Not cynical enough to be Marcabru, which is why I like it

 Another troubadour poem:

Bel m'es quan son li fruich madur E reverdejon li gaim, E l'auzeill, per lo temps escur, Baisson de lor votz lo refrim, Tant redopton la tenebror! E mos coratges s'enansa, Qu'ieu chant per joi de fin' Amor E vei ma bon' esperansa. Fals amic, amador tafur, Baisson Amor e levo·l crim, E no·us cuidetz c'Amors pejur, C'atrestant val cum fetz al prim! Totz temps fon de fina color, Et ancse d'una semblansa! Nuills hom non sap de sa valor La fin ni la comensansa. Qui·s vol si creza fol agur, Sol Dieus mi gart de revolim Qu'en aital Amor m'aventur On non a engan ni refrim! Qu'estiu et invern e pascor Estau en grand alegransa, Et estaria en major Ab un pauc de seguransa. Ja non creirai, qui que m'o jur, Que vins non iesca de razim, Et hom per Amor no meillur! C'anc un pejurar non auzim, Qu'ieu vaill lo mais per la meillor, Empero si·m n'ai doptansa, Qu'ieu no·m n'aus vanar, de paor De so don ai m'esperansa. Greu er ja que fols desnatur, Et a follejar non recim E folla que no·is desmesur! E mals albres de mal noirim, De mala brancha mala flor E fruitz de mala pensansa Revert al mal outra'l pejor, Lai on Jois non a sobransa. Que l'Amistats d'estraing atur Falsa del lignatge Caim Que met los sieus a mal ahur, Car non tem anta ni blastim, Los trai d'amar ab sa doussor, Met lo fol en tal erransa Qu'el non remanria ab lor Qui·l donavan tota Fransa.

I love when the fruits are ripe and the second crop becomes green and when the birds, the dark season, lower the warbling of their voice, so much they fear the darkness! And my heart is exalted because I sing out of joy of fine love and I see my good hope. False friends, treacherous lovers demean Love and heighten crime, and don't think that Love worsens, for it is worth as much as it was in the beginning; it was ever of a single colour and of constant appearance! no man knows where its power begins nor where it ends. Let who will believe in foolish omens: God only prevent me from changing my mind because I venture into such a love as has no deception nor trouble in Summer and Winter and at Easter time, I'm in great joy and I would be in greater still with a little assurance. I will never believe, whoever may swear it, that wine doesn't come from grapes and that men don't improve through love; because we've never heard about one becoming worse, and I am worth the more through the best, but I have a doubt about it, for I dare not boast, out of fear of that whence my hope comes. It's indeed hard for the fool to change nature and not to start acting foolishly again and for a foolish woman not to be reckless! Bad trees from bad nourishment, from bad branch, bad flower, and the fruit of bad thought turns back to bad, if not to worse, where Joy is not sovereign. For the false friendship of Cain's lineage and its strange attachments drags into wretchedness, for it doesn't fear shame or blame, with its mellifluousness, it distracts from love and it puts the fool in such confusion that he wouldn't stay with those who would give him all France.

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