O Pucelle plus tendre
Qu'un beau bouton vermeil,
Que le rosier engendre
Au lever du soleil,
Et si faict au matin
Tout l'honneur du jardin.
Serrés mon col maistresse,
De vos deus bras pliés,
D'un neud qui fort me presse
Doucement me liés,
Un baiser mutuel
Nous soit perpetuel.
Ne le tems, ne l’envie
D’autre amour desirer
Ne pourra point ma vie
De voz levres tirer :
Ains serrez demourrons,
Et baisant nous mourrons.
Amour par les fleurettes
Du printems eternel,
Voirra noz amourettes
Sous le boys maternel,
Là nous sçaurons combien
Les amans ont de bien.
Parmy la grand’ espace
De ce berger heureux
Nous aurons tous deux place
Entre les amoureux
Et comme eux, sans soucy,
Nous aymerons aussi.
Nulle Nymphe ancienne
Ne se despitera,
Quand de la place sienne
Pour nous el’ l’ ostera
Non celles dont les yeux
Prindrent le cœur des dieux.
J. Castro sets stanzas 1-2
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This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 36
Word count: 147
O maid more tender
Than a fair crimson bud
To which the rosebush gives birth
At the rising of the sun,
And so makes in the morning
All the honour of the garden.
Embrace my neck, mistress,
With your two bent arms;
In a knot which squeezes me tightly
Sweetly bind me;
May our shared kiss
Be everlasting.
Neither time, nor the longing
To enjoy some other love
Cannot in any way pull my life
Back from your lips;
So let’s stay embracing
And we’ll die kissing.
Love with the flowers
Of eternal springtime
Will see our love-dalliance
In our maternal woods;
There we shall discover how many
Good things lovers enjoy.
Amid the great space
Of this happy grove
We shall both take our place
Among the lovers,
And like them without a care
We too shall make love.
No nymph of ancient time
Will be vexed
When from their spot
For us she will remove
Those whose eyes
Seized the hearts of the gods.
