49r] 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 49v] 85 90 95 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 50r] 175 180 185 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 225 230 235 240 245 250 255 50v] 265 270 275 280 285 290 295 300 305 310 315 320 325 330

Quy a la Dame de parays Deyvent foy e leauté Ore entendent a mes dis, E je lur dirroy verité Si nul y soit qe eit mespris Vers femme par mavesté, De corteysie soit forbanys Ou hastivement soit redressé       A dreyt,    Quar il pert sa noreture       Certes que femme deceit. Dieu m’avaunce, par charité, Auxi come j’ay mestier; Je froi a femmes un a b c, A l’escole si eles vueillent aler. Celes que sunt lettree As autres purront recorder Coment eles sunt honoree En dreyture, sauntz fauser       De nulle.    Ou va femme, la vet joie:       Ele ne va pas soule. Amour de femme moun cuer entame De fere un poy enveysure Pur sauver femme de tote blame. Chescun devereit mettre cure Pur l’amour de une dame Que tot le mound en terre honure. Que femme esclaundre e met en fame Ne vint unqe de bone nature,       A veyr dyre.    Qui de femme dit vileynie       Certes sa bouche empyre. Beauté de femme passe rose, Qi le vodera bien juger. En mounde n’i a si douce chose En leauté pur bien amer. Mes, je certes bien dire le ose E, si mestier soit, prover Qe mavesté qe en faus repose Fet sovent femme des oils lermer       A tort.    Qy femme dampne par tresoun,       Certes sa noreture dort. Chescun honme endreit, de sey, Deit de femmes tot bien dyre, E si vous dirroi bien purquei: Pur une qu’est de tous mals myre, De qui nasquy le haut rey Qe de tot le mound est Syre. Beneit soit cel arbre a fey Qe tiel fruit porte qe ja n’enpyre       Pur rien,    Quar ele porta le noble enfaunt       Repleni de tot bien. Dyamaund ne autre piere Ne sount si fyn en lur vertu Come sunt femmes en lur manere. D’amour joindre portent le glu, E sount pleysauntz e debonere. De un dart d’amour me ount feru. Qe femme mespreyse en nulle manere Il corouce la mere Jhesu       E pecche.    Qy a ce s’acostume       Porte vyleyne tecche. Eux ont le corps de bel entayle, En tous poyntz tres bien assis. Um ne vaudreit une mayle Si femme ne fust, ce m’est avys. Donque dussum nous, sauntz fayle, De tiele chose tenir grant pris, Quar il n’y a rien que a femme vayle Desouz la joie de parays,       En terre.    Yl n’y a nulle terrene       Que purra a tous plere. Femmes portent les oyls veyrs, E regardent come faucoun. Mout doit estre en bon espeyr Cely qe gist en lor prisoun, Quar al matyn ne a seyr Rien n’y avera si joye noun! De totes bountés sunt yl heyr, Fraunches e beles, par resoun,       Come rose.    Quy de eux dit si bien noun       Sa vyleynie desclose. Genterise en cuer de femme floryst, E espanit come fet la flur. Bené soit qui la le myst, En lu de si grant honur. Qy vileynie de femme dist Mout pust il estre ensur D’aver hounte sauntz respist En un lu molt obscur,       E peyne.    Pus qe Dieu de femme nasquist,       N’out unque nulle vyleyne. Harpe n’autre menestrausie, Ne oysel que chaunt u boys, Ne sount si noble melodie Come de femme oyr la vois. Mout purrad mener sure vie Que de femme puet aver choys, Quar a tous biens femme plye, Come fet la coudre que porte noys       E foyl.    Qui bealté plaunta en femme       Molt chosy noble soyl. Il n’y out unqe honme nee Pus le temps Adam e Eve Qe sout de femmes la bounté, Ou comence, ne ou acheve. A demostrer tiel segree A moy serreit donqe chose greve; Mes pus qe je l’ay comencee, Avant dirroi ov parole sweve       E fyne:    Femmes dussoms tous honorer,       Pur l’amour d’une meschyne. Korteysie en femme git En lu ou ad bel desport; E cely en fenme char prist Qe d’enfern nous dona resort; E de femme cil nasquist, Qe pur nous pus soffry la mort. Qui a femme fet despit Il me semble que il ad tort,       En taunt:    Quar en femme descendist       Jesu le tot pussaunt. L’amour du mound en femme habite En un lu molt aimable. Yl n’ad pas choysy lu petite, Mes large, grant, e delitable. Yl ne trovera que ly desheryte; La puet il meyndre tot dis estable; Son ostel est de tous maus quite! Pur veyr le dy sauntz mot de fable       Dedenz:    Que mavesté quert en femme       Certes il pert son tenz. Marie que portastes le Salveour, Vostre grace vous requer. Me seiez ayde e socour, Pur l’onour de femme sauver, Qe portent fruyt de bel colour, Noble, douce, ne mie amer: Gentz qe sount de grant valour, Qe le mound governent enter       Par sen.    Bené soit tiel arbre       Qe tiel fruit porte! Amen. Note de la russinole Je tienk pur nient en temps de may (E de chescun oysel que vole), Encountre une que nomé ay, Quar ele chaunte de bone escole, E tient le cuer de honme en gay, E porte le bek douce et mole. Si mestier soit, nomer le say       Par noun.    Quant Dieu fist femme compaigne a honme,            Molt lur dona bel doun. Ov femmes est honour enjoynt; De bountés sunt racyne. Pur chescun mal qu’en honme poynt, Femme porte medicine. Quant eles ount le mal enoynt, L’anguisse va e tost fyne. L’amour de cele Dieu nous doint A cui le mound enclyne       E prie.    Al jour de le graunt jugement       Que ele nous seit aye! Paruenke pris e sauntz pier, Sount femmes sur tote autre rien, Quar nul ne savera devyser La bounté de femmes, ce savoms bien. Femmes portent le vis cler, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Dieu me doint a joie aver La bele douce qu’est le myen       Demeyne!    Unque ne trovay en ly       Fors bounté e cuer certeygne. Quoyntement s’en vont armee De grant bealté que pert dehors, E dedenz de tot bounté En ount repleny tot le cors. Mout serroit donque grant pieté Si tous tieles fuissent mors, Que par nous ount grevement ploree, E ce a molt grauntz tortz,       Sovent.    Nul ne savera devyser       La joye que de eux descent. Rose qu’est de bel colour E d’esté porte l’enseygne Ne gitte poynt si fyn odour Come est de femme la douce aleyne. Qui porreit donque, nuit e jour, Aver une en son demeyne Mout purreit vivre a grant honour E en joie sauntz nulle peyne       U mounde.    Nul ne savera deviser       La joie que de femme habounde. Si tous l’espieces, en tenz de pees Qe de tous terres venent par mer, Fuissent lyés en un fees, E um les devereit bien juger, Il n’y a nul de tel relees Come de femme un douz bayser. Ce su je prest prover adés, Qui me vodra countrepleyder       En dyt.    Car femme est la plus graciouse       Chose qe unqe Dieu fyt. Tryacle tres bien tryee N’est poynt si fyn en sa termyne Come est le lycour alosee Quy femme porte en sa peytrine. Bien doit tiele chose estre amee, Que porte si noble medicine. Meint foyz est anguissee, Par nous, fenme en gysyne,       Sanz bobance.    Nul ne savera deviser       Come sunt pur nous en grevaunce. Volables ne sunt point de corage, Quar eles se tienent en une assise. A eux ne serra dit hountage, Quar il sount de bone aprise. Come plus est venu de haut parage, Meinz s’en orguile en tote guyse. Chescun qu’est de bon estage Femmes honourt par soun devyse       Tot dis.    Honour en bone femme       Ne puet estre mesassis. Xristus, le fitz Marie, Le tres noble enfaunt, Defent qe vyleynye Ne soit desorenavant Dit, par nulle folye, A nulle femme vivant. Mes, chescun ayme s’amye Come Dieu nous est amaunt       En terre,    Que sa douce face       En ciel pussoms vere. Ysope, fenoil, columbyn, Flur de lyls alosee, Rose que porte colour fyn, Gyngivre racynee — Deveroit crestre u chemyn Ou femme marche soun pee. Certes cely ad bon matyn Que de femme est amee       Saunz feyntyse,    Quar unqe femme ne fust       Si noun de bon aprise. Zabulon, come je vous counte — C’est un propre noun! Cely que bone femme afrounte Ja n’eit s’alme pardoun. Fuisse je roy ou grant counte, Ou de terre noble baroun, Quy a femme ferreit hounte Tost le mettroi en prisoun,       Sanz tort!    Si il ne se vodra amender,       Ja n’avereit resort. Douce amie, seiez certeigne Que de Dieu serra maldit Qe, de male parole e veyne, Dient a femme hounte ou despyt. Quar Dieu meismes, sauntz nulle peyne, De une femme en terre nasquyt La quele en ciel sa joye demeyne. De ly servyr, ay grant delyt,       A gree,    Quar ele est de joie fonteyne,       Source de amistee. Place la ou femme siet, En sale ov banc countre mur, Totes vileynyes het. Tant come porte fruit si pur De totes arbres dount fueille chet, Si est femme sovereyn flur. Chescun honme, a mieux qu’il puet, Sauve lur cors e lur honur       De hounte,    Quar totes choses avenauntes       Bone femme sourmounte. Cruelement s’en vont lyé Par la grace de ly Puissaunt. Si ne fust sa grant humilité, Qe mostre a femme vertu grant, Jamés femme de mere nee Ne fust delyvres de un enfant. Mont seofrent pur nostre amisté, E meintefoiz vont suspirant       Pur amour.    Molt sovent lur nateresse       Lur torne a grant dolour. ¶“Ave Maria,” devoms dire, Pur totes femmes qe grosses sount; Lur colour, pur nous, empire, De sale en chaunbre quant eles vont. Prioms Jesum Nostre Sire, Qe en sa joie siet la a mount, Que, si ly plest, lur veile myre Les anguisses qe pur nous ount       Molt sovent.    Dieu sauve l’onour de femmes,       E quant qe a eux apent. ¶“Amen” devoms trestous dire! Benet seit le tresdouz mort Que pur nous soffri Nostre Sire, Que d’enfern nous dona resort. E en terre soffry grant martyre (Sauntz desert a graunt tort), Saunz rancour e sanz ire. Pur nous soffry peyne fort       En croys.    La joie de ciel nous ad graunté       Meismes de sa voys.

Those who to heaven’s Lady Owe faith and loyalty May listen now to my words, And I’ll tell them the truth. If there’s anyone who’s done wrong To women through wickedness, May he be banished from courtesy Or immediately be corrected       Justly,    For surely he betrays his breeding       Whoever deceives a woman. May God assist me, in charity, As far as I have need; I will make for women an ABC, Should they wish to go to school. Those who are literate Can inform others How they are honored Properly, without falsifying       Anything.    Where woman goes, there goes joy:       She goes not alone. Amour for a woman incites my heart To compose a little entertainment To protect women from all blame. Each of us ought to be careful On account of the love of a lady Whom everyone on earth honors. He who slanders women and spreads rumors Never came from a good origin,       To tell the truth.    He who speaks evil of women       Surely debases his mouth. Beauty of women exceeds the rose, If one wishes to judge it properly. On earth there’s nothing else so sweet As loving well with faithfulness. Moreover, I certainly dare to declare And, if need be, to prove That evil residing in falseness Often makes women’s eyes weep       For wrong.    Whoever blames a woman deceitfully,       His good breeding certainly sleeps. Concerning himself, each man Should speak very well of women, And I’ll tell you exactly why: Because of one who’s healer of all ills, From whom was born the high king Who is Lord of all the world. Blessed be that tree of faith That bears such fruit as never spoils       At all,    For she bore the noble child       Endowed with all good. Diamonds or other stones Are not as pure in their virtue As are women in their bearing. To join in love they hold the glue, And they are pleasing and meek. They’ve struck me with a dart of love. Whoever insults women in any way Offends the mother of Jesus       And sins.    He who does this habitually       Bears a vile stain. Elegantly sculpted bodies they have, Well-formed in every aspect. Men wouldn’t be worth a farthing If women didn’t exist, that’s what I think. Therefore we should, without fail, Hold such a thing in great value, For there’s nothing so dear as women Beneath the joy of heaven,       On earth.    There’s nothing else on earth       That’s able to please everyone. Females have sparkling eyes, And they gaze like falcons. He ought to have very high hopes Whoever lies in their prison, For by morning and evening He’ll have nothing but joy! Of all virtues they’re the heirs, As noble and beautiful, indeed,       As the rose.    Who doesn’t speak well of them       Shows his own baseness. Gentility flourishes in woman’s heart, And blooms as does the flower. Blessed be he who set it there, In a place of such high honor. Whoever speaks vilely of women Can be absolutely certain To have shame without relief In a very dark place,       And pain.    Ever since God was born of woman,       She’s never had any baseness. Harp nor any other instrument, Nor bird singing in the woods, Sounds so noble a melody As one hears in a woman’s voice. He might lead a very secure life Whoever can take his choice of women, For women incline toward all good things, As does the hazel tree that bears nuts       And leaves.    He who planted beauty in women       Chose a very noble soil. Infant has there never been born Since the time of Adam and Eve Who understood women’s virtue, Where it begins, nor where it ends. To unlock such a secret Would thus be a weighty thing for me; But since I’ve begun to do it, I’ll speak first with words soft       And pure:    We should all honor women,       For the love of a virgin. Kind courtesy lies in a woman In the place where one has sweet delight; And he who took flesh in a woman Granted us release from hell; And of a woman he was born, Who later endured death for us. Whoever has contempt for women Is wrong, it seems to me,       For that reason:    For into a woman descended       Jesus the almighty. Love of the world dwells in a woman In a very amiable place. He has not chosen a small place, But a generous, large, and delightful one. He’ll not find that she disinherits him; There can he remain always stable; His lodging is free of all ills! For I tell the truth without any fiction       Therein:    Whoever seeks evil in a woman       Certainly wastes his time. Mary who bore the Savior, Your grace I pray of you. Be for me an aid and a help, In order to protect the honor of women, Who bear fruit of a lovely hue, Noble, sweet, and never bitter: People who are of great worth, Who govern the whole world       With reason.    Blessed be such a tree       Who bears such fruit! Amen. Note of the nightingale I think but a trifle in Maytime (And of each flying bird), Beside the one whom I’ve named, For she sings very cleverly, And makes a man’s heart happy, And bears a beak sweet and soft. If it be necessary, I know how to name it       By name.    When God made women company to men,       He gave them a very lovely gift. Onto women is honor linked; They are the root of virtues. For each hurt that stings men, Women bear the remedy. When they have soothed the wound, The pain goes away and quickly ends. May God grant us the love of her To whom the world bows       And prays.    On the day of great judgment       May she be a help to us! Prized as periwinkle and without equal, Women are above all other things, For no one knows how to describe The virtue of women, this we know well. Women bear shining faces, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . May God grant me the joy to have The lovely sweet who is my own       Possession!    I’ve never found in her anything       But virtue and a steadfast heart. Quaintly elegant they go forth armed With great beauty that shows outwardly, And inwardly with perfect virtue Have they filled the whole body. It would then be a great pity If all such were to die, Who have on our behalf cried out terribly, And this is excessively wrong,       Often.    No one can describe       That joy that descends from them. Rose that’s of a beauteous hue And bears the mark of summer Does not release so pure a fragrance As does the sweet breath of women. Whoever might then, night and day, Have one in his own possession Would be able to live in great honor And in joy without any pain       In world.    No one can describe       The joy that abounds in women. Spices all, which in times of peace Come from every land by sea, Were they to be bound up in a sheaf, And were one obliged to judge them justly, There would be none of such delight As a sweet kiss from a woman. This I am always ready to prove, No matter who wishes to plead against me       In words.    For woman is the most gracious       Thing that God has ever made. Treacle of the highest quality Is not at all as pure in its season As is the renowned liqueur That a woman carries in her breast. Well ought such a thing be loved, Who carries so splendid a medicine. Many times does woman suffer, On behalf of us, in childbed,       Without pride.    No one can describe       How they suffer for us. Volatile are not at all their feelings, For they hold themselves to one practice. Disgraceful things are not to be said of them, For they are entirely praiseworthy. The more one is come of noble family, The less one grows arrogant in any way. Every man who’s of good standing Honors women by his intent       Always.    Honor given a good woman       Cannot be misapplied. X, Christ, the son of Mary, The very noble child, Forbids that wickedness Henceforth be Uttered, for any madness, To any living woman. Instead, may each man love his beloved As God is loving to us       On earth,    So that his sweet face       In heaven we may see. Yssop, fennel, columbine, Renowned lily-flower, Rose that bears a lovely hue, Rooted ginger — All must grow in the path Where woman places her foot. Surely that man has a good morning Who is loved by a woman       Without deceit,    For there’s never been a woman       Who wasn’t highly praiseworthy. Zebulon, as I say to you — That’s an appropriate name! May he who offends a good woman Never attain pardon for his soul. If I were king or powerful count, Or noble baron of the land, Whoever treated a woman shamefully I’d immediately place in prison,       Justly!    And if he would not reform himself,       He would never have any reprieve. Sweet friend, be assured That he will be cursed by God Who, with evil and empty words, Speaks dishonor or contempt to women. For God himself, without any pain, Was on earth born of a woman Who displays her joy in heaven. In serving her, I take great pleasure,       Willingly,    For she’s the fountain of joy,       The spring of love. The place where a woman sits, In hall with bench against wall, Abhors all vile baseness. Just as she bears the purest fruit Of all trees from which leaves fall, So is woman the supreme flower. May each man, as best he can, Protect their bodies and their honor       From shame,    For all pleasing things       A good woman surpasses. Women go forth cruelly bound By the grace of the Almighty. Were it not for their deep humility, Which displays women’s fine excellence, Never would a woman born of a mother Be delivered of a child. They suffer much for our love, And many a time they sigh       For love.    Very often their kindness       Leads them to profound grief. ¶ “Ave Maria,” we ought to say, For all women who are big with child; On our behalf, their color grows worse, As they depart from hall to bedroom. Let us pray to Jesus Our Lord, Who in his joy sits there on high, Who may, if he pleases, tend them as doctor And the anguish they bear on our behalf       Very often.    May God protect women’s honor,       And all that befits them. ¶ “Amen” we all ought to say! Blessed be the precious death That Our Lord suffered on our behalf, Which released us from hell. And on earth he suffered great torture (Undeserved and unjust), Without anger and without wrath. On our behalf he suffered hard pain       On cross.    He granted us the joy of heaven       With his own voice.

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