Ci commence Remede de Fortune Cilz qui veult aucun art aprendre A .xii. choses doit entendre. La premiere est qu’il doit eslire Celui ou ses cuers mieus le tire Et ou sa nature l’encline ; Car la chose envis bien define Qu’en veult encontre son gré faire, Quant Nature li est contraire. Aimme son maistre et son mestier Sus tout ; et ce li est mestier Qu’il l’onneure, obeisse et serve ; Et ne quide pas qu’il s’asserve, Car s’il les aimme, il l’ameront, Et s’il les het, il le harront : Profiter ne puet autrement. Doctrine rechoive humblement Et bien se gart qu’il continue, Car science envis retenue Est et de legier oubliee, Quant elle n’est continuee. Soing, penser, desir de savoir Ait, si pourra science avoir. Et l’entreprengne en joene aage, Ains qu’en malice son courage Mue par trop grant cognoissance … (Remede de Fortune, 1-25) Here begins the Remedy for Fortune If you’re going to learn any skill, there are twelve things you must understand. The first is you must choose the thing your heart most draws you to and towards which your nature inclines you, for nothing can be accomplished contrary to one’s will as long as Nature is against you. Love your master and your profession above all; and it is critical that you love, honor, and serve them. And don’t imagine that you’ve enslaved yourself, for if you love them, they will love you, and if you hate them, they will hate you: nothing can be gained otherwise. Receive instruction meekly and take care to stick to it, for learning is difficult to retain and easily forgotten when it is not put into practice. You must be diligent, assiduous, and eager for knowledge: thus you will attain wisdom. And undertake it at a young age, before your heart turns to wickedness through too much experience … [English Translation © Scott Metcalfe. Unauthorized reprinting strictly prohibited.]

Ballade (B13) Esperance qui m’asseure Esperance qui m’asseure, Joie sans per, vie a mon vueil, Dous penser, sade norriture, Tres bon eur, plaisant accueil, Et meint autre grant bien recueil, Quant Amours m’a tant enrichi Que j’aim dame, s’aten merci. Et se cest atente m’est dure En desirant, pas ne m’en dueil, Car le gré de ma dame pure Et d’Amours tous jours faire vueil. Et s’a guerredon sans pareil, Ce m’est vis, puis qu’il est einsi Que j’aim dame, s’aten merci. Car Souvenirs en moy figure Sa fine biauté sans orgueil, Sa bonté, sa noble figure, Son gent mainteing, son bel accueil, Et comment si dous riant oueil Par leur attrait m’ont mené, si Que j’aim dame, s’aten merci. Hope which reassures me, joy without peer, a life to my liking, sweet thought, pleasing sustenance, great happiness, pleasant welcome, and many other great good things I receive, such riches has Love bestowed on me, for I love a lady and reward awaits. And though this waiting is hard for me because I desire, I don’t complain, for to do the will of my faultless lady and of Love is always my wish, and it is a recompense without equal, in my opinion, that so it is that I love a lady and reward awaits. For Memory depicts in my mind’s eye her perfect beauty without pride, her goodness, her noble mien, her genteel bearing, her fair welcome, and reminds me how her sweet laughing eyes attracted me and drew me in, so that I love a lady and reward awaits. [English Translation © Scott Metcalfe. Unauthorized reprinting strictly prohibited.]

Lai (RF1) Qui n’aroit autre deport I Qui n’aroit autre deport En amer Fors dous Penser Et Souvenir Aveuc l’Espoir de joir, S’aroit il tort, Se le port D’autre confort Voloit rouver ; Quar pour .i. cuer saouler Et soustenir Plus querir Ne doit merir Qui aime fort. Encor y a maint ressort : Remembrer, Ymaginer En dous plaisir Sa dame veoir, oyr, Son gentil port, Le recort Dou bien qui sort De son parler Et de son douls regarder, Dont l’entrouvrir Puet garir Et garantir Amant de mort. II Et qui vorroit plus souhaidier— Je n’os cuidier Si fol cuidier Que cilz aime de cuer entier Qui de tels biens n’a souffissanche. Quar qui plus quiert, il vuet trichier, S’Amours tant chier L’a que fichier Deigne par l’oel de son archier En son cuer d’eaus la congnoissanche. Car on ne les puet esprisier Ne trop prisier, Quant de legier Pueent de tous maulz alegier Et faire par leur grant poissanche Un cuer navré sain et legier, Sans nul dangier, Et eslongier De mal, et de joie aprouchier, Seulement de leur remembranche. V Et se par Desir recueil Aucun grief, pas ne m’en dueill, Quar son tres dous riant oeil Tout adouchist Le grief qui de Desir ist ; Si me plaist et abelist Tant que au porter me delit Plus que ne sueil, Pour sa beauté sans orgueil Qui toutes passe, a mon vueul, Et pour son tres Bel Accueil Qui tousdis rit ; Si qu’en plaisance norrist Mon cuer et tant m’enrichist Qu’einssi vivre me sousfist, Ne plus ne vueul. VI (instrumental) Fors tant qu’en aucune maniere Ma dame chiere, Qui de mon cuer la tresoriere Est et portiere, Sceust qu’elle est m’amour premiere Et derreniere, Et plus l’aim que moy ne mon bien, Non pas d’amour vaine et legiere, Mais si entiere, Que mieulz ameroie estre en biere Qu’a parchonniere Fust, n’en moy pensée doubliere. Tels tousdis iere, Comment qu’elle n’en sache rien. Car ne sui tielz qu’a moy affiere Que s’amour quiere, Ne que de son vueul tant enquiere Que li requiere ; Car moult pourroit comparer chiere Telle priere Mes cuers qui gist en son lyen. Pour ce n’en fai semblant ne chiere, Que je n’acquiere Refus qui me deboute ou fiere De li arriere ; Car se sa doucheurs m’estoit fiere, Amours murtriere Seroit de moy, ce sai je bien. VIII Dont la bonne et belle, Comment sara elle Que de li veoir En mon cuer s’ostelle Une amour nouvelle Qui me renouvelle Et me fait avoir Joieuse nouvelle, De quoy l’estancelle Fait sous la mamelle Mon fin cuer ardoir S’en frit et sautelle ? Que hons ne damoyselle, Dame ne pucelle, Ne le puet savoir, Si le port et celle. IX Amours que j’en pri, Qui voult et souffri Qu’a li, sans detri, Quant premiers la vi, m’offri, Li porra bien dire Que pour s’amour fri Sans plainte et sans cri, Et qu’a li m’ottri, Comme au plus tres noble tri Que peusse eslire, Et qu’autre ne tri ; Ainçoys a l’ottri Qu’onc ne descouvri, Dont maint souspir ay murdri Qui puis n’orent mire. Main s’en mon depri Met Amours estri, Je n’en bray ne cri, N’autrement ne m’en deffri, Ne pense a defrire. XI Car comment que Desirs m’assaille Et me face mainte bataille Et poingne de l’amoureus dart, Qui souvent d’estoc et de taille Celeement mon cuer detaille, Certes bien en vain se travaille, Car tous garist son dous regart Qui paist d’amoureuse vitaille Mon cuer, et dedens li entaille Sa beauté fine par tel art Qu’autre n’est de quoy il me chaille, Et des biens amoureus me baille Tant qu’il n’est joye qui me faille Que n’aie de li, que Dieus gart. XII Et pour ce, sans nul descort Endurer Vueil et celer L’ardant desir Qui vuet ma joie amenrir Par soutil sort ; Si le port Sans desconfort Et vueil porter, Car s’il fait mon cuer trambler, Taindre et palir, Et fremir, A bien souffrir Dou tout m’acort. Il me fait par son enort Honnourer, Servir, doubter, Et oubeir Ma dame et li tant chierir Qu’en son effort Me deport. Quant il me mort Et vuet grever, Mais qu’a li vueille penser Qu’aim et desir Sans partir, Ne repentir : La me confort. I He who has no other pleasure in love but Sweet Thought and Memory, with the Hope of satisfaction, would be wrong if he tried to seek the refuge of further comfort; for he who loves deeply must not seek further reward to satisfy and sustain his heart. Still, there remain many consolations: to remember, to imagine with sweet pleasure seeing and hearing his lady, her noble bearing, the recollection of the good that emanates from her words and her sweet look, whose glance can heal and protect a lover from death. II And should anyone want more— I dare not conceive of such a foolish notion that this man loves with his whole heart if he is not satisfied with such benefits! For he who seeks more wants to cheat, even though Love holds him so dear that she deigned to shoot knowledge of these things with her arrow through his eye into his heart. For one cannot value nor esteem them too much, since with ease they can alleviate all pains and through their great power make a wounded heart hale and healthy, without constraint, and banish grief, and draw joy near, merely through remembering them. V And if, on account of Desire, I experience any sorrow, I don’t complain, for her sweet laughing eye completely soothes the pain that issues from Desire; so it pleases and delights me, such that I enjoy bearing it more than I used to, On account of her beauty without pride (which surpasses all others, to my mind) and because of her most Fair Welcome which is ever smiling; so that it nourishes my heart with pleasure and so enriches me that to live this way is all I need, nor do I want more. VI Except—in no way does my dear lady, who is the treasurer and doorkeeper of my heart, know that she is my first love and my last, and that I love her more than myself or any thing, not with a vain and frivolous love, but one so all-encompassing that I would rather be in my coffin than share my love with another, nor think any deceitful thought. Thus let it be forever, even though she never learn of it. For I am not worthy to ask for her love, nor to so much seek to know her favor as to request it of her: my heart, which lies bound in her snare, could pay very dearly for such a petition. For this reason I don’t let it show at all, so that I am not answered with a refusal that would drive me far away from her; for if her sweetness were denied me, Love would be my murderer, that I know well. VIII Then how will the good and fair lady know that upon seeing her a new love lodges in my heart, which renews me and brings me happy news, whose spark makes my whole heart burn within my breast so that I tremble and shake? In order that no man or woman, no lady or maiden might learn of it, I bear and conceal it. IX Love, to whom I pray, who wished and permitted me, when I first saw her, to surrender myself to her without hesitation, could easily tell her that for love of her I burn without complaint and without cry, and that I dedicate myself to her as the very most noble choice I could make, and that I choose no other. Instead he has decreed that I never reveal it, wherefore I have stifled many a sigh that never found a physician. But if Love throws up resistance to my prayer, I don’t wail or cry, nor become upset in any way, or even think of getting angry. XI For no matter how Desire assails me and battles me again and again, piercing me with his amorous dart, whose shaft and point secretly cuts my heart apart, certainly he labors in vain, for all is healed by her Sweet Glance, which feeds my heart with amorous sustenance, and within it engraves her perfect beauty with such art that I care for nothing else, and grants me so many loving goods that there is no joy I need that I do not have from her, whom God keep. XII Therefore, without any objection I will endure and conceal the burning desire that seeks to diminish my joy with subtle craft; I bear it without discomfort and want to bear it, for though it makes my heart tremble, grow wan and pale, and quake, I am fully ready to suffer it. It provokes me to honor, serve, respect, and obey my lady, and so cherish her that I rejoice in his efforts. When he bites me and tries to wound me, I have only to think of her whom I love and desire without end or regret: from this I take comfort. [English Translation © Scott Metcalfe. Unauthorized reprinting strictly prohibited.]

Motet (M10) Hareu, hareu! / Helas! ou sera pris confors / Obediens usque ad mortem TRIPLUM Hareu, hareu! le feu, le feu, le feu D’ardant desir, qu’ainc si ardant ne fu, Qu’en mon cuer ha espris et soustenu Amours, et s’a la joie retenu D’espoir qui doit attemprer celle ardure. Las! se le feu qui ensement l’art dure, Mes cuers sera tous bruis et estains, Que de ce feu est ja nercis et tains Pour ce qu’il est fins, loyaus et certains. Si que j’espoir que deviés y ert, eins Que bonne Amour de merci l’asseure Par la vertu d’esperance seure. Car pour li seul, qui endure mal maint, Pitié deffaut ou toute biauté maint : Durtés y regne et Dangiers y remaint, Desdains y vit et Loyautés s’i faint Et Amours n’a de li ne de moy cure. Joie le het, ma dame li est dure, Et, pour croistre mes dolereus meschiés, Met dedens moy Amours, qui est mes chiés, Un desespoir qui si mal entechiés Est que tous biens ha de moy esrachiés, Et en tous cas mon corps si desnature Qu’il me convient morir malgré Nature. MOTETUS Helas! ou sera pris confors Pour moy qui ne vail nès que mors ? Quant riens garentir ne me puet Fors ma dame chiere qui vuet Qu’en desespoir muire, sans plus, Pour ce que je l’aim miex que nuls, Et Souvenir pour enasprir L’ardour de mon triste desir Me moustre adès sa grant bonté Et sa fine vraie biauté Qui doublement me fait ardoir ? Einsi sans cuer et sans espoir, Ne puis pas vivre longuement, N’en feu cuers humeins nullement Ne puet longue durée avoir. TENOR Obediens usque ad mortem. TRIPLUM Help, help! the fire, the fire, the fire of burning desire, burning as never before, which Love has kindled and stoked in my heart, withholding the joy of hope which could soothe this burning. Alas! if the fire which burns so hot endures, my heart will be totally burned up and extinguished, for it is already blackened and charred just for being pure, loyal, and trustworthy. So that I hope the fire goes out, and that good Love will assure my heart of mercy through the virtue of certain hope. Because for my heart alone, which endures many pains, Pity is lacking where all beauty rules: There Cruelty reigns and Constraint is ever present, Disdain lives there and Loyalty is feigned, And Love cares nothing for my heart or for me. Joy hates it, my lady is hard towards it, and, to increase my dolorous trials, Love, who is my lord, engenders within me a despair that has so badly infected me that it has eradicated all good things, and in all ways so denatures my body that I must die in spite of Nature. MOTETUS Alas! where will comfort be found for me, for whom nothing but death will avail? when nothing can protect me save my dear lady, who wishes nothing more than that I die in despair because I love her better than any other, and Memory, in order to embitter the ardor of my sad desire, continually sets before me her great goodness and her pure, true beauty, which makes me burn twice as badly? In this condition, without heart or hope, I cannot survive for long, nor can any human heart last long in the fire. TENOR Obedient unto death. [English Translation © Scott Metcalfe. Unauthorized reprinting strictly prohibited.]

Complainte (RF2) Tieus rit au main qui au soir pleure 1 Tieus rit au main qui au soir pleure, Et tieus cuide qu’Amours labeure Pour son bien, qu’elle li court seure Et mal l’atourne ; Et tieus cuide que Joie acqueure Pour li aidier, qu’elle demeure. Car Fortune tout ce deveure, Quant elle tourne, Qui n’atent mie qu’il ajourne Pour tourner ; qu’elle ne sejourne, Ains tourne, retourne et bestorne, Tant qu’au desseure Met celui qui gist mas en l’ourne, Le seurmonté au bas retourne, Et le plus joieus mat et mourne Fait en po d’eure. 2 Car elle n’est ferme n’estable, Juste, loyal, ne veritable ; Quant on la cuide charitable, Elle est avere, Dure, diverse, espouentable, Traitre, poignant, decevable ; Et quant on la cuide amiable, Lors est amere. Car ja soit ce qu’amie appere, Douce com miel, vraie com mere, La pointure d’une vipere Qu’est incurable En riens a li ne se compere, Car elle trairoit son pere Et mettroit d’onneur en misere Deraisonnable. 15 Fortune est amour haineuse, Bonneurté maleureuse, C’est largesse avaricieuse, C’est orphenté, C’est santé tristre et doulereuse, C’est richesce la souffraiteuse, C’est noblesse povre et honteuse Sans loyauté ; C’est l’orguilleuse humilité, C’est l’envieuse charité, C’est perilleuse seurté, Trop est douteuse ; C’est puissance en mandicité, C’est repos en adversité, C’est famine en cuer saoulé, C’est joie ireuse. 19 Einsi m’a fait, ce m’est avis, Fortune que ci vous devis, Car je souloie estre assevis De toute joye, Or m’a d’un seul tour si bas mis Qu’en grief plour est mué mon ris, Et que tous li biens est remis Qu’avoir souloie, Car la belle ou mes cuers s’ottroie, Que tant aim que plus ne porroie, Maintenant veoir n’oseroie En mi le vis. Et se desir tant que la voie Que mes dolens cuers s’en desvoie, Pour ce ne scay que faire doye, Tant sui despris. 1 He who laughs in the morning weeps in the evening, and he believes that Love labors on his behalf, while she persecutes and betrays him; he imagines Joy rushing to his aid, while she dawdles. For Fortune destroys everything when she turns her wheel, and she doesn’t wait for daybreak before turning: she doesn’t pause, but turns, turns again, and turns it all the way around until she brings to the top the one who was lying flat in the gutter, returns the exalted one to the bottom, and makes the happiest person sad and gloomy in no time at all. 2 For she’s neither constant, stable, just, loyal, nor true; when you think she’s charitable, she’s stingy, hard, fickle, frightening, traitorous, piercing, deceitful; and when you imagine she’s friendly, then she’s bitter. For although she appears to be a friend— sweet as honey, true as a mother— a viper’s bite, which is incurable, is nothing compared to her, for she would betray her father and topple him from honor into unspeakable misery. 15 Fortune is hateful love, unhappy happiness, she’s greedy generosity, she’s misery, she’s sad and suffering health, she’s miserly wealth, she’s poor and shameful nobility without loyalty; she’s haughty humility, she’s envious charity, she’s perilous security, much to be doubted; she’s penniless power, she’s resting in adversity, she’s famine in a sated heart, she’s doleful joy. 19 This is how I’ve been treated, I believe, by Fortune, whom I’ve described to you here, for I used to be full of every joy, but now with a single turn she’s brought me so low that my laughter has turned to bitter tears and everything good I once had has been swept away, for the beauty to whom I have given my heart, and whom I could not love more— now I wouldn’t dare to look her in the face. Yet I so much desire to see her that my grieving heart is going mad, so that I don’t know what I ought to do, I’m so forlorn. [English Translation © Scott Metcalfe. Unauthorized reprinting strictly prohibited.]

Chant royal (RF3) Joye, plaisance, et douce nourreture Joye, plaisance, et douce nourreture, Vie d’onneur prennent maint en amer, Et plusseurs sont qui n’i ont fors pointure, Doulour, ardour, plour, tristesse, et amer. Ce dient ; mais acorder Ne me puis, qu’en la sousfrance D’Amours ait nulle grevance, Car tout ce qui vient de li Plaist a cuer d’ami. Car vraye Amour en cuer d’amant figure Tres douce Espoir et gracieus Penser: Espoir attrait Joie et Bonne Adventure, Dous Penser fait Plaisance en cuer entrer, Si ne doit plus demander Cilz qui a Bonne Esperance, Doulz Penser, Joye, et Plaisance, Car qui plus requiert, je di Qu’Amours l’a guerpi. Dont cilz qui vit de si douce pasture Vie d’onnour puet bien et doit mener, Car de tous biens a a comble mesure, Plus qu’autres cuers n’en saroit desirer, Ne d’autre merci rouver N’a desir, cuer, ne beance, Pour ce qu’il a Souffisance; Ne je ne scay nommer cy Nulle autre merci. Mais ceulz qui sont en tristresse, en ardure, En plours, en plains, et en doulour sans cesser, Et qui dient qu’Amours leur est si dure Qu’il ne peuent sans morir plus durer, Je ne puis ymaginer Qu’il aiment sans decevance Et qu’en euls trop ne s’avance Desirs. Pour ce sont ainssi, Qu’il l’ont deservi. Qu’Amours, qui est de si noble nature Qu’elle scet bien qui aimme sans fausser, Scet bien paier as amans leur droiture : C’est les loyaus de joye saouler Et d’eaus faire savourer Ses douçours en habondance, Et les mauvais par sentence Sont com traitres failli De sa court bani. Amours, je scay sans doubtance Qu’a .c. doubles as meri Ceuls qui t’ont servi. Joy, pleasure, sweet sustenance, and a life of honor: many find these in love, but there are many others who find nothing but hurt, sorrow, burning grief, tears, sadness, and bitterness. Or so they say—but I cannot agree, for in the sufferings of Love there is no hurt, for everything that comes from her is pleasing to a lover’s heart. For True Love in a lover’s heart creates sweetest Hope and Gracious Thought: Hope attracts Joy and Good Luck, Sweet Thought makes Pleasure enter the heart, and one should not ask for more if he has Good Hope, Sweet Thought, Joy, and Pleasure, for if he seeks anything more, I say that Love has abandoned him. Therefore he who lives on such sweet food can and should live a life of honor, for he enjoys all blessings in full measure, more than any heart could possibly desire, nor does he have the desire, will, or longing to seek further reward, because he has Sufficiency, nor could I name here a better reward. As for those who suffer sadness, distress, weeping, moaning, and sorrow without cease, and who say that Love is so hard towards them that they can endure no more without dying, I cannot imagine that they love without deception and that they are not overwhelmed by Desire. That’s why they feel that way, and they deserve it. For Love, who is of such noble nature that she knows well who loves without duplicity, knows just how to pay lovers their due: she sates the loyal with joy and allows them to savor her sweetnesses in abundance, while the wicked are sentenced like perfidious traitors to banishment from her court. Love, I know without doubt that you have rewarded twice a hundred times over those who have served you. [English Translation © Scott Metcalfe. Unauthorized reprinting strictly prohibited.]

Motet (M8) Qui es promesses de Fortune / Ha Fortune / Et non est qui adjuvet TRIPLUM Qui es promesses de Fortune se fie Et es richesse de ses dons s’asseure, Ou cils qui croit qu’elle soit tant s’amie Que pour li soit en riens ferme ou seure, Il est trop fols, car elle est non seure, Sans foy, sans loy, sans droit et sans mesure : C’est fiens couvers de riche couverture, Qui dehors luist et dedens est ordure. Une ydole est de fausse pourtraiture, Ou nuls ne doit croire ne mettre cure ; Sa convenance en vertu pas ne dure, Car c’est tous vens, ne riens qu’elle figure Ne puet estre fors de fausse figure ; Et li siens sont toudis en aventure De trebuchier, car, par droite nature, La desloyal renoie, parjure, Fausse, traitre, perverse et mere sure Oint et puis point de si mortel pointure Que ceaus qui sont fait de sa norriture En traison met a desconfiture. MOTETUS Ha! Fortune, trop sui mis loing de port, Quant en la mer m’as mis sans aviron En un batel petit, plat et sans bort, Foible, pourri, sans voile, et environ Sont tuit li vent contraire pour ma mort, Si qu’il n’i a confort ne garison, Merci n’espoir, ne d’eschaper ressort, Ne riens de bien pour moy, car sans raison Je voy venir la mort amere a tort Preste de moy mettre a destruction ; Mais celle mort reçoy je par ton sort, Fausse Fortune, et par ta traison. TENOR Et non est qui adjuvet. TRIPLUM He who trusts in Fortune’s promises and feels assured of her rich gifts, or he who believes that she is so much his friend that for him she is constant or certain in anything is a great fool, for she is unreliable, faithless, lawless, without justice or measure: she’s feces draped in a rich covering, gleaming on the outside and filth within. An idol is she, a false portrait, in whom none should believe or place his trust; her covenant has no lasting force, for it is all wind, and nothing she creates can be anything but a forgery; and her friends are always at risk of stumbling, for, true to her nature, the disloyal apostate, perjurer, false, traitorous, perverse and bitter mother flatters and then pierces with such a mortal puncture that those raised on her nourishment are betrayed and routed. MOTETUS Ah! Fortune, I have been carried too far from port, since you sent me to sea without an oar, in a tiny boat, flat and without rudder, weak, rotten, without sail; and all around the winds blow against me, seeking my death, so that there is no comfort or defense, no hope of mercy, no route of escape, nor anything good for me, for without cause I see bitter death approach, wrongfully ready to send me to my destruction; but I meet this death through your doing, false Fortune, and through your treachery. TENOR And there is none who might help. [English Translation © Scott Metcalfe. Unauthorized reprinting strictly prohibited.]

Baladelle (RF4) En amer a douce vie En amer a douce vie Et jolie, Qui bien la scet maintenir, Car tant plaist la maladie, Quant norrie Est en amoureus desir, Que l’amant fait esbaudir Et querir Comment elle monteplie. C’est dous maus a soustenir, Qu’esjoir Fait cuer d’ami et d’amie. Qu’Amours par sa signourie Humelie L’amoureus cuer a souffrir, Et par sa noble maistrie Le maistrie, Si qu’il ne puet riens sentir Que tout au goust de joir Par plaisir Ne prengne, je n’en doubt mie. Einsi saous de merir, Sans merir, Fait cuer d’ami et d’amie. Si doit bien estre cherie Et servie, Quant elle puet assevir Chascun qui li rueve et prie De s’aie Sans son tresor amenrir. De la mort puet garentir Et garir Cuer qui de santé mendie ; De souffisance enrichir Et franchir Fait cuer d’ami et d’amie. To be in love is a sweet life and a happy one for him who knows how to live it, for the malady is so pleasing when it is nourished by amorous desire, that it emboldens the lover and makes him seek to know how it spreads. It is a sweet trouble to bear, that brings joy to the hearts of a lover and his lady. For Love by her sovereignty abases the loving heart, makes it suffer, and by her noble mastery masters it, so that it can sense nothing but that which tastes wholly of joy caused by pleasure: of this I have no doubt. Thus she rewards in full, without rewarding, the hearts of a lover and his lady. So Love must be cherished and served, since she can satisfy everyone who implores and prays for her aid without diminishing her treasure. She can protect from death and heal a heart that begs for health; and with self-sufficiency she enriches and liberates the hearts of a lover and his lady [English Translation © Scott Metcalfe. Unauthorized reprinting strictly prohibited.]

Ballade (RF5) Dame, de qui toute ma joie vient Dame, de qui toute ma joie vient, Je ne vous puis trop amer, ne cherir, N’assés loer si com il apartient, Servir, doubter, honnourer, n’obeir, Car le gracieus Espoir, Douce dame, que j’ay de vous veoir, Me fait .c. foys plus de bien et de joye Qu’en cent mil ans desservir ne porroie. Cilz douls Espoirs en vie me soustient Et me norrist en amoureus desir, Et dedens moy met tout ce qui couvient Pour conforter mon cuer et resjoir; N’il ne s’en part main ne soir, Ainçoys me fait doucement recevoir Plus des douls biens qu’Amours aus siens envoie Qu’en cent mil ans desservir ne porroie. Et quant Espoir qui en mon cuer se tient Fait dedens moy si grant joie venir Lointains de vous, ma dame, s’il avient Que vo beauté voie que moult desir, Ma joie, si com j’espoir, Ymaginer, penser, ne concevoir Ne porroit nuls, car trop plus en aroie Qu’en cent mil ans desservir ne porroie. Lady, from whom all my joy comes, I cannot love or cherish you too much, praise you enough, nor serve, fear, honor, or obey you as is fitting, for the gracious Hope, sweet lady, that I have of seeing you brings me a hundred times more good and joy than I could deserve in a hundred thousand years. This sweet Hope keeps me alive and nourishes me with amorous desire, and creates in me everything needed to comfort and bring joy to my heart; nor does she abandon me, morning or evening, but makes me sweetly receive more of the sweet things that Love sends her own than I could deserve in a hundred thousand years. And since Hope, who presides in my heart, brings me such great joy even when I’m far from you, my lady, if I were ever to see your beauty (which I desire so much), my joy, as I hope, would be impossible for anyone to imagine, comprehend, or conceive; for I would have more than I could deserve in a hundred thousand years. [English Translation © Scott Metcalfe. Unauthorized reprinting strictly prohibited.]

Motet (M20) Trop plus est bele que biauté / Biauté parée de valour / Je ne sui mie certeins TRIPLUM Trop plus est bele que Biauté Et millour que ne soit Bonté, Pleinne de tout ce, a dire voir, Que bonne et belle doit avoir, Ce m’est vis, celle que desir Et aim sans nul vilain desir. Dont se je l’aim, et je qu’en puis, Quant en sa fine biauté truis De tous mes maus la garison, Leesse, confort, guerredon, Et secours de tous les meschiés Dont par desir sui entichiés, Comment qu’elle n’en sache rien ; Car toute la joie et le bien Que j’ay de sa grace me vient, Sans plus, quant de li me souvient, N’autre bonté de li n’enport. Si pri Amours qu’en tel acort Soit, pour ce que miex l’aim que mi, Qu’elle me teingne pour ami. Amen. MOTETUS Biauté parée de valour, Desirs qui onques n’a sejour D’acroistre, eins croist de jour en jour En plaisance et en douce ardour, Dous Regars pris par grant savour, Tous pleins de promesse d’amour, D’espoir, de joie, de tenrour Et de pointure de douçour, Font que j’aim des dames la flour. Or me doint Diex grace et vigour Qu’au gré d’Amours et a s’onnour La puisse servir sans folour. Amen. TENOR Je ne sui mie certeins d’avoir amie, Mais je suis loyaus amis. TRIPLUM Far more beautiful than Beauty itself is she, better than Goodness, and full of everything, in truth, that a good and beautiful lady should have, it seems to me, she whom I desire and love without any base desire. Therefore I love her, and cannot do otherwise, since in her pure beauty I find a cure for all my ills, happiness, comfort, reward, and help for all the misfortunes that afflict me through desire— although she knows nothing of this! For all the joy and good which I have comes to me from her grace, and nothing else, when I remember her, and I take no other good from her. And so I pray to Love to grant that, because I love her better than myself, she take me for her friend. Amen. MOTETUS Beauty adorned with merit; Desire which never ceases to increase, but grows from day to day in pleasure and sweet ardor; Sweet Glance, greatly savored; all filled with the promise of love, hope, joy, tenderness, and the sting of sweetness— these make me love the flower of ladies. Now may God grant me grace and strength that, as Love wills and to her honor, I may serve her without fault. Amen. TENOR I am not at all sure of having a lover, but I am a loyal friend. [English Translation © Scott Metcalfe. Unauthorized reprinting strictly prohibited.]

Virelai (RF6) Dame, a vous sans retollir Dame, a vous sans retollir Doins cuer, pensée, desir, Corps, et amour, Comme a toute la millour Qu’on puist choysir, Ne qui vivre ne morir Puist a ce jour. Si ne me doit a folour Tourner, se je vous aour, Car sans mentir, Bonté passez en valour, Toute fleur en douce oudour Que on puet sentir. Vostre biauté fait tarir Toute autre et anientir, Et vo douçour Passe tout ; rose en coulour Vous doy tenir, Et vos regars puet garir Toute doulour. Dame, a vous sans retollir … Pour ce, dame, je m’atour De trestoute ma vigour A vous servir, Et met, sans nul vilain tour, Mon cuer, ma vie et m’onnour En vo plaisir. Et se Pitiés consentir Vueut que me daigniez oir En ma clamour, Je ne quier de mon labour Autre merir, Qu’il ne me porroit venir Joye greingneur. Dame, a vous sans retollir … Dame, ou sont tuit mi retour, Souvent m’estuet en destour Plaindre et gemir, Et, present vous, descoulour, Quant vous ne savez l’ardour Qu’ai a sousfrir Pour vous qu’aim tant et desir Que plus ne le puis couvrir. Et se tenrour N’en avez, en grant tristour M’estuet fenir. Nonpourquant jusqu’au mourir Vostre demour. Dame, a vous sans retollir … Lady, to you without reservation I give my heart, thoughts, desire, body, and love, as to the best of all whom one could choose, the best who has lived or died until today. So I must not be thought mad if I adore you, for I do not lie when I say that you surpass Goodness in worth and surpass in sweet odor any flower one might smell. Your beauty makes every other wither and fade away, and your sweetness surpasses all; your color is that of a rose, and your glance can heal every sorrow. Lady, to you without reservation … Therefore, my lady, I prepare myself with all my strength to serve you, and without base artifice place my heart, my life, and my honor at your pleasure. And if Pity should consent that you deign to hear my appeal, I seek no further reward for my labor, for no greater joy could come to me. Lady, to you without reservation … Lady, in whom is my every recourse, far from you I must often lament and mourn, and near you grow pale, since you do not know the ardor which I have to suffer for you, whom I love and desire so much that I can conceal it no longer. And if you have no tenderness towards me, in great sorrow I must end my days. Nonetheless, until death I remain yours. Lady, to you without reservation … [English Translation © Scott Metcalfe. Unauthorized reprinting strictly prohibited.]

Messe de Nostre Dame: Kyrie I Kyrie eleison. Lord, have mercy.

Rondelet (RF7) Dame, mon cuer en vous remaint Dame, mon cuer en vous remaint, Comment que de vous me departe. Par fine amour qui en moy maint, Dame, mon cuer en vous remaint. Or pri Dieu que li vostre m’aint, Sans ce qu’en nulle autre amour parte. Dame, mon cuer en vous remaint, Comment que de vous me departe. Lady, my heart remains with you, although I myself must leave you. By the pure love that rules me, Lady, my heart remains with you. Now I pray God that your heart will love me, not sharing itself with any other love. Lady, my heart remains with you, although I myself must leave you. [English Translation © Scott Metcalfe. Unauthorized reprinting strictly prohibited.]

Ballade (B4) Biauté qui toutes autres pere Biauté qui toutes autres pere, Envers moy diverse et estrange, Doucour fine a mon goust amere, Corps digne de toute loange, Simple vis a cuer d’ayment, Regart pour tuer un amant, Semblant de joie et response d’esmay M’ont a ce mis que pour amer mourray. Detri d’otri que moult compere, Bel Acuel qui de moy se vange, Amour marrastre et non pas mere, Espoir qui de joie m’estrange, Povre secours, desir ardant, Triste penser, cuer souspirant, Durté, Desdaing, Dangier et Refus qu’ay M’ont a ce mis que pour amer mourray. Si vueil bien qu’a ma dame appere Qu’elle ma joie en doulour change Et que sa belle face clere Me destruit, tant de meschief san ge, Et que je n’ay revel ne chant N’ainsi com je sueil plus ne chant Pour ce qu’Amours, mi oeil et son corps gay M’ont a ce mis que pour amer mourray. Beauty which is peer of all others, towards me inconstant and distant, exquisite sweetness, bitter to my taste, body worthy of every praise, innocent countenance with heart of steel, glance that can kill a lover, joyful appearance and distressing reply have brought me to this, that for love I shall die. Delay in requiting, which costs dearly, Fair Welcome who takes revenge on me, Cruel Love, unnatural mother, Hope which deprives me of joy, poor help, burning desire, sad thoughts, sighing heart, Harshness, Disdain, Rebuff, and Refusal have brought me to this, that for love I shall die. So I wish that it be made known to my lady that she changes my joy to grief, and that her fair radiant face destroys me, such misfortune do I feel, and that I have neither pleasure nor song, nor do I sing as I used to, for Love, my eyes, and her fair body have brought me to this, that for love I shall die. [English Translation © Scott Metcalfe. Unauthorized reprinting strictly prohibited.]