CHANSON	SONG
Colin Muset	tr. A.S.Kline
Sire cuens, j'ai vielé Devant vous en vostre ostel, Si ne m'avez rien doné Ne mes gages aquité: C'est vilanie! Foi que doi sainte Marie, Ainsi ne vous sivrai mie. M'aumosniere est mal garnie Et ma bourse mal farsie. Sire cuens, car comandez De moi vostre volenté. Sire, il vous vient à gré, Un beau don car me donez Par courtoisie! Talent ai, n'en doutez mie, De raler à ma mesnie. Quant j'i vois bourse esgarnie, Ma feme ne me rit mie, Ainz me dit. "Sire Engelé, En quel terre avez esté, Qui n'avez rien conquesté?. ........ Aval la ville. Vez com vostre male plie! Ele est bien de vent farsie. Honis soit qui a envie D'estre en vostre compagnie!" Quant je vieng à mon ostel Et ma feme a regardé Derrier moi le sac enflé, Et je qui sui bien paré De robe grise, Sachiez qu'ele a tost jus mise La quenoille sans faintise; Ele me rit par franchise, Ses deus bras au col me plie. Ma feme va destrousser Ma male sans demorer; Mon garçon va abuvrer Mon cheval et conreer; Ma pucele va tuer Deus chapons pour deporter A la janse alie; Ma fille m'aporte un pigne En sa main par cortoisie. Lors sui de mon ostel sire A moult grant joie sans ire Plus que nuls ne porroit dire.	Sir Count, I've been fiddling For you in your dwelling, You've given me nothing Not paid me what's owing: It's villainy! By what I owe Saint Mary, You'll get no more of me. My wallet here's empty, My purse is still hungry. Sir Count, now be giving Your orders, I'm waiting. Sir, now, if it's pleasing To you, give me something From courtesy! I would love dearly To visit my country. But with my purse empty, My wife won't love me. She'll cry: 'Sir Clowning Where were you living, That you've won nothing? You could have brought something From the city! Your bag looks so sorry! It's filled with a flurry Of wind. Curse anybody Who wants your company!' But if I reach my dwelling And my wife starts gazing At the fat sack there swelling Behind my furred clothing, Miniver surely, Well-dressed, she sees me, Her spindle falls willingly, She smiles at me brightly, Embraces me charmingly. My wife goes off bustling To unpack all my clothing, My servant comes running Starts watering and grooming My horse: the maid's killing Two capons for eating With saucery: My daughter, prettily Brings me comb's courtesy. Then I've the mastery More joy, less anxiety, Than any could rhyme for me.

Trans. Copyright © A.S.Kline 2005

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