In May, when the nightingales
Sing clearly in the green bush,
Then I have to make a little pipe,
So I make one of a bit of willow;
For I must pipe about love 
And wear a chaplet of flowers 
To entertain and amuse myself,
For one should never hesitate.

The other day, on a May morning,
The birds awakened me,
So I went to gather a bit of willow 
To make a pipe out of it;
But no one can pipe on it
If he does not earn praise all over 
For generosity and for loving 
Without pretense and without guile.

To Garnier, whom I've seen so happy,
To him I'll give my chaplet.
He undertakes to spend generously,
And he does not regret it,
And for that I wish to give it to him
For he loves noise and high spirits 
And loves with a faithful heart;
This is how one should behave.

The blonde-headed maiden 
Makes me happy and dashing;
She puts such joy in my heart 
That I forget my debts:
Shame on him who on account of debt
Will give up living a good life!
Always one sees them get away 
Whichever way they must turn.

I'm known as Colin Muset,
And I've eaten many a good capon,
Many a roast, many a cake
In orchard and in meadow,
And when I can find a host
Who is willing to extend credit and lend,
Then I set about taking my ease
Beside the blonde who is fair of face.

I don't worry about tiring my pack horse
Trotting after a bad master:
If they hate my requests so much,
Then I hate their refusal a hundred times more.