Bertran de Born- Rassa, tan creis e monta e poia

Rassa, she'll grow and mount and rise
who is devoid of trickery:
your valor bothers other folk
one woman feeds what nothing feeds
on seeing what her beauty wins,
the valiant, which displeases much,
the ones who better know the best
are still maintaining her renown
and they hold that she's nobler still
and one who'd honor thoroughly
wants no more than one suppliant.

Rassa, a lady's fresh and fine,
tender, joyous and she's kind:
her hair's as red as rubies are,
her body white as hawthorn flower
her arms are soft, her breasts are firm
and like a rabbit from the back.
Her color's fresh and fine to see,
her value and her fame are good:
they easily match with the best;
whoever gets to know them well
will see in verse what I adore.

Rassa, with rich men she is proud,
and for a girl, she makes good sense,
she won't have Poitiers or Toulouse,
or Saragosse or Brittany,
but valor she's desirous of
and poor but valiant she can love
so she has me for counsellor:
pray her to cherish all this love
love more a valiant vavassor
and not a tricky count or duke
who wouldn't hold her honorably.

Rassa, rich men who nothing give
will nothing reap nor take nor care,
and he who quarrels without cause
and mercy seeks but pardons not
annoys me; as do those who don't
give recompense for services,
and rich men out upon the hunt
and falconers annoy me too,
those who thrill at flights of hawks
but not at loving or at arms
won't say a word among themselves.

Rassa, I hope that this will please;
a rich man who won't leave off war
or, even threatened, turn on it
until they leave off harming him;
he's worthier than hawk or chase,
who gets his price and an embrace.
Maurin and Sir Aigar, his Lord,
had war with a rewarding price;
the viscount stood up for his name,
the count insists with vigor too
and sees it through to Eastertide.

E1 Sailor, you have honor too,
and we have changed our lord as well:
a warrior for a tourneyer;
I ask Sir Goufier de Lastours
not to be frightened by my songs.

E2 Now, Papiol, go through my songs
At court with naughty Bel-Senhor.