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Li dous consire Quem don' Amors soven but I English it thus
There he lost him, and shot very wide of the mark. In fact, the slow-witted young man went to Vienna on a false rumour but it boots not recount his wanderings. Six months after he left Ancona, ragged, hatless, unkempt, hungry, he came within sight of the strong towers of Gratz; and as he went limping by the town ditch he heard a clear, high voice singing Li dous consire Quem don' Ainors soven
Virgin, mother of God, our good advocate, With your dear son, In Fenestro adored, I salute you, And ask his assistance; And without further prelude, I sing your honours. Qu'ario de Paradis! Que maesta divine! Salamon es d'advis, Giugiar de uvostro mino; Vous dis plus bello: E lou dis ben soven De toutoi lei femello, E non s'engano ren. What air of Paradise! What majesty divine!
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