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Ja nus hons pris ne dira sa raison
adroitement, se dolantement non;
mes par confort puet il fere chancon.
moult ai amis, mes povre sont li don;
honte en avront, se por ma reancon
sui ces deus yvers pris.

Ce sevent bien mi honme et mi baron,
Englois, Normant, Poitevin et Gascon,
que je n'avoie si povre compaignon,
cui je laissasse por avoir en prixon.
Je nei di pas por nule retracon,
mes encor sui ge pris.


English translation:

No prisoner ever tells his story objectively;
rather, it is cloaked in sorrow.
To comfort himself, however,
he may write a song:
I have many friends, but their gifts are few.
Dishonor will be theirs if I remain in prison
these two winters; my ransom unpaid.

My men and my barons,
from England, Normandy, Poitou, and Gascony,
know that I would never forsake
even the least of my friends.
I do no say this as a reproach.
Still... I remain a prisoner.

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