阿尔巴当夜莺唱day-lo交配ng and night late My love and I keep state In bower, In flower, ''Till the watchman on the tower Cry: 'Up! Thou rascal, Rise, I see the white Light And the night Flies: I Compleynt of a gentleman who has been waiting outside for some time O plasmatour and true celestial light, Lord powerful, engirdled all with might, Give my good-fellow aid in fools' despite Who stirs not forth this night, And day comes on. 'Sst! my good fellow, art awake or sleeping? Sleep thou no more. I see the star upleaping That hath the dawn in keeping, And day comes on! 'Hi! Harry, hear me, for I sing aright Sleep not thou now, I hear the bird in flight That plaineth of the going of the night, And day comes on! `Come now! Old swenkin! Rise up from thy bed, I see the signs upon the welkin spread, If thou come not, the cost be on thy head. And day comes on! `And here I am since going down of sun, And pray to God that is St. Mary's son, To bring thee safe back, my companion. And day comes on. 'And thou out here beneath the porch of stone Badest me to see that a good watch was done, And now thou'lt none of me, and wilt have none Of song of mine. (Bass voice from inside) 'Wait, my good fellow. For such joy I take With her venust and noblest to my make To hold embraced, and will not her forsake For yammer of the cuckold, Though day break.' (Girart Bornello) II Avril When the springtime is sweet And the birds repeat Their new song in the leaves. `Tis meet A man go where he will. But from where my heart is set No message I get; My heart all wakes and grieves; Defeat Or luck, I must have my fill. Our love comes out Like the branch that turns about On the top of the hawthorne, With frost and hail at night Suffers despite 'Till the sun come, and the green leaf on the bough. I remember the young day When we set strife away, And she gave me such gesning, Her love and her ring: God grant I die not by any man's stroke 'Till I have my hand 'neath her cloak. I care not for their clamour Who have come between me and my charmer, For I know how words run loose, Big talk and little use. Spoilers of pleasure, We take their measure. (Guilhem de Peitieu) III Descant on a Theme by Cerclamon When the sweet air goes bitter, And the cold birds twitter Where the leaf falls from the twig, I sough and sing that Love goes out Leaving me no power to hold him. Of love I have naught Save trouble and sad thought, And nothing is grievous as I desirous, Wanting only what No man can get or has got. With the noblest that stands in men's sight, If all the world be in despite I care not a glove. Where my love is, there is a glitter of sun; God give me life, and let my course run 'Till I have her I love To lie with and prove. I do not live, nor cure me, Nor feel my ache great as it is, For love will give me no respite, Nor do I know when I turn left or right nor when I go out. For in her is all my delight And all that can save me. I shake and burn and quiver From love, awake and in swevyn, Such fear I have she deliver me not from pain, Who know not how to ask her; Who can not. Two years, three years I seek And though I fear to speak out, Still she must know it. If she won't have me now, Death is my portion, Would I had died that day I came into her sway. God! How softly this kills! When her love look steals on me. Killed me she has, I know not how it was, For I would not look on a woman. Joy I have none, if she make me not mad Or set me quiet, or bid me chatter. Good is it to me if she flout Or turn me inside out, and about. My ill doth she turn sweet. How swift it is. For I am traist and loose, I am true, or a liar, All vile, or all gentle, Or shaking between, as she desire, I, Cerclamon, sorry and glad, The man whom love had and has ever; Alas! who'er it please or pain, She can me retain. I am gone from one joy, From one I loved never so much, She by one touch Reft me away; So doth bewilder me I can not say my say nor my desire, And when she looks on me It seems to me I lose all wit and sense. The noblest girls men love 'Gainst her I prize not as a glove Worn and old. Though the whole world run rack And go dark with cloud, Light is Where she stands, And a clamour loud in my ears. IV Vergier In orchard under the hawthorne She has her lover till morn, Till the traist man cry out to warn Them God how swift the night, And day comes on. O Plasma