Anne Azéma & Aziman - Se par force de merci (Gauthier d'Espinal (1230-1270?)) | Текст песни

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• Anne Azéma & Aziman
• Se par force de merci (Gauthier d'Espinal (1230-1270?))

Se par force de merci
ne descent Amors coraux
en la moillour de loiaus,
ja ne m’en verrai saisi
de bien qui ne me soit maus;
mais se pities avec aux
par lor douz comandement
un petit desforcement
meïssent en lor pooir,
alors porroie joie avoir.
Beau Deus, que ne fu ensi
l’amors fine comunaus,
que haut et has fust igaus!
Mais ce qu’ennors est en li
tiennent a honte li faus,
Deus, qui les orroit entr’aus
conter et dire sovent
lor faus adevinement
de faire mençonge voir
por fins amanz decevoir.
Ne tieng pais a fin amin
ki s’esmaie riens por eaus,
por teils felons deloiaus.
Tant on jangleit et menti
ke j’ai n’en serait uns saus.
Franche riens esperitaus,
ce celestïaus present
sont vostre amerous samblant,
ke nuls ne vos puet veoir,
ki jai s’en kesist movoir.
De vos remirer ensi
c’es m’uevre chascun jornal;
et la colors naturaus
de la face que je vi
c’est fins rubiz et cristaux;
li sorciz semblent esmaus
en or assis finement
par devin comandement;
et li huil me font, por voir,
l’estoile jornal paroir.

If the property of mercy
Does not make true love descend
Upon the most fair of all
I will never be endowed
With any property [good] that is not loss [harm] to me.
But if pity with them
By their sweet command
Should place a little expropriation
Into their power,
Then I could have joy!
Fair God, why was noble love
Never so universal
That high and low were equal?
But what is honorable in it
The false ones hold to be shame.
God, you should hear them talking
Among themselves, often relating
Their false conjectures
To spread lies
To deceive noble lovers.
I do not consider a noble lover
One who is at all daunted
By such treacherous villains.
They have gossiped and lied so much
That no one is safe from them.
Noble spiritual creature,
Your lovely looks
Are like heaven,
For no one who can see you
ever wished to leave you.
Daily I gaze
upon you,
And the natural tint
Of the face that I see
Is fine ruby and crystal;
Your brows seem enamel
Set finely into gold
By divine command,
And truly your eyes make
The day star appear to me.