The news flew from country to country,
The army of Bourgogne is stationed outside of Murten!
And for their homeland, everyone hastens 
To do battle against the Burgundians.

  In the field before a green forest,
Common soldier and horseman called,
Renald from Lorraine called loudly:
"We wish to be the first [to attack]."

  "Our leaders held a short counsel,
But we thought it was too long;
When shall they end their long consultation,
Are they perhaps afraid?

  The sun is already high in the sky,
It is not sluggish in the blue canopy,
And we are still delaying 
To slash on the battlefield!

  To be sure, the guns of Charles [the Bold] cracked horribly,
One didn't care too much about it;
In the heat one paid no attention
Whether one or the other fell.

  The sword sparkles in a wide circle,
The long spear stretches out;
The broad sword thirsted for blood,
The long spear drank blood.

  The French fought [only] a short time,
Soldier and knight ran;
The broad field was bestrewn
Knee-deep with spears.

  One fled to the bush -- another to the grove,
[Hiding] from the bright sunlight,
Many leapt into the sea,
And yet were not thirsty.

  Like a flock of ducks, they swam
Back and forth in the water,
They shot them in the reeds, just as if
They were a wild flock of ducks,

  They set forth upon the lake in boats,
Battered them to death with oars.
The motto was solely "alas" and "woe",
The green lake turned red.

  Many clambered high up into the trees,
Those they shot like crows;
They lacked pinions,
The wind could not blow them about.

  Across two miles, the countryside
Was covered with death and blood,
The soil, the bush, the rose looked like
The black blood of men.

  The sun was near the mountains,
[The sun] that brought us victory;
The French whom one saw [still] alive,
They owed it to the night.

  An encampment the size of a marketplace
Came into Swiss hands.
Charles quickly made the beggar rich
In poor Switzerland.

  Chess is a game of kings,
Now the confederate plays it,
He took away many of [the king's] pawns,
His flank was left exposed.

  His castles did not help him much,
His knights suffered adversity;
He may turn wherever he wants,
Checkmate threatens him."

  He who made this rhyme had himself
The sword in his hand;
Until evening he mowed with the sword,
At night he sang of the battle.

  He plucked the strings and brandished the sword,
A fiddler and a soldier,
Valued by lords and by maidens,
By the dancer and the prelate.

  She who bore me, the good woman,
She kissed me, and Veit,
Be called Veit, thus spoke the good woman!
Ever since, I am called Veit.