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Je puis trop bien ma dame comparer A l'image que fist Pymalion. D'ivoire fu estoit, tant belle et si sans per Que plus l'ama que Medée Jason. Li fols toudis la prioit, Mais l'image riens ne li respondoit. Einsi me fait celle qui mon cuer font, Qu'adès la pri et riens ne me respont. Pimalions qui moroit pour amer Pria ses dieus par tele affection Que la froideur de l'image tourner Vit en chalour et sa dure fasson Amolir, car vie avoit Et char humeinne et doucement parloit. Mais ma dame de ce trop m'i confont Qu'adès la pri et riens ne me respont. Or vueille Amours le dur en dous muer De celle a qui j'ay fait de mong cuer don, Et son [franc]1 cuer de m'amour aviver, Si que de li puisse avoir guerredon. Mais Amours en li conjoit En fier desdaing, et le grand desir voit Qui m'ocira; si croy que cil troiz font Qu'adès la pri et riens ne me respont.
1 in some editions, "froit"
Text Authorship:
- by Guillaume de Machaut (c1300 - 1377) [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Guillaume de Machaut (c1300 - 1377), "Je puis trop bien ma dame comparer" [vocal trio], ballade [text verified 1 time]
Available translations, adaptations, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (David Wyatt) , title 1: "I can too well compare my Lady", copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 24
Word count: 166
I can too well compare my Lady
To that statue which Pygmalion made;
It was of ivory, so beautiful and so peerless
That he loved it more than Jason Medea [or, Medea Jason?].
The foolish man prayed to it all the time,
But the statue responded not at all.
So she does to me, that lady who melts my heart,
So that I pray to her always and she responds not at all.
Pygmalion who would have died for love
Prayed to his gods with such feeling
That he saw the cold of the statue changed
Into warmth and its hard form
Softened, for it had life
And human flesh and spoke softly.
But my lady completely confounds me in this,
So that I pray to her always and she responds not at all.
Now, may Love choose to change her hardness to softness
Whom I have made the gift of my heart,
And to bring her [noble]1 heart to life with my love,
So that I may have my reward from her.
But Love joins with her
In proud disdain, and sees the great desire
Which will kill me; so I believe that these three act
So that I pray to her always and she responds not at all.
1 in some editions, "cold"
Text Authorship:
- Translation from Old French (Ancien français) to English copyright © 2015 by David Wyatt, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
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Based on:
- a text in Old French (Ancien français) by Guillaume de Machaut (c1300 - 1377)
This text was added to the website: 2015-01-13
Line count: 24
Word count: 211