Let me sing you a song of the good old times,
About Richard the troubadour,
Who was loved by the king and the queen for his rhymee!
But by which of our kings I'm not sure.
Now a dauphin was born while the court was at Blois,
And all France felt a gladness pure;
Richard's heart leapt for joy when he heard 'twas a boy.
Sing for your king, young and gay troubadour!
Sing well you may, troubadour young and gay!
So he went with his harp, on his proud shoulder hung,
To the court, the resort of the gay;
To the Virgin a hymn of thanksgiving he sung,
For the dauphin a new " rondelay . "
And our nobles ocked round at the heart-stirring sound,
And their dames, dignified and demure,
Praised his bold, gallant mien, and said " He'll please the queen! "
Sing for your king, young and gay troubadour!
Oh, sing well you may, troubadour young and gay!
But the song is now hushed, and the crowd is dispersed:
To the abbey, lo! Richard repairs,
And he seeks an old monk, in the legend well versed,
With a long flowing beard and grey hairs.
And " Oh, save me! " he cries, " holy father, from hell;
'Tis a place which the soul can't endure! "
" Of pour shrift tell the drift; " " J'ai trop aime les belles!
Sing for your king, young and gay troubadour!
Sing well you may, troubadour, young and gay!
" But the worst is untold! " " Haste, my sonne, and he shriben;
Tell pour quilt — its results — hom goit sinned, and how otten. "
" Oh, my guilt it is great! — can my sin be forgiven —
Its result , holy monk! is — alas, 'tis a DAUPHIN ! "
And the friar grew pale at so startling a tale,
But he whispered, " for us, sonne, procure
(She will grant it. I meen) abbey land from the queen. "
Sing for your king, young and gay troubadour!
Sing well you may, troubadour young and gay!
Then the monk said a prayer, and the sin, light as air,
Flew away from the penitent's soul;
And to Paris went Richard to sing for the fair,
" Virelai, " sonnet gay, and " carolle: "
And he mingled with joy in the festival there.
Oh! while beauty and song can allure,
May our old royal race never want for an heir!
Sing for your king, young and gay troubadour!
Sing well you may, troubadour young and gay!
About Richard the troubadour,
Who was loved by the king and the queen for his rhymee!
But by which of our kings I'm not sure.
Now a dauphin was born while the court was at Blois,
And all France felt a gladness pure;
Richard's heart leapt for joy when he heard 'twas a boy.
Sing for your king, young and gay troubadour!
Sing well you may, troubadour young and gay!
So he went with his harp, on his proud shoulder hung,
To the court, the resort of the gay;
To the Virgin a hymn of thanksgiving he sung,
For the dauphin a new " rondelay . "
And our nobles ocked round at the heart-stirring sound,
And their dames, dignified and demure,
Praised his bold, gallant mien, and said " He'll please the queen! "
Sing for your king, young and gay troubadour!
Oh, sing well you may, troubadour young and gay!
But the song is now hushed, and the crowd is dispersed:
To the abbey, lo! Richard repairs,
And he seeks an old monk, in the legend well versed,
With a long flowing beard and grey hairs.
And " Oh, save me! " he cries, " holy father, from hell;
'Tis a place which the soul can't endure! "
" Of pour shrift tell the drift; " " J'ai trop aime les belles!
Sing for your king, young and gay troubadour!
Sing well you may, troubadour, young and gay!
" But the worst is untold! " " Haste, my sonne, and he shriben;
Tell pour quilt — its results — hom goit sinned, and how otten. "
" Oh, my guilt it is great! — can my sin be forgiven —
Its result , holy monk! is — alas, 'tis a DAUPHIN ! "
And the friar grew pale at so startling a tale,
But he whispered, " for us, sonne, procure
(She will grant it. I meen) abbey land from the queen. "
Sing for your king, young and gay troubadour!
Sing well you may, troubadour young and gay!
Then the monk said a prayer, and the sin, light as air,
Flew away from the penitent's soul;
And to Paris went Richard to sing for the fair,
" Virelai, " sonnet gay, and " carolle: "
And he mingled with joy in the festival there.
Oh! while beauty and song can allure,
May our old royal race never want for an heir!
Sing for your king, young and gay troubadour!
Sing well you may, troubadour young and gay!