Sirventes for Cuan

The Hound bays for a sirventes
And so I set aside the blade,
And the good lance
To hunt with the pen.
The Duke complains when his name
Is not mentioned amongst the great,
And who indeed remembers a fallen King,
Or a song, once done?

But I think it strange that he
Should enfeeble such knights,
(Who are truly his brothers)
With decries of age and weakness.
I would not want Atlantia's Lion
To hear himself declawed
By the Hound, who has many times
Fallen from his fierce strikes.

And truly, did not the Old Bear,
(That spurred-cock!)
Bestow the colee, and raise him
Girded from his own mesinee?
Aye, in the vigor of his youth
The Hound would dim even the Sun-in-Splendor!
He would do better, I think
To cry as dogs should, to the Harvest Moon.

Within his Duchy, I have heard
Are many Counties.
Each a splendid jewel;
One for each glory mounted!
But should the bear, the briar-hare, and greyhound
All vie for honor's pinnacle?
Tell him to consolidate his holdings!
It is shameful, such a suzerain, as a bacholar!

Near the James,
There is to be a Tourney.
Knights will prove their valor
With jousts not jests.
Truly the Hound would Hunt there;
His harness and hardiness evident,
His mastiffs, not so base
As to not do good service!

He challenges me, good friends -
A humble squire!
He promises ten good blows
For each song without his name!
But I sing for the Moon,
The Lioness, and the Old Bear alone!
I would gladly, and joyously receive
His measure, if he would but come at me there.

Jongleur, dolce ami,
Tell ol' Coeur Noir,
The darkest Wolf, not to fret
As I would sow but peace in his lands.
And go to the Duke
With this reply as message:
That he should not carry such a small dagger,
To a sword-fight!