Текст и перевод песни Estampie - Dame Merci

Dame Merci

Dame, merci, une rien vos demant.
Dites me voir, se Dex vos beneie,
Quant vos morrez et je, mais c'iert avant,
Car aprés vos ne vivroiè je miè,
Que devanra Amôrs, celè esbahiè,
Qui tant avez sèns, valour, et j'aint tant
Que je croi bien qu'aprés nos iert failliè.
Par Deu, Thiébaut, selonc mon esciant
Amors n'iert ja por nule mort perie,
Ne je ne sai se vos m'alez guilant,
Que trop maigres n'estes encore mie.
Quant nous morrons (Dex nos noint bone vie)
Bien croi qu'Amors domage i avra grant
Mais touz jors iert valors d'Amors complie.
Dame, certes ne devez pas cuidier,
Mais bièn savoir que trop vos ai améè.
De la joie m'en aing plus et toing chièr
Et por ce aimà graissè recovréè,
Qui'anu Dex ne fist si tres belè riens néè
Com vos, Dame, mout me fait esmaier
Quant nos morrons qu'Amors sere finéè.
Thièbaut, taisiez, nus ne doit comendier
Raison qui soit de touz droiz dessevréè.
Vos le dites por moi amoloier
Encontre vos que tant avez guiléè.
Je ne di pas, certes, que je vos héè,
Mais se d'Amors me covenoit jegier
Ele seroit serviè et honoréè.
Dame, Dex doint que vos jugiez a droit,
Et conoisseièz le max qui me font plaindrè,
Que bien sai, quel que li jugemenz soit,
Se je en muir Amours covient a faindre
Se vo, Dame, ne la faitès remaindre
Dedanz son leu arriers ou ele estoit,
QuÄa vostre sèn ne porroit nuns ateindre.
Thièbaut, s'Amors vos fait por moi destraindre
Ne vos griet pas, que, se amer n'estoit
J'ai bien un cruer qui ne se souroit faindre

Merci Lady

My Lady, I humbly beseech thee,
Tell me, may God have mercy upon you,
When we shall die, thou first, I know it true,
For after thee I would not longer live,
What shall become of Love, so full of glee,
Whom I hold dear with utmost love and pride
That when we're gone, I fear it will subside.
By God, Theobald, my heart does so believe
That Love shall never perish, come what may,
Or are you mocking me, I cannot say,
For you are hale and hearty still, they say.
When we are gone, may God grant us good grace
I fear Love's loss will be a bitter blow
But Love's great worth shall never cease to grow.
My Lady, do not think I jest or lie,
But know that I adore thee, none so high.
In happiness, I hold thee very dear
And for this love, I've grown so fat, I fear,
That God himself could ne'er have made so fair
A creature as thyself, my Lady bright.
The thought of Love's demise does fill me with dread.
Theobald, be still, 'tis not for us to say
Such things as defy all reason's sway.
You speak thus to appease my loving heart
Which you have wronged with such deceit and art.
I do not say I hate thee, it is true,
But if of Love I had to render due
It would be served and honored, as its right.
My Lady, may God grant that you may see
The pain your words inflict, and set me free,
For well I know, whatever judgment takes,
If I should die, Love's flame will surely quake,
Unless, my Lady, you should bid it wake
And keep it burning brightly in its home,
For none can match thy wisdom, second to none.
Theobald, if Love torments you so for me,
Grieve not, for if I could not feel the flame,
I have a heart as hard as stone, it's plain to see