I’ll make a song of pure nothing,
not about love or being young
It came to me while I was sleeping
I am not happy nor unhappy,
and the choice is not mine:
at night on a mountain.
I’m sick and fear that I will die
I want a doctor who pleases me
He’ll be good if he can cure me;
Never saw her. No use to.
that I could notice
was in my house.
I never saw her but love her warmly.
When I don’t see her I manage nicely,
I know one with more charm and beauty,
and I’ll give it to that one
going toward Anjou
in his portmanteau.