Basic information

Identificador
Linker 265,949
Lengua
Francés
Género | Forma
Motet
Rima
a b c c b a d d e e e e f f g g f d d a a d a
a b a b a b a a a c c a c c c d d d c c d e e f f d f d
a b a b a b c c b b d d e e a a f f a a a
Estructura métrica
10' 5 4' 2' 2 10' 12 6 7 7 7 7 5' 5' 6 6 5' 5 5 5' 5' 7 6'
5' 5' 5' 5' 5' 4' 6' 3' 3' 3 3 5' 5 3 7 4 3 3 5 5 4 3 2 4' 5' 4 5' 3
5' 5 5' 4 5' 4 5' 5' 3 3 7 7 3 9 5' 5' 7 10 6' 11' 10'
Terminaciones
-ee
-is
-ete
-ier
-ie
-a
-ie
-er
-ent
-ient
-ans
-endre
-on
-ist
-oi

Base edition

Doss-Quinby
Tasker Grimbert
Pfeffer
Aubrey
2001
Página(s)
241-248, núm. 71

Manuscripts

Manuscrito
Folio(s)
29v-30r
Manuscrito
Folio(s)
243v (256v foliación antigua)

Other editions and studies

Página(s)
nº 44
Página(s)
545
Página(s)
28
Referencia bibliográfica
Página(s)
198
Referencia bibliográfica
Página(s)
nº 49
Página(s)
nº 379
Referencia bibliográfica
Página(s)
nº 34

Texto

Quadruplum
Jolïement en douce desirree
Qui tant m’a souspris,
J’aim la blondete
Doucete
De pris,
Comme celi ou j’ai mis ma pensee.
Hé! s’en chanterai doucement pour s’amistié.
Acoler et baisier
M’a cousté et coustera.
Ja vilein part n’i avra:
Nostra sunt sollempnia,
Car trop biau deduit i a.
C’est trop douce vie
Que que nus en die,
De baisier, d’acoler,
De rire et de jouer
A sa douce amie.
Trop fait a proisier
Qui l’a sans dansgier,
Mes l’amor devee
Ait courte duree.
Mal ait amors ou pitié
Et douçor n’est trovee
.

Triplum
Quant voi la florete
Naistre en la pree,
Et j’oi l’aloete
A la matinee
Qui saut et halete,
Forment m’agree!
S’en dirai chançonete:
Amouretes,
Amouretes
M’ont navré
.
En non Dé,
Li cuers mi halete
En joliveté:
S’ai trové
Amouretes a mon gré
;
Jolivement,
Cointement,
Soutivment
M’ont le cuer emblé
Et enamouré
Tant doucement.
Pour noient
Maintieg ceste abeïe:
Trop use ma vie
En grief tourment;
Je ne vivrai mie
Longuement
.

Motet
Je sui jolïete,
Sadete, pleisans
Joine pucelete:
N’ai pas quinze ans,
Point ma mamelete
Selonc le tans:
Si deüsse aprendre
D’amors et entendre
Les samblans
Deduisans;
Mes je sui mise en prison.
De Diu ait maleïçon 
Qui m’i mist!
Mal et vilanie et pechié fist
De tel pucelete
Rendre en abïete.
Trop i mefist,
Par ma foi;
En relegion vif a grant anoi­ -
Diex! -car trop sui jonete.
Je sent les doz maus desoz ma ceinturete:
Honnis soit de Diu qui me fist nonnete!


Tenor: APTATUR
 

    Quadruplum
    Gaily seized by sweet desire
    That has stolen over me,
    I am in love with the sweet
    Worthy
    Blond
    Who occupies my thoughts.
    Ah! So I will sing sweetly for the sake of her love.
    Embracing and kissing
    Have and will cost me dearly.
    Never will a rustic take an interest in it:
    Nostra sunt sollempnia,
    For there is such ardent pleasure in it.
    It is such a sweet life—
    Whatever one may say—
    Kissing, embracing,
    Laughing and playing
    With one’s sweet beloved.
    He sets too great store by it
    Who has it without resistance,
    But may thwarted love
    Be short-lived.
    Cursed be the love in which mercy
    And sweetness are not found.

    Triplum
    When I see the new flower
    Burgeon in the meadow,
    And I hear the lark
    In the morning
    Hopping and fluttering,
    It pleases me greatly!
    So I will sing a little song:
    Love,
    Love
    Has wounded me.
    In the name of God,
    My heart is pounding
    With joy,
    For I have found
    A love to my liking.
    Gaily,
    Gracefully,
    Artfully,
    It has stolen my heart away
    And enraptured it
    So sweetly.
    For naught
    Does this nunnery confine me:
    I am wasting my life
    In bitter torment.
    I will not live
    Long at all.

    Motet
    I am a merry,
    Gracious, charming
    Young girl,
    Not yet fifteen.
    My little breasts are swelling
    With time.
    I should be learning
    About love and turning my mind
    To its delightful
    Ways;
    But I have been put in prison.
    May God curse
    The one who put me here!
    An evil, vile, and sinful thing he did
    Sending such a young girl
    To a nunnery.
    He did a wicked thing,
    By my faith;
    In the convent I live in great misery—
    God!—for I am too young.
    I feel the sweet pangs beneath my little girdle:
    May God curse the one who made me a nun!

    T: APTATUR

     

    (Doss-Quimby, Trasker Grimbert, Pfeffer, Aubrey, Songs of the women Trouvères)

    Music

    Música conservada