No More Learning

It almost makes my poor heart break

With every sigh:

Not worth a mouse though, my heart-ache,

Saint Martial, fie!

I'm ill, I'm afraid of dying;

But of what I hear know nothing;

I'd call a doctor for his learning,

But which, say I?

He's a good doctor if I'm improving,

Not, if I die.

I've a lover, but who is she?

She, by my faith, I never could see;

Nothing she did to hurt or please,

So what, say I?

In my house, no French or Norman

Shall ever lie.

I never saw her, yet love her true,

She never was faithful or untrue;

I do well when she's not in view,

Not worth a cry,

I know a nobler, fairer too

To any eye.

I've made the verse, don't know for who;

I'll send it on to someone new,

Who'll send it on towards Anjou,

Or somewhere nigh,

So its counter-key from his casket he'll

Send, by and by.

Note: The last two lines remain perplexing, but suggest that Guillaume was inviting a similarly ironic song, a counter or duplicate, in reply.

Pus vezem de novelh florir

Since we see, fresh flowers blowing

Field and meadow greenly glowing,

Stream and fountain crystal flowing

Fair wind and breeze,

It's right each man should live bestowing

Joy as he please.

Of love I'll speak nothing but good.

Why've I not had all that I could?

Likely I've had all that I should;

For readily,

It grants joy to one who's understood

Love's boundary.

It's been the same all of my days,

I've had no joy of love, always,

Too late now to change my ways;

For knowingly

I've done much of which my heart says:

'That's nullity. '

For this reason I win less pleasure:

What I can't have I always treasure;

And yet the saying proves true forever:

For certainly:

'To good heart comes good luck in measure' -

Suffer joyfully!
You will never prove faithful to

Love, unless you're submissive too,

And to neighbours and strangers you

Act quite humbly,

And to all who live within its view

Obediently.

Obedience we must ever show,

To others, if we'd love, and so

It's fitting that from us should flow

True courtesy;

We must not speak at court as though

Born vilely.

This verse I'll say to you is worth

More if you'll comprehend it first,

And praise the words, I gave them birth

Consistently,

I too will praise, as finest on earth,

Its melody.

My Stephen, though here I keep my berth,

There presently,

I trust you'll read this, and of its worth

Give guarantee.

Mout jauzens me prenc en amar

Great the joy that I take in love,

A joy where I can take my ease,

And then in joy turn as I please,

Once more with the best I move,

For I am honoured, she's above

The best that man can hear or see.

I, as you know, small credit take,

Nor for myself claim any power,

Yet if ever a joy should flower,

This one should, and overtake

All others, Earth from shadows wake

Like the sun in a gloomy hour.

No man can fashion such a thing,

By no wish of his, no desire,

Nor by thought or dream aspire

To such joy, as she will bring,

All year I could her praises sing

And not tell all before I tire.

All joys are humbled, all must dance

To her law, and all lords obey

My lady, with her lovely way

Of greeting, her sweet pleasant glance,

A hundred years of life I'd grant

To him who has her love in play.

Her joy can make the sick man well,

And through her anger too he dies,

And fools she fashions of the wise,

And handsome men age at her spell,

And status, wealth she can dispel

And raise the beggar to the skies.

Since man can find no better here,

That lips can tell of, eyes can see,

I wish to keep her close by me.

To render my heart fresh and clear,

Renew the flesh too, so the sere

Winds of age blow invisibly.

If she'll grant her love in measure,

My gratitude I'll then declare,

And conceal it and flatter there,

Speak and act all for her pleasure;

Carefully I'll prize my treasure,

And sing her praises everywhere.

I daren't send this by another,

I have such fear of her disdain,

Nor go myself, and go in vain,

Nor forcefully make love to her;

Yet she must know I am better

Since she heals my wound again.

Farai chansoneta nueva

I'll make a little song that's new,

Before wind, frost, and rain come too;

My lady tests me, and would prove

How, and in just what way, I am

In love, yet despite all she may do

I'd rather be stuck here in this jam.

I'd rather deliver myself and render

Whatever will write me in her charter,

No, don't think I'm under the weather,

If in love with my fine lady I am,

Since it seems I can't live without her,

So great the hunger of sire for dam.

For she is whiter than ivory,

So there can be no other for me.