Aus tres dous biens dont Amours pourveü
Ha par pitié maint cuer despourveü,
Et de la tres grant joie repeü
Dont je languy.

Lasse! einsi m’a mes felons cuers trahi,
Car onques jour vers mon loial amy,
Qui me servoit et amoit plus que li,
N’os cuer meü,

Que de m’amour li feïsse l’ottri.
Or say je bien qu’il aimme autre que my,
Qui liement en ottriant merci,
L’a receü.

Si le m’estuet chierement comparer,
Car je l’aim tant qu’on ne puet plus amer.
Mais c’est trop tart: je ne puis recouvrer
La soie amour;

Et s’ai paour, se je li vueil rouver,
Qu’il ne me deingne oïr ne escouter
Pour mon orgueil, qui trop m’a fait fier
En ma folour;

Et se je li vueil celer ma dolour,
Desirs, espris d’amoureuse chalour,
Destraint mon corps et mon cuer en errour
Met de finer.

S’aim miex que je li die ma langour.
Qu’einsi morir, sans avoir la savour
De la joie qu’est parfaite douçour
A savourer;

Et dou dire ne me doit nuls blamer
Qu’amours, besoins et desirs d’achever
Font trespasser mesure et scens outrer.

motetus:
Lasse! je sui en aventure
De morir de mort einsi dure
Com li biaus Narcisus mori,
Qui son cuer tant enorguilly

Pour ce qu’il avoit biauté pure
Seur toute humeinne creature,
Qu’onques entendre le depri
Ne deingna de Echo, qui pour li

Reçut mort amere et obscure;
Mais Bonne Amour d’amour seüre
Fist qu’il ama et encheri
Son ombre et li pria merci

Tant qu’en priant mori d’ardure.
Lasse! et je criem morir einsi,

Car onques de mon dous amy,
Quant il m’amoit de cuer, n’os cure;
Or l’aim et il me het, aymy!
Tele est des femmes la nature.

tenor:
Ego moriar pro te, fili mi.

Guillaume de Machaut (c1300-1377)

On the very sweet gifts Love has provided
Many a deprived heart out of Her pity,
Nourishing it with the very great joy
For which I languish.

Alas! thus has my cruel heart betrayed me,
For never towards my lover, who served
And loved me more than himself,
Have I let my heart be touched,

So that I granted him my love.
Now I am certain he loves another than me,
Who, cheerfully promising him her mercy,
Has accepted him.

So I have to pay dearly for this,
Loving him so much no one could do more.
But it’s too late: I cannot win back
His love;

And thus I fear that, should I implore him,
He would not deign to hear or listen to me,
All because of my pride, which made me trust
Too much to my foolishness;

And if I wish to hide my pain from him,
Desire, set aflame by the heat of love,
Tortures my body and puts my heart
On a path toward death.

So I prefer telling him that I languish,
To dying in this way, without savouring
The joy whose taste is perfect
Sweetness;

And let nobody blame me for saying it,
For love, need, and desire for fulfilment
Make trespass moderation and go beyond good sense.

motetus:
Alas! I run the risk
Of dying from a death as harsh
As that from which fair Narcissus died,
Who filled his heart with so much pride

—Because he possessed a pure beauty
Surpassing that of all human creatures—
That he never deigned to listen to the prayer
Of Echo, who for him

Suffered a bitter and gloomy death;
But Good Love with a well-aimed [arrow of] love
Made him love and cherish
His own reflection, which he pleaded with

So much that he died from his passionate beseeching.
Alas! and I fear I’ll die the same death,

For never, when my sweet friend
Loved me dearly, did I care for him;
Now I love him and he hates me, woe is me!
Such is women’s nature.

tenor:
Might I die for you / I shall die for you, my son.

English: R Barton Palmer © 2017