43r La Complainte dou conte Hue de Nevers

Cuens de Saint Pol ⋅ fils au boen Hue
Bien aveiz avant ⋅ les cors ci
Coument querreiz ⋅ a Dieu merci
Se la mors ⋅ en voz liz vos tue
Vos veeiz ⋅ la terre absolue
Qui a voz tenz ⋅ nos ert tolue
Dont jai ⋅ le cuer triste et marri
La mors ne fait ⋅ nule estandue
Ainz fiert a massue estandue
Tost fait nuit ⋅ de jor esclarci

Tornoieur ⋅ vos quatendeiz
Qui la Terre ⋅ ne deffendeiz
Qui est a votre creatour
Vos aveiz bien les yex bandeiz
Quant ver Dieu ne vos deffendeiz
Nen vos ne meteiz nul atour
Pou douteiz ⋅ la parfonde tour
Dont li prison nont nul retour
Ou par peresce ⋅ descendeiz
Ci na plus ne guanche ne tour
Quant la mors vos va si entour
A Dieu ⋅ cors et arme rendeiz .

Quant la teste est ⋅ bien avinee
Au feu ⋅ deleiz la cheminee
Si nos croizonz de plain eslaiz
Et quant vient ⋅ a la matinee
Si est ceste voie finee
Teil coutume a ⋅ et clers et lais
Et quant il muert ⋅ et fait son lais
Si lait sales ⋅ maisons palais
A doleur ⋅ a fort destinee
Lai sen va ⋅ ou na nul relais
De lavoir ⋅ rest il bone pais
Quant gist mors ⋅ desus lechinee

Or prions ⋅ au roi glorieux
Qui par son sanc esprecieulz
Nos osta ⋅ de destrucion
Quen son regne delicieuz
Qui tant est doulz ⋅et gracieuz
Faciens la nostre mansion
Et que par grant devocion
Ailliens en cele region
Ou Diex soffri ⋅ la mort crueulz.
Qui lait en teil confusion
La terre de promission ⋅
Pou est de sarme curieulz.

Explicit.

Count of Saint Pol, son of the good Hugh,^{1According to Zink, these named persons are Jean of Chantillon son of Hugh of Chatillon (Count of Blois), Guy of Chantillon (Count of Saint Pol), and Enguerrand IV of Coucy}
Since your bodies are still here before us,
how then will you seek the mercy of God
if death kills you in your beds?
You see, the Holy Land
in your time has been taken from us
which makes my heart sad and dismayed.
Death does not wait,
rather she weilds her club and strikes,
quickly making night of a clear day.

Tourneyers, what are you waiting for?
You who are not defending the Holy Land,
who is your Creator?
Your eyes are truly blindfolded
since you are neither defending yourself
nor have you prepared yourself to face God.
You scarcely fear the deep tower
from which prisonners have no escape
and into which you are descending through sloth.
There is no way to avoid it nor to turn back
when death is closing in on you.
You offer up your body and soul to God.

When the head is tipsy with wine,
around the fire, near the hearth,
then we leap with great verve.
And when the morning the comes
this journey ends.
Such is the habit of both the cleric and the laymen.
When he dies and writes his will^{2See line 1 of the Account-Inventory for an explanation of "lais"}
he leaves behind halls, houses, and palaces
in sadness, because of this cruel fate.
He goes there where there is no relief.
One is released from concern for posessions
when one lies dead on one's back.

Now let us pray to the glorious King
who by his precious blood
delivered us from destruction,
that we may make our home
in His exquisite kingdom,
so sweet and filled with grace.
And with great devotion
let us go to that land
where God suffered cruel death.
Whoever leaves the promised land
in such a state of disarray
has little regard for his soul.

The End.

Cuens de Saint Pol ⋅ fils au boen Hue
Bien aveiz avant ⋅ les cors ci
Coument querreiz a Dieu merci
Se la mors ⋅ en voz liz vos tue
Vos veeiz ⋅ la terre absolue
Qui a voz tenz ⋅ nos ert tolue
Dont jai ⋅ le cuer triste et marri
La mors ne fait ⋅ nule estandue
Ainz fiert a massue estandue
Tost fait nuit ⋅ de jor esclarci

Tornoieur ⋅ vos quatendeiz
Qui la Terre ⋅ ne deffendeiz
Qui est a votre creatour
Vos aveiz bien les yex bandeiz
Quant ver Dieu ne vos desfendeiz
Nen vos ne meteiz nul atour
Pou douteiz ⋅ la parfonde tour
Dont li prison nont nul retour
Ou par peresce ⋅ descendeiz
Ci na plus ne guanche ne tour
Quant la mors vos va si entour
A Dieu ⋅ cors et arme rendeiz ⋅

Quant la teste est ⋅ bien avinee
Au feu ⋅ deleiz la cheminee
Si nos croizonz de plain eslaiz
Et quant vient ⋅ a la matinee
Si est ceste voie finee
Teil coutume a ⋅ et clers et lais
Et quant il muert ⋅ et fait son lais
Si lait sales ⋅ maisons palais
A doleur ⋅ a fort destinee
Lai sen va ⋅ ou na nul relais
De lavoir ⋅ rest il bone pais
Quant gist mors ⋅ desus lechinee

Or prions ⋅ au roi glorieux
Qui par son sanc esprecieulz
Nos osta ⋅ de destrucion
Quen son regne delicieuz
Qui tant est doulz ⋅et gracieuz
Faciens la nostre mansion
Et que par grant devocion
Ailliens en cele region
Ou Diex soffri ⋅ la mort crueulz.
Qui lait en teil confusion
La terre de promission ⋅
Pou est de sarme curieulz

Explicit.

Count of Saint Pol, son of the good Hugh,^{1According to Zink, these named persons are Jean of Chantillon son of Hugh of Chatillon (Count of Blois), Guy of Chantillon (Count of Saint Pol), and Enguerrand IV of Coucy}
Since your bodies are still here before us,
how then will you seek the mercy of God
if death kills you in your beds?
You see, the Holy Land
in your time has been taken from us
which makes my heart sad and dismayed.
Death does not wait,
rather she weilds her club and strikes,
quickly making night of a clear day.

Tourneyers, what are you waiting for?
You who are not defending the Holy Land,
who is your Creator?
Your eyes are truly blindfolded
since you are neither defending yourself
nor have you prepared yourself to face God.
You scarcely fear the deep tower
from which prisonners have no escape
and into which you are descending through sloth.
There is no way to avoid it nor to turn back
when death is closing in on you.
You offer up your body and soul to God.

When the head is tipsy with wine,
around the fire, near the hearth,
then we leap with great verve.
And when the morning the comes
this journey ends.
Such is the habit of both the cleric and the laymen.
When he dies and writes his will^{2See line 1 of the Account-Inventory for an explanation of "lais"}
he leaves behind halls, houses, and palaces
in sadness, because of this cruel fate.
He goes there where there is no relief.
One is released from concern for posessions
when one lies dead on one's back.

Now let us pray to the glorious King
who by his precious blood
delivered us from destruction,
that we may make our home
in His exquisite kingdom,
so sweet and filled with grace.
And with great devotion
let us go to that land
where God suffered cruel death.
Whoever leaves the promised land
in such a state of disarray
has little regard for his soul.

The End.