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Welcome to Hyperion Records, an independent British classical label devoted to presenting high-quality recordings of music of all styles and from all periods from the twelfth century to the twenty-first.
Hyperion offers both CDs, and downloads in a number of formats. The site is also available in several languages.
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Desconfortez, plains de dolor et d’ire, M’estuet chanter, qu’ailleurs n’ai ou entende; Tot le mont voi, fors moi, joer et rire, Ne je ne truis qui d’ennui me desfende. Cele m’ocit qui mes cuers plus desirre, Si sui irez quant ele n’en amende. Chascuns dit q’il aime autresi; Pour ce ne conoist on l’ami.
El ne sent pas mon duel ne mon martire, Por ce m’estuet qu’a sa merci atende; Touz faus amanz par qui ma joie enpire Pri je a Dieu qu’en enfer les descende. «J’aim», fet chascun; grant loisir ont du dire: Mes pou en voi qui a Amors entende. Chascuns dit q’il aime autresi; Pour ce ne conoist on l’ami.
De moi grever est Amors costumiere, Si me fet bien por quoi de li me plaigne; Mes a soffrir m’est la paine legiere Se ce li plest qui a amer m’ensaingne. Mes cuers me dit que souvent la requiere, Mes nonauz est quant el plus me destraigne. Chascuns dit q’il aime autresi; Pour ce ne conoist on l’ami.
Onques ne fis vers li fausse priere, Car je ne sai ne ja ne le m’aprengne; La moie amors n’est mie nouveliere, Qu’il n’est fors li nule ou mes cuers remaigne. Se plus n’i preng, l’angoisse en est mult chiere, Puis qu’il li plest que Amors me destraigne. Chascuns dit q’il aime autresi; Pour ce ne conoist on l’ami.
Gasçez a son chanter feni Qui touz jorz aime et n’a merci.
Gace Brulé (c1160-after 1213)
Disconsolate, full of pain and anger, I have to sing for I cannot direct my attention elsewhere; I see everyone, except me, play and laugh, nor do I find anyone who can protect me from distress. She whom my heart most desires is killing me, so I am angered as it does her no good. Each one says that he loves in this way; one cannot discern a lover by that.
She does not feel my pain nor my suffering, therefore I must wait for her mercy; I pray God that he send to hell all the false lovers through whom my joy is spoiled. ‘I love’, says each one; there is certainly nothing to stop them saying so: but I see few of them who are intent on Love. Each one says that he loves in this way; one cannot discern a lover by that.
Love is accustomed to distress me, and thus he gives me good reason to complain of him; but the pain of suffering is light if it pleases her who teaches me to love. My heart tells me that I should often beseech her, but it is worse as she torments me more. Each one says that he loves in this way; one cannot discern a lover by that.
I have never made a false entreaty to her, for I do not know how, and may she never teach me how; my love is not at all inconstant, for there is none other upon whom my heart resides. If I gain no more, the pain of it is very dear to me, since it pleases her that Love oppresses me. Each one says that he loves in this way; one cannot discern a lover by that.
Gace, who always loves and has no mercy, has finished his song.