Written by Bertran of Born After Receiving King Henry's Pardon, 1184

In making songs I little dally,
And all my toil I little heed;
My arts and wiles I round me rally,
These ever serve me at my need;
For by happy fate,
Saved from grievous strait
I 'fore Count and King
All unscathed may sing.

Since King and Count do grant me pardon,
And cease against me to make war,
For evermore my heart I'll harden
'Gainst Amblart, Tal'ran, Ademar.
Me as lord alone
Autafort shall own,
Fight for it who will
I will rule it still.

Somewhat of war let there be left me,
When naught but peace I see around;
Plague in his eyes that thus bereft me,
E'en if first fault in me were found!
Peace small joy doth give,
One with strife I'll live,
And none other law
Will I hold in awe.

Little regard I time and season,
Alike to me month, week, or day;
Nor March nor April give me reason,
For seeking not to bring to bay
Such as 'gainst me plot,
Nor by force I wot,
Three could from me gain
Aught that's worth a grain.

While he who wills takes spade and harrow.
And ploughs his land, I toil alone,
Lances and quarrels, darts and arrows,
Hauberks, and helms, and steeds to own.
Onset, tournament,
Love with valour blent
Joy in these I take.
These all cravings slake.

My castles' co-heir, ill contented,
My children's land has boldly claimed.
Had I in part thereto consented,
E'en then I had been churlish named,
Did I aught retain;
E'er he'll me constrain
Ill with him 'twill fare,
This I hereby swear.

Solely will I reign
Or Autafort disdain.
To kingly judgment e'er
Faith entire will bear.