by Thibaut Ier de Navarre (1201 - 1253)
Translation © by Grant Hicks

Chançon ferai, que talenz m’en est pris
Language: Old French (Ancien français) 
Our translations:  ENG
Chançon ferai, que talenz m’en est pris,
De la meilleur qui soit en tout le mont.
De la meilleur ? Je cuit que j’ai mespris.
S’ele fust teus, se Deus joie me dont,
De moi li fust aucune pitié prise,
Qui sui touz siens et sui a sa devise.
Pitiez de cuer, Deus ! que ne s’est assise
En sa biauté ? Dame, qui merci proi,
Je sent les maus d’amer por vos.
Sentez les vos por moi?

Douce dame, sanz amor fui jadis,
Quant je choisi vostre gente façon ;
Et quant je vi vostre tres biau cler vis,
Si me raprist mes cuers autre reson :
De vos amer me semont et justise,
A vos en est a vostre conmandise.
Li cors remaint, qui sent felon juïse,
Se n’en avez merci de vostre gré.
Li douz mal dont j’atent joie
M’ont si grevé
Morz sui, s’ele m’i delaie.

Mult a Amors grant force et grant pouoir,
Qui sanz reson fet choisir a son gré.
Sanz reson ? Deus ! je ne di pas savoir,
Car a mes euz en set mes cuers bon gré,
Qui choisirent si tres bele senblance,
Dont jamès jor ne ferai desevrance :
Ainz sousfrirai por li grief penitance,
Tant que pitiez et merciz l’en prendra.
Diré vos qui mon cuer enblé m’a?
Li douz ris et li bel oeil qu’ele a.

Douce dame, s’il vos plesoit un soir,
M’avrïez vos plus de joie doné
C’onques Tristans, qui en fist son pouoir
N’en pout avoir nul jor de son aé;
La moie joie est tornee a pesance.
Hé, cors sanz cuer ! de vos fet grant venjance
Cele qui m’a navré sanz defiance,
Et ne por quant je ne la lerai ja.
L’en doit bien bele dame amer
Et s’amor garder, qui l’a.

Dame, por vos vueil aler foloiant,
Que je en aim mes maus et ma dolor,
Qu’après les maus la grant joie en atent
Que je avrai, se Deu plest, a brief jor.
Amors, merci ! ne soiez oblïee!
S’or me failliez, c’iert traïson doublee,
Que mes granz maus por vos si fort m’agree.
Ne me metez longuement en oubli!
Se la bele n’a de moi merci,
Je ne vivrai mie longuement ensi.

La grant biautez qui m’esprent et agree,
Qui seur toutes est la plus desirree,
M’a si lacié mon cuer en sa prison.
Deus ! je ne pense s’a li non.
A moi que ne pense ele donc?

Text Authorship:

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):

Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

  • ENG English (Grant Hicks) , "I will write a song, as the desire has seized me", copyright © 2026, (re)printed on this website with kind permission


Research team for this page: Emily Ezust [Administrator] , Grant Hicks [Guest Editor]

This text was added to the website: 2024-07-13
Line count: 56
Word count: 397

I will write a song, as the desire has seized me
Language: English  after the Old French (Ancien français) 
I will write a song, as the desire has seized me,
About the best lady there is in all the world.
About the best? I think I've been mistaken.
If she were such, if God would give me joy,
She would have taken some pity on me,
Who am entirely hers and at her disposal.
O God! does pity of the heart not find a place
In her beauty? Lady, of whom I beg mercy,
I feel the pains of love for you.
Do you feel them for me?

Sweet lady, I was once without love;
When I perceived your noble manner,
And when I saw your fair and lovely face,
Then my heart taught me to think differently:
It summons and sentences me to love you,
Wherefore it is yours, and at your command.
The body remains, and feels cruel judgment
If it does not please you to have mercy.
The sweet pains from which I look for joy
Have so wounded me
That I am dead, if she makes me wait.

Truly Love has great strength and great power,
Who without reason makes one choose as he wills.
Without reason? O God! I do not claim to know,
For my heart gives thanks for it to my eyes,
Which perceived such a beautiful sight,
That never will I ever part from her:
Thus will I suffer grave penance on her account,
So that pity and mercy will overwhelm her.
Will you say who has stolen my heart?
The sweet smile and beautiful eyes that are hers.

Sweet lady, if it pleased you one evening,
You would have given me more joy
Than ever Tristan, for all his efforts,
Could have had any day of his life.
But my joy is turned to affliction;
Alas, body without a heart! great vengeance has she wreaked 
upon you, she who has wounded me unprovoked,
And even so I will never leave her.
He who has the love of a beautiful lady
Must love her well, and keep her love.

Lady, for you I wish to behave foolishly,
For I love my pains and my sorrow,
For after the pains I hope for the great joy
That I will very soon have, if it please God.
Love, have mercy! do not be forgotten!
For if you fail me, it will be a double betrayal,
Since my great pains on your account are so agreeable to me.
Do not keep me too long in your dungeon!
If the beautiful lady does not show me mercy,
I will not live long this way.

The great beauty that inflames and delights me, 
Who is above all the most desirable, 
Has bound my heart in her prison. 
O God! I think of nothing but her! 
Does she not then think of me?

Text Authorship:

  • Translation from Old French (Ancien français) to English copyright © 2026 by Grant Hicks, (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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This text was added to the website: 2026-04-29
Line count: 56
Word count: 466