... 

(2)
By Saint-Gille, let's go, you agile chestnut horse of mine.
Listen, we’re hitting the road to see the joust of King John.

(3)
Let a fat friar librarian arm himself with an inkwell;
let a girl held in a convent make herself hoarse with praying.

(4)
We who are, by the grace of God, high ranking noblemen,
need to make a noise on earth; and war is a mere game.

 ... 

(6)
That city whose shouts we hear, with its gray silhouette 
of flimsy roofs, its hundred turrets 
and slender steeples - that is Paris!

 ... 

(12)
Praise to the ladies!  Praise to the King! 
See the pennants on the jousting-ground 
and the stumbling crowd shrieking and surging!

(13)
Let's not wait, let's hurry there. And tenderly, 
from our saddles, let's besiege the damsels, 
the rosy beauties on the balconies.

 ... 

(17)
Resplendent up on the wall is Iseult, 
the maid with the pure forehead; and there, separate, 
is a group old ladies whose colours are gules upon azure.

 ... 

(20)
The fight begins.  The bell has sounded! 
Lance blows, cries of fright! Brave deeds are done, 
throats are cut, it’s happening, by George, by the King!

 ... 

(25)
In the tumult, like a bent lily, a handsome page has fallen.  
He faints, he is dying, he calls for a priest.

 ... 

(27)
Monks and virgins will place large candles 
above his brow; and in the shade 
of that sombre place two dark eyes will weep.

(28)
For Madame Isabeau is following his soul to the grave. 
So many alarms! So many tears!  A tournament is so beautiful!

(29)
Right, brother steed, let's go back to our baronial domain; 
go faster, for in the home that awaits you, we will find

(30)
oats for you in the morning, and for me Augustin, 
the holy monk of the Roman church who bores me with Latin,

(31)
and records in roman script all the marvellous deeds I do, 
which I pay him to inscribe on broad parchment. 

(32)
A true Lord of the Castle has a lowly man to write for him; 
for his own worthy hand, when he signs his name, scratches the vellum.