Innocents at heart beware ye, When she seems colder than a nun.

See, I thought so highly of her!

Trusted, but the game is hollow, Not one won piece soundly clinketh; All the cardinals that Rome hath, Yea, they all were put upon.

Her device is "Slyly Wary."

Cunning are the snares they carry, Yet while they watched they'd be undone.

Whom Love makes so mad a rover, 'll take a cuckoo for a swallow, If she say so, sooth! he thinketh There's a plain where Puy-de-Dome is.

Till his eyes and nails are gone, He'll throw dice and follow fairly --Sure as old tales never vary-- For his fond heart he is foredone.

Well I know, sans writing's cover, What a plain is, what's a hollow.

I know well whose honor sinketh, And who 'tis that shame consumeth.

They meet. I lose reception.

'Gainst this cheating I'd not parry Nor amid such false speech tarry, But from her lordship will be gone.

_Coda_

Sir Bertran,[2] sure no pleasure's won Like this freedom naught, so merry 'Twixt Nile 'n' where the suns miscarry To where the rain falls from the sun.

The fifth poem in Canello's arrangement, "Lanquan vei fueill' e flor e frug," has strophes in the form:

When I see leaf, and flower and fruit Come forth upon light lynd and bough, And hear the frogs in rillet bruit, And birds quhitter in forest now, Love inkirlie doth leaf and flower and bear, And trick my night from me, and stealing waste it, Whilst other wight in rest and sleep sojourneth.

The sixth is in the following pattern, and the third strophe translates:

Hath a man rights at love? No grain.

Yet gowks think they've some legal lien.

But she'll blame you with heart serene That, ships for Bari sink, mid-main, Or cause the French don't come from Gascony And for such crimes I am nigh in my shroud, Since, by the Christ, I do such crimes or none.

"Autet e bas" is interesting for the way in which Arnaut breaks the flow of the poem to imitate the bird call in "Cadahus en son us," and the repet.i.tions of this sound in the succeeding strophes, highly treble, presumably, Neis Jhezus, Mas pel us, etc.

Autet e bas entrels prims fuoills Son nou de flors li ram eil renc E noi ten mut bec ni gola Nuills auzels, anz braia e chanta Cadahus En son us; Per joi qu'ai d'els e del temps Chant, mas amors mi asauta Quils motz ab lo son acorda.

AUTET E BAS ENTRELS PRIMS FUOILLS

_"Cadahus En son us."_

Now high and low, where leaves renew, Come buds on bough and spalliard pleach And no beak nor throat is muted; Auzel each in tune contrasted Letteth loose Wriblis[3] spruce.

Joy for them and spring would set Song on me, but Love a.s.saileth Me and sets my words t' his dancing.

I thank my G.o.d and mine eyes too, Since through them the perceptions reach, Porters of joys that have refuted Every ache and shame I've tasted; They reduce Pains, and noose Me in Amor's corded net.

Her beauty in me prevaileth Till bonds seem but joy's advancing.

My thanks, Amor, that I win through; Thy long delays I naught impeach; Though flame's in my marrow rooted I'd not quench it, well't hath lasted, Burns profuse, Held recluse Lest knaves know our hearts are met, Murrain on the mouth that aileth, So he finds her not entrancing.

He doth in Love's book misconstrue, And from that book none can him teach, Who saith ne'er's in speech recruited Aught, whereby the heart is dasted.

Words' abuse Doth traduce Worth, but I run no such debt.

Right 'tis in man over-raileth He tear tongue on tooth mischancing.[4]

That I love her, is pride, is true, But my fast secret knows no breach.

Since Paul's writ was executed Or the forty days first fasted, Not Cristus Could produce Her similar, where one can get Charms total, for no charm faileth Her who's memory's enhancing.

Grace and valor, the keep of you She is, who holds me, each to each, She sole, I sole, so fast suited, Other women's lures are wasted, And no truce But misuse Have I for them, they're not let

To my heart, where she regaleth Me with delights l'm not chancing.

Arnaut loves, and ne'er will fret Love with o'er-speech, his throat quaileth, Braggart voust is naught t' his fancy.

In the next poem we have the chatter of birds in autumn, the onomatopia obviously depends upon the "_-utz, -etz, -ences_ and _-ortz_" of the rhyme scheme, 17 of the 68 syllables of each strophe therein included. I was able to keep the English in the same sound as the _Cadahus_, but I have not been able to make more than map of the relative positions in this canzos.

L'aura amara Fais bruoilss brancutz Clarzir Quel doutz espeissa ab fuoills, Els letz Becs Dels auzels ramencs Ten balps e mutz, Pars E non-pars; Per qu'eu m'esfortz De far e dir Plazers A mains per liei Que m'a virat bas d'aut, Don tem morir Sils afans no m'asoma.

I

The bitter air Strips panoply From trees Where softer winds set leaves, And glad Beaks Now in brakes are coy, Scarce peep the wee Mates And un-mates.

What gaud's the work?

What good the glees?

What curse I strive to shake!

Me hath she cast from high, In fell disease I lie, and deathly fearing.

II

So clear the flare That first lit me To seize Her whom my soul believes; If cad Sneaks, Blabs, slanders, my joy Counts little fee Baits And their hates.

I scorn their perk And preen, at ease.

Disburse Can she, and wake Such firm delights, that I Am hers, froth, lees BiG.o.d! from toe to earring.

III

Amor, look yare!

Know certainly The keys: How she thy suit receives; Nor add Piques, 'Twere folly to annoy.

I'm true, so dree Fates; No debates Shake me, nor jerk.

My verities Turn terse, And yet I ache; Her lips, not snows that fly Have potencies To slake, to cool my searing.

IV

Behold my prayer, (Or company Of these) Seeks whom such height achieves; Well clad Seeks Her, and would not cloy.

Heart apertly States Thought. Hope waits 'Gainst death to irk: False brevities And worse!

To her I raik.[5]

Sole her; all others' dry Felicities I count not worth the leering.

V

Ah, visage, where Each quality But frees One pride-shaft more, that cleaves Me; mad frieks (O' thy beck) destroy, And mockery Baits Me, and rates.

Yet I not shirk Thy velleities, Averse Me not, nor slake Desire. G.o.d draws not nigh To Dome,[6] with pleas Wherein's so little veering.