Anc res q’a vos plagues Ever a thing that (to) you pleased Bona domna cortesa Good lady courteous Tan no m’ estet defesa, So much not to me was forbidden Q’eu ans no la fezes, That I sooner not it should do Qe d’als mi sovengues. Than of another thing (myself) I should think. II. _IDYLL BY MARCABRUN._ A la fontana del vergier, At the fountain of the orchard On l’ erb’ es vertz jostal gravier, Where the grass is green near the gravel A l’ ombra d’ un fust domesgier, In the shade of a tree indigenous En aizement de blancas flors In the beauty of white flowers E de novel chant costumier, And of new song familiar Trobei sola ses companhier I found alone without companion Cela que no volc mon solatz. Her who not relished my conversation. So fon donzel’ ab son cor bel, This was a girl with her body beautiful Filha d’un senhor de castel; The daughter of one lord of a castle; E quant eu cugei que l’ auzel And when I thought that the birds Li fesson joi e la verdors, Her made (gave) joy and the greenery E pel dous termini novel, And (because of) the sweet season new E que entendes mon favel, And that she would listen (to) my address Tost li fon sos afors camjatz. Soon (the) were her manners changed. Dels olhs ploret josta la fon From her eyes she cried by the fountain E del cor sospiret preon. And from the heart she sighed deeply. ‘Jhesus,’ dis ela, ‘reis del mon, ‘Jesus,’ said she, ‘king of the world, Per vos mi creis ma grans dolors, Through you me grows my great grief Quar vostra anta mi cofon, For your disgrace me injures, Quar li melhor de tot est mon For the best of all this world Vos van servir, mas a vos platz. You go to serve, but to you it pleases. Ab vos s’en vai lo meus amics, With you (himself) away goes (the) my friend Lo bels el gens el pros el rics, The beautiful and the gentle and the brave and the worthy Sai m’en reman lo grans destrics, Here to me therefrom remains the great grief Lo deziriers soven el plors. The longing often and the tear. Ai! mala fos reis Lozoics Alas! evil be (befal) king Louis. Que fai los mans e los prezics Who makes the commands and the preachings, Per quel dols m’es el cor intratz.’ Through which the pain to me is into the heart entered.’