No More Learning

And he who takes what love brings too,

Though little it grant of hope's fine brew,

Cannot fail to find pleasures new

And in fresh joy rich recompense:

So that I praise the honours sent,

The gifts, neck, hands that make me kiss,

My remedy for all amiss.

My Vierna, bitter it is,

The sight of you I often miss.

Lord Agout, though scant praise is this,

You'll gild my song, such as it is.

Plus que. l paubres quan jai el ric ostal

No more than a beggar dare complain,

Lodging at some rich man's address,

Fearing its lord, of his wretchedness;

No more dare I, of my mortal pain.

Since she disdains me, I must suffer,

Whom I long for more than another.

No more do I dare to ask her mercy,

So great my fear that she'll grow angry.

As we gaze in awe at some great window,

Shining in beauty against the splendour,

Seeing her, my heart so sweet is rendered

I forget myself in her beauty's glow.

With the stick I cut, Love brings me pain,

For, one day, in his royal domain,

I stole a kiss for the heart to remember:

Oh, for the man who can't see his lover!

God forgive, yet she's but a criminal

My lovely lady, who grants no aid,

Knowing my love, my heart, are laid

At her feet, and her service is my all.

Why summon me, and greet me so gently,

Then deny me good from all that hurts me!

Does she believe she might banish me so?

Yet the pain's no less than I used to know.

For a true man must endure, it's natural,

Rights and wrongs, both sense and folly:

Though it's hard to achieve a victory

When he's banished from his own hall!

I'm in exile if I should leave my lover:

I'll not: for I love her more than ever.
If I renounced her love, she'd scorn me:

She ought not, for love it is adorns me.

I'm utterly in my lady's power,

If she does me ill I can do nothing,

Her pleasure, to me, is so sweet and thing,

I forget myself, my cares, the hour.

Never a day but love drowns my heart,

Since arrows of joy from her eyes dart.

And when my heart thinks of its great good,

I want none else in this world, nor should.

Do you know why my love is so sincere?

I've seen none so noble, of such beauty,

Or so fine, who grants me such bounty,

For so worthy a friend she does appear,

And if I'd her naked at last beside me,

I'd be more than the lord of Excideuil,

Who maintains his worth where others fail,

For none but Geoffrey could so prevail.

It goes ill with the four kings of Spain,

Since they fight rather than make peace,

Do that, and their worth could but increase:

Free, loyal, courteous, they speak plain,

Yet their fame might be even greater

If they aimed their war against another,

That fierce foe that denies our law,

Until Spain owns to one faith once more.

Bels Castiat, lord, I'm sad, you'll gather.

I see you not: she sees me no more,

Na Vierna, who is all my faith and law.

Now I'll give the ancient saying here:

Whoever starts well then lets things fall,

Had better not start such things at all.

Notes: The Lord of Excideuil is Richard Coeur-de-Lion. Geoffrey is his brother, Count of Brittany.

Castiatz is possibly Raimond V, Count of Toulouse (1148-1194)

Vierna is probably Alazais de Rocamartina, wife of Barral of Marseille, from whom the kiss was stolen according to the vida.

The four kings of Spain are those of Aragon, Castille, Leon and Navarre.

Estat ai gran sazo

I've felt, for so long, so

Bitter, and known such pain,

But now I feel joy again,

More than carp or swallow,

For my lady tells me

Now again she'll take me,

Once more, as her lover.

Ah!