I
I ask milady, whom I flee, about her lovely body,
what’s become of it? likewise, I ask
about her sweet speech and—if she’ll permit me—
her warm welcome, what’s become of that?
where are her merits and her charms?
where’s her graceful dancing?
where’s her roundness? for I saw it clearly,
where’s her good body, since last she saw me?

II
Well, it’s been ruined by his miserable equipment—
his armor, banners, steeds and nags—
and his flaccid body that was never washed,
mounted nor held steady;
this has robbed me of my mind and memory,
my sweet speech, my frolicking, my childish fun;
his ill will, too, plus his nasty ways;
he’s withered my roundness with his sour breath.

III
But I’m asking her about her ugly body,
where’d she find it? and the frown she gets when laughing
and the knitted brows, the crabby look?
where’d she get so many unpleasant ways?
where’d she get the dugs on her fat belly?
where’d she get so much ill-humor?
where’d she get the ugly hide that she displays?
where’d she get her quarrelsome behavior?

IV
Well, I found them at a tournament
where I frowned to see my lover run away,
and knit my brows before the entrance to the mill
where I saw him beat the chaff out of the grain;
and I grew fat with regret and grief
as I watched his shield and lance collapse;
my hide is blackened because he touched me!
I got all those bad things from him, by God!

(Bruckner, Shepard, White, Songs of the women Troubadours)