The Countess of Dia to Raembaut of Orange

Needs must I sing of one that o'er me reigneth,
E'en of my love, of whom my heart complaineth,
Whom I do prize 'bove all the world containeth,
Alas! from him kind mercy little gaineth,
Little my beauty, wit, and far-spread fame,
For he beguileth me, my love disdaineth,
As though I had done aught that were to blame.

'Tis strange to me that thou, my friend, dost scorn me,
I deem I have good reason loud to mourn me;
It is unmeet another should have shorn me
Of thy dear love, how harsh so e'er I'd borne me!
Alas! bethink thee of that golden time
Of our first rapture — may that mem'ry warn me
Never to lose such joy by wanton crime.

Fair virtues ever have in thee abounded,
But thy great merits leave me all confounded;
To ladies far and near thy fame hath sounded,
That none resist thee, by thy worth astounded;
Yet thou, fair friend, I deem art passing wise,
And thou shouldst know my love is love unbounded,
And 'fore thy memory should our parting rise.

My noble lineage and my faith unfailing,
My beauty eke can ne'er be unavailing,
Wherefore with these thy stubbornness assailing,
I send this song, thee, cruel lover, hailing,
And I would know, fair friend, whate'er betide,
Why thou dost spurn me, at my sorrow railing,
Whether it be from Wrath or else from Pride.

Eke warn him, song, his cruelty bewailing,
That oft great ill doth with the proud abide.