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Lai of Gobertz[1]

Of courteous Limozin wight,
Gobertz, I will indite:
From Poicebot had he his right
Of gentlehood;
Made monk in his own despite
In San Leonart the white,
Withal to sing and to write
Coblas he could.

Learning had he, and rare
Music, and gai saber :
No monk with him to compare
In that monast’ry.
Full lusty he was to bear
Cowl and chaplet of hair
God willeth monks for to wear
For sanctity.

There in dortoir as he lay,
To this Gobertz, by my fay,
Came fair women to play
In his sleep;
Then he had old to pray,
Fresh and silken came they,
With eyen saucy and gray
That set him weep.

May was the month, and soft
The singing nights; up aloft
The quarter moon swam and scoffed
His unease.
Rose this Gobertz, and doffed
His habit, and left that croft,
Crying Eleison oft
At Venus’ knees.

Heartly the road and the town
Mauleon, over the down,
Sought he, and the renown
Of Savaric;
To that good knight he knelt down,
Asking of him in bown
Almesse of laurel crown
For his music.

Fair him Savaric spake,
“If coblas you know to make,
Song and music to wake
For your part,
Horse and lute shall you take
Of Jongleur, lightly forsake
Cloister for woodland brake
With good heart.”

Down the high month of May
Now rideth Gobertz his way
To Aix, to Puy, to Alais,
To Albi the old;
In Toulouse mindeth to stay
With Count Simon the Gay,
There to abide what day
Love shall hold.

Shrill riseth his song:
Cobla, lai, or tenzon,
None can render him wrong
In that meinie —
Love alone, that erelong
Showed him in all that throng
Of ladies Tibors the young,
None but she.

She was high-hearted and fair,
Low-breasted, with hair
Gilded, and eyes of vair
In burning face:
On her Gobertz astare,
Looking, stood quaking there
To see so debonnair
Hold her place.

Proud donzela and free,
To clip nor to kiss had she
Talent, nor for minstrelsy
Was she fain;
Mistress never would be,
Nor master have; but her fee
She vowed to sweet Chastity,
Her suzerain.

Then this Gobertz anon
Returneth to Mauleon,
To Savaric maketh moan
On his knees.
Other pray’r hath he none
Save this, “Sir, let me begone
Whence I came, since fordone
My expertise.”

Quod Savaric, “Hast thou sped
So ill in amors ?” Answered
This Gobertz, “By my head,
She scorneth me.”
” Hauberc and arms then, instead
Of lute and begarlanded
Poll, take you,” he said,
“For errantry.”

Now rides he out, a dubbed knight,
The Spanish road, for to fight
Paynimry; day and night
Urgeth he;
In Saragoza the bright,
And Pampluna with might
Seeketh he what respite
For grief there be.

War-dimmed grew his gear,
Grim his visage; in fear
Listened Mahound his cheer
Deep in Hell.
Fled his legions to hear
Gobertz the knight draw near.
Now he closeth the year
In Compostell.

Offering there hath he made
Saint James, candles him paid,
Gold on the shrine hath laid;
Now Gobertz
Is for Toulouse, where that maid
Tibors wonned unafraid
Of Love and his accolade
That breaketh hearts.