"madame, thogh fer fro me thow art"
Madame, thogh fer fro me thow art,
Ich preye God fro thee ner doth part
Where thow giuest al thy cortesee
And wher gost thow, myn herte wol bee,
Euen thogh my forme canne not.
O, to be with my loue hot!
I wolde to her bowere at nyghte
And be held of my sore plyghte.
translation:
My lady, though you are far away from me,
I pray that God never leaves your side
Where you are to give all your courtesy
And where you go, there my heart will be,
Even though I cannot be there physically.
O, to be with my passionate love!
I would go to her tower at night
And be healed of my great pain.
explanation (razo):
This is a a Middle English translation of my Old French poem Madame, quoi qu'es de mi absent. I wrote this ME version for a book I printed and bound for Atlantian Twelfth Night AS XL; while I was more interested in the OF songs, I knew the book's reader base would not be - so I wanted to provide facing translations for those who might otherwise feel lost (or at least more lost than if they just read these ME poems). I did not base this on any particular lyric, but rather wanted to imitate the general style and voice of the broad 13th c. anonymous ME lyric repertoire.
