pour ce ay je pensé De faire un samblant general A tous, sans riens d’especial Fors a vous seul quant poins sera; Ne ja vos cuers ne trouvera En moy, dont doiez avoir doubte Que m’amour ne soit vostre toute, En honneur et en loiauté, Sans nul rain de desloiauté.” L’AMANT Ma dame einsi m’asseüra Et de ce moult fort me jura. Comment que puis mainte paour, Maint dur assaut, et maint estour, Meinte dolour, meinte morsure, Et meinte soudeinne pointure, Maint grief souspir, mainte hachie, Et mainte grant merencolie M’en ait couvenu soustenir, Nompourquant je me vos tenir De tous poins a fermement croire Qu’elle disoit parole voire. Car cils qui encontre lui pense A par lui se riote et tense, N’a droit ne se puet resjoïr, Qu’il ne puet de joie joïr. Et d’autre part, Loiauté pure, Bonté, Raison, Scens, et Droiture, Bonté, Raison, Scens, et Droiture, Honte, Verité, et Noblesse, Avec toutes bonnes vertus Dont ses gens corps est revestus, Qui a toute heure l’acompaignent, Gardent, nourrissent, et enseingnent; Ne se deingnassent assentir Qu’en riens la laissassent mentir. Et aussi qui aimme sans blame En tous cas doit croire sa dame, Einsi comme il vuet qu’on le croie. Si que pour ce je la creoie, Et qu’il m’iert vis qu’en amité Me disoit pure verité, Que j’estoie en sa bonne grace. Or doint Diex que jamais ne face Chose de quoi perdre la puisse, Et qu’amie et dame la truisse, Einsi com je li suis amis, Qui a li sui donnez et mis Sans partir en, n’a mort, n’a vie: Car qui bien aimme, a tart oublie. Mais en la fin de ce traitié, Que j’ay compile et traitié, Vueil mon nom et mon seurnom mettre, Sans sillabe oublier ne lettre. Et cils qui savoir le vorra De legier savoir le porra. Car le quart ver, si com je fin, Commencement, moien, et fin Est de mon nom, qui tous entiers Y est sans faillir quars ne tiers. Mais il ne couvient adjouster En ce quart ver lettre, n’oster, Car qui riens y adjousteroit, Mon nom jamais ne trouveroit, Qu’il n’i eüst ou plus ou mains. Et pour ce que je suis es mains De loyal Amour que j’aim si, Li fais hommage et di einsi: “Bonne Amour, je te fais hommage De mains, de bouche, de corage, Com tes liges sers redevables, Fins, loiaus, secrez, et estables, Et met cuer, corps, ame, vigour, Desir, penser, plaisence, honnour Dou tout en tout avec mon vivre, Com cils qui vueil morir et vivre En ton service, sans retraire. Et certes, je le doi bien faire, Quant tu me donnes tel espoir Qu’adés mieus recevoir espoir, Et que ma douce dame chiere De bon cuer et a lie chiere Verra ce dit qu’ai mis en rime, Comment qu’assez nicement rime. Et cils espoirs qui en moy maint Qu’encor ma chiere dame m’aint Mon cuer si doucement resjoie Qu’en grant santé et en grant joie Li change mal, u tu me dis Que pris en gré sera mes dis. Or doint Dieus qu'en bon gré le pregne, Et qu’en li servant ne mesprengne.” Explicit Remede de Fortune.

RONDELET Lady, my heart remains with you Though I am leaving you behind. Along with the pure love residing there, My lady, my heart remains with you. Now I pray God your heart loves me, Not sharing with any other lover. My lady, my heart remains with you, Though I am leaving you behind. After finishing the rondelet, I turned onto a narrow path That led me into an open space Where with great pleasure people Were indulging in arms, love talk, And other merriment, with jousting, Tourneying, and all manner of fine diversions. And I joined that company And did my, albeit limited, best, To participate in all that I observed The others engaged in there, Intending to do what they were doing, Trying to act as they did, even if I did it wrong, For I needed to learn how, For whoever does not learn when young Repents when old age comes If he could have done otherwise. For learning is a very worthy enterprise. Now my heart took such pleasure there Because my lady had filled me with inspiration. At that place I remained a long time In happiness and pleasure Until the time came to return To the lady who is the object of all my desires. In haste I made my way back To her sophisticated and lovely presence, Attractive and pretty; but the moment I arrived It suddenly seemed, so God give me honor, My heart might break in two; For, as I watched, her eyes so sweet Turned away from me And sent their sweet glow elsewhere. If this was done on purpose, I did not know, But I surely found myself close to death, For in appearance and manner, In the friendliness, way of looking, and demeanor That a beloved should show her lover, She seemed to have altered, And I thought she was acting this way For the sake of another man who pleased her more. Then I felt weighed down by sadness And fell into a state of uncertainty So painful, oppressive, and dark No gratification or balm Remained in my heart Because of the pain then assaulting it. I slipped into a deep melancholy, became A man given to obsessive thoughts and suffering Who ponders, meditates, and broods Over whether this was the truth or some ruse, Whether in her heart she thus intended To wound my own in order to test me. But this was compassed with such subtlety And such craftiness I could not tell whether it was Some false front or her true feelings. So I mulled over what to do, Formulating what to say: “My dear lady, you are aware of How you possess my heart and person, How I love you without reservation, How you are able to destroy And kill me, should you wish, By withholding your sweet look from me. My lady, if it is in your heart To accept the homage of another man Or to keep me uncertain, If you are determining to play me false Or to put distance between you and me, Who find myself under your sweet dominion, In the sight of God, my lady, you show me Such a lack of affection, alas, that you’re killing me When you signal so unmistakably You care nothing about me; Better for me to expire At a single blow than to languish.” This was how with no hesitation I told her what was in my heart and mind. And she heard me out attentively, Offering a quick reply: “Fair sweet friend, please calm yourself About what I say and do Because it’s all for the best So I can conceal the love I feel for you; For a man in love who fails to feign His feelings cannot attain joy, Nor is he strong enough to conceal properly All he would not wish to have revealed. For people are so undependable, So given to gossip, and so evil-minded And filled with such deceit and falseness That these days they make up and say Things that no one had even thought. Friend, for this reason I’ve determined To wear a single face for one and all, Not showing favor to anyone Save you alone at the proper time. And your heart will never sense anything From this that will make you doubt You are the one who possesses all my love In honor and in faithfulness, Beyond any hint of pretense.” THE LOVER This was how my lady reassured me, Swearing a very strong oath. Even though I have had To suffer through many terrors, Numerous difficult assaults and attacks, Great pain, many aching torments, And constant, sudden pangs, Many grievous sighs, great anxiety, And much deep melancholy as well, Even so I would not give up on Believing firmly what she had said At that moment was the whole truth. For whoever thinks badly of his lady Quarrels and argues with his own self, And he’ll have no real reason to rejoice Since his joy will afford him no pleasure. Moreover, spotless Loyalty, Virtue, Reason, Good Sense, and Justice, Generosity, Honor, and Gentility, Shape, Truthfulness, and Nobility, Along with all the exalted virtues With which she has been endowed, At all times her companions, Protect, sustain, and instruct her, These would never debate themselves By allowing her to be false. And furthermore whoever loves blamelessly Should trust to his lady at all times, Just as he would be trusted himself. And so I believed what she said, And it was my view she had told Me in friendship the pure truth, Namely that I’d enjoy her good graces. Now God grant I never do anything To forfeit her good opinion And that I find she’s my lady and beloved Just as I am her lover, For I’ve given and devoted myself to her, And will never abandon her in life or death, For whoever loves well forgets slowly. Now at the end of this treatise That I’ve compiled and written My intention is to include my name and surname, Omitting no letter or syllable, And whoever would like to learn my names Can do so with ease. Now the fourth verse before I conclude, Holds its beginning, middle, and end And my whole name can be found there Lacking neither a third nor quarter. Now you don’t need in this fourth verse to add Or omit any letter. You cannot Find my name there After making such a change, So that there are more or fewer letters. And because I am in the hands Of loyal Love, for whom my love is great, I do homage and say as follows: “Good Love, I render you homage With hands, mouth, and heart As your loyal and obedient servant, As a man pure, truthful, discreet, and reliable, And to you I devote heart, body, soul, and strength, Desire, wit, joyfulness, honor, Everything including my life, As a man who wishes to live and die In your service, never withdrawing. And I should surely do so Because you give me such hope I always expect things to be even better And because my dear lady With a good heart and good cheer Will see this poem I’ve put in rhyme, However inexpertly I managed it. And the hope I feel within me That my dear lady will keep on loving me Makes my heart rejoice so sweetly That what it suffers will turn to Comfort and gladness as soon as you tell Me the poem has been well received. God grant she accepts this work with pleasure And that I serve her with no missteps!” Here ends Remedy for Fortune.

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The miniatures (images) from MS A are not included in this digital edition, but are available in the print version. To view these images, see also the Bibliothèque nationale de France's digital edition on Gallica: https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b84490444.