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,
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!