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¶ Quant fu en ma juvente
E en ma volenté,
Molt mis ma entente
Certe a jolifté.
Molt fu pesaunt e lent
A chescune bounté,
Ne pensoi de la rente
Que me serroit demaundé.
Tut fut mon cuer mis
Certe a folour;
Molt fu en verglis —
Alas, a icel jour!
Que trop en ay pris
De terrien honour,
Jour e nuit ma pensé mis
En trop fol amour.
Certes, molt desirroi
Aver lel amisté,
Mes nule ne trovoi
Quant je le oy prové;
Quant je bien regardoi,
Ne vi qe vanité.
Sovent dis “weylowoi”
De quoi ai je pensé.
Un jour m’en aloi deduyre,
Mon solas querant;
Avynt par aventure
Qe je oy un chaunt.
A ce mis ma cure,
Si estois escotaunt —
Certes, bone e pure
La dite fut del chaunt!
La dite du chaunt
Vous dirroi, come je say;
Touz ceus qe vont pensant
Pur quere amour verray,
Attendent a mon chaunt!
Je lur enseigneray
De un ami, fyn amaunt,
Bon, bel, e verray.
“Flur de tote bounté,
E de pureté auxi,
Fluret de tote leauté
E de clareté, vous dy,
Chescun manere de bounté
Puet um trover en ly.
Flur de tote pieté,
Molt est tresdouz amy.
“Tote manere de douçour
Est en cel lel amaunt;
Yl fiet de fyn amour
Plus qe nul vivaunt.
Roy e empereour
A ly sunt obeissaunt.
Molt ad il grant honour
Qe ad un tiel amant.
“Jesus est apelé,
Ycel y qe vous dy.
Yl nous ad bien mostré
Que il est lel amy,
Pusqe nous ad fourmé
Trestous aprés ly.
Cher nous ad achaté;
Pur nous la mort soffry.
“Pusqe nomé vous ay
Qe est cel lel amaunt,
Ne fetez nul delay —
Alez a ly coraunt!
Metez en asay
Si ce seit veir qe vous chaunt.
Nul amour, par foi,
Vers celi ne valt un gaunt.
“Pucele est la mere
De celi dount je chaunt.
Sur tote rien est lumere
Aprés son cher enfaunt.
Soun fitz est son pere,
Espous, e lel amaunt.
Bonet seit tiele mere
E soun douz enfaunt!
“Mes ore vous oyez,
Qe desirrez amour,
Si vous aver volez
De touz amours la flour,
Molt covent qe seiez
Estable par tendrour,
E vostre cuer recreiez
De trop terrien honour.
“Si vous amer volez
Jesus enterement,
Chescun amour ohtes
Qe a folie apent,
Quar quanqe vous pensez,
Il siet veroiement
Molt covyent qe eyez
Net cuer e talent.
“La playe regardez
Que soffry vostre Creatour,
E le sang veiez
Que issist pur vostre amour.
De prier ne cessez
Par nuyt ne par jour;
Orez e plorez
Desque tu senz douçour.
“Si goute aver poez
De ce sang precious
Qe li duz Jesu espaundez
Pur vous,
Vostre cuer bien lavez
De verrois amours.
A vostre amy priez:
En ly troverez socours.
“Quant bien avez lavé
Vostre cuer de ce sang,
Plus pros de li alez
La croyz seiez beysaunt;
En la plaie entrez,
Que est si long e graunt,
Yleqe vous tenez,
Ne issez pur nul vivaunt.
“Le cuer de vostre amy
Seisez e ferm tenez;
Ne dotez nul enymy
Taunt come la demorez.
Si tu es assayly,
Cel sang lur mostrez.
Sachez en bon foy
Trestouz les venkerez.
“Marie regardez, pres
De la croys esteaunt;
De sa dolour pensez
Come ele estut ploraunt.
Pur amour, la priez
Qe ele vous seit eydaunt.
Si amer la volez,
Ne seiez pas dotaunt.
“Parlez a la flur,
E a ly dites taunt:
‘De vous nasqui cely
Qe soffry peyne graunt
Seiez nostre socour,
Pur soun precious sang;
Deliverez nous de le Enymy
Qe nous est deceyvant.’
“A cel seint sang ne puet
Enymy venyr,
Mes son poer fragrant
Qe vous dotez issyr.
Pres de vous ert esteant
Pur vous tot dis geytir.
Molt avera peyne grant
Quaunt de ly poez fuyr.
“Si toun cuer lavez
Bien de cet precious sang,
E pus estes entrez
En la playe graunt,
E la dame avez,
De nyent serrez dotaunt.
Tempté poez estre,
Mes vous averez garaunt.
“Seint Johan regardez,
Qe est le amy Jesu.
Molt est a ly privez,
Apelé est soun dru.
Cely fust mostré,
Quant Jesu fust pendu,
Qe sa douce mere
A ly baylé fu.
“Pensez de la dolour
Qu’il out pur son amaunt.
Priez la virgine
Que ele vous seit aydaunt,
A Jesu, nostre Creatour,
Que est soun douz enfaunt,
Qe en totes peryls nous seit
Escu e garaunt.”
Amen.
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¶ When I was in my youth
And at my will,
I eagerly pursued my desire
Wholly for amusement.
I was quite lethargic and slow
Regarding any virtue,
Nor did I think of the cost
That would be exacted of me.
All my heart was set
Entirely on folly;
Truly I was on slippery ice —
Alas, for that day!
When I was over-concerned
With earthly honor,
Day and night I set my mind
On extremely foolish love.
Indeed, I deeply desired
To have true friendship,
But I found none
When I had tried it;
When I looked closely,
I saw only vanity.
Often I said “wailaway”
About what I desired.
One day I went to be amused,
Seeking my comfort;
It happened by chance
That I heard a song.
To this I paid attention,
And I stood listening —
Indeed, good and pure
Were the words of the song!
The words of the song
I will tell you, as I can;
All those who go wishing
To seek out true love,
Listen to my song!
I will instruct them
About a friend, a pure lover,
Good, beautiful, and true.
“Flower of all goodness,
And of purity as well,
Little flower of all faithfulness
And brightness, I tell you,
Every sort of goodness
May one discover in him.
Flower of all mercy,
Truly he's a most kind friend.
“Every sort of sweet kindness
Exists in this true lover;
He pledges purer love
Than any who lives.
King and emperor
Are obedient to him.
He acquires very great honor
Who has such a lover.
“Jesus he is called,
Of whom I tell you.
He has shown us well
That he's a faithful friend,
Since he has fashioned us
Wholly in his image.
He has bought us dearly;
For us he suffered death.
“Since I've named for you
Who is this true lover,
Don’t delay at all —
Go to him running!
Put to the test whether
What I sing to you be true.
No love, in faith,
Is worth a rag beside this one.
“A maiden is the mother
Of the one of whom I sing.
Above all she’s the light
After her dear child.
Her son is her father,
Husband, and true lover.
Blessed be such a mother
And her sweet child!
“But now listen,
You who desire love,
If you wish to have
The flower of all loves,
It's most fitting that you be
Steadfast in affection,
And that your heart refrain
From excessive worldly honor.
“If you wish to love
Jesus entirely,
Throw off each love
That pertains to folly,
For whatever you think,
It is certainly
Most fitting that you have
A clean heart and mind.
“Look at the wound
That your Creator suffered,
And see the blood
That issued out for your love.
Don’t cease to pray
By night and by day;
Worship and cry
Till you feel compassion.
“If you’re able to taste
This precious blood
That sweet Jesus shed
For you,
Wash well your heart
With true love.
Pray to your friend:
In him you’ll find aid.
“When you’ve washed well
Your heart in this blood,
Go closer to him
By bowing to the cross;
Enter into the wound,
Which is long and large.
Hold fast there,
Don’t issue out for anyone living.
“The heart of your friend
Seize and hold tight;
Don’t fear any enemy
As long as you dwell there.
If you’re attacked,
Show them this blood.
Know with good faith
You’ll vanquish them all.
“Look at Mary, close
To the cross standing;
Think of her sorrow
As she stands crying.
In love, pray to her
That she may help you.
If you wish to love her,
Be without fear.
“Talk to the flower,
And speak to her like this:
‘From you was born that one
Who endured great pain.
Be our assistance,
For his precious blood;
Deliver us from the Enemy
Who is deceiving us.’
“Toward that holy blood
The Enemy’s not able to come,
But he’ll do his very best
To make you afraid to issue out.
Nearby you he’s standing
To cast you down forever.
He’ll suffer great agony
When you’re able to flee him.
“If you wash your heart
Well with this precious blood,
And then you are entered
Into the great wound,
And you possess the lady,
You’ll not fear anything.
You may be tempted,
But you’ll have a protector.
“Look at Saint John,
Who is Jesus’ friend.
He is very close to him,
He is called his beloved.
It was explained to him,
When Jesus was hanging,
That his sweet mother
Was entrusted to him.
“Think of the sorrow
That he felt for his love.
Pray to the virgin
That she may help you,
With Jesus, our Creator,
Her sweet child,
Who in all dangers may be for us
Shield and protector.”
Amen.
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