The song begs you: Count not this speech ill chance, But if you count the song worth your acclaim, Arnaut cares lyt who praise or who contest it.
The XVIth canto goes on with the much discussed and much too emphasized cryptogram of the ox and the hare. I am content with the reading which gives us a classic allusion in the palux Laerna. The lengthening of the verse in the last three lines of the strophe is, I think, typically Arnaut's. I leave the translation solely for the sake of one strophe.
Ere the winter recommences And the leaf from bough is wrested, On Love's mandate will I render A brief end to long prolusion: So well have I been taught his steps and paces That I can stop the tidal-sea's inflowing. My stot outruns the hare; his speed amazes.
Me he bade without pretences That I go not, though requested; That I make no whit surrender Nor abandon our seclusion: "Differ from violets, whose fear effaces Their hue ere winter; behold the glowing Laurel stays, stay thou. Year long the genet blazes."
"You who commit no offences 'Gainst constancy; have not quested; Assent not! Though a maid send her Suit to thee. Think you confusion Will come to her who shall track out your traces? And give your enemies a chance for boasts and crowing? No! After God, see that she have your praises."
Coward, shall I trust not defences! Faint ere the suit be tested? Follow! till she extend her Favour. Keep on, try conclusion For if I get in this naught but disgraces, Then must I pilgrimage past Ebro's flowing And seek for luck amid the Lernian mazes.
If I've passed bridge-rails and fences, Think you then that I am bested? No, for with no food or slender Ration, I'd have joy's profusion To hold her kissed, and there are never spaces Wide to keep me from her, but she'd be showing In my heart, and stand forth before his gazes.
Lovelier maid from Nile to Sences Is not vested nor divested, So great is her bodily splendor That you would think it illusion. Amor, if she but hold me in her embraces, I shall not feel cold hail nor winter's blowing Nor break for all the pain in fever's dazes.
Arnaut hers from foot to face is, He would not have Lucerne, without her, owing Him, nor lord the land whereon the Ebro grazes.