Ja Nus Hons Pris by Owain Phyfe

An incredibly beautiful song written by the English (he was rather French, actually) King, Richard Coeur de Lion in Langue d'oil, and preformed by the late Owain Phyfe, from the album "Poets, Bards, and Singers of Songs".

[lckngz]

This shall my minecraft empire national anthem

[MShovi]

This is the most beautiful music l have ever heard.

[Korivassilyou]

Owain left this earth in 2012. His voice continues to live just as his sweet memory does. Memory eternal, my troubadour friend. Repose en paix.

[altanburidan]

Unknown to the French public and that is a pity.
Such voices plunging the depths of the soul should never die.
Go in peace for eternity.

[keyspirits]

A soldier armed with a sword and helmet of golden bronze prepares for battle. Thousands of years later, his gear is found resting on the ground, with flowers booming around it.

Humanity might have not had a bright past, but all we can do now is learn from previous mistakes and aim for a better future... May all those souls lost throughout all of human history find peace wherever they are now.

[luningningcaneos]

Medival French
Version:Ja nus hons pris ne dira sa raison
Adroitement, se dolantement non
Mais par confort puet il faire de chançon
Moult ai amis, mes povre sont li don
Honte en auront, se por ma reançon
Sui ces deus yvers pris

Ce sevent bien mi home et mi baron
Englois, Normant, Poitevin et Gascon
Que je n'avoie si povre compaignon
Qui je laissasse por avoir en prison
Je ne di pas por nule retraçon
Mais encor sui je pris

Ja nus hons pris ne dira sa raison
Adroitement, se dolantement non
Mais par confort puet il faire de chançon
Moult ai amis, mes povre sont li don

Modern English Version:Never can a prisoner tell his mind,
Openly, without sadness,
But, vehemently, he can write a song,
I have many friends, but poor are the gifts,
Shame on them, if to gather my ransom,
I am here for two winters.
They know well, my men and barons,
English, Normans, Poitevins and Gascons,
That I have no companion, no matter how poor,
That I would leave in prison without acting,
I am not criticising,
But I am still prisoner.
Never can a prisoner tell his mind,
Openly, without sadness,
But, vehemently, he can write a song,
I have many friends, but poor are the gifts.

[epmzmusifiwar]

From Uganda 🇺🇬 Int'l Congo DRC 🇨🇩 i love this music ❤❤❤❤❤ I Salute Our King The Legende

[toddlewis]

Owain Phyfe was incredible. I am sorry I never got to see him perform in public, but we are very fortunate his music lives on here. It is especially wonderful to have him sing this incredibly beautiful melody.

[greendragonfly]

[NO PRISONER CAN TELL HIS HONEST THOUGHT]

I
No prisoner can tell his honest thought
Unless he speaks as one who suffers wrong;
But for his comfort as he may make a song.
My friends are many, but their gifts are naught.
Shame will be theirs, if, for my ransom, here
—I lie another year.

II
They know this well, my barons and my men,
Normandy, England, Gascony, Poitou,
That I had never follower so low
Whom I would leave in prison to my gain.
I say it not for a reproach to them,
—But prisoner I am!

III
The ancient proverb now I know for sure;
Death and a prison know nor kind nor tie,
Since for mere lack of gold they let me lie.
Much for myself I grieve; for them still more.
After my death they will have grievous wrong
—If I am a prisoner long.

IV
What marvel that my heart is sad and sore
When my own lord torments my helpless lands!
Well do I know that, if he held his hands,
Remembering the common oath we swore,
I should not here imprisoned with my song,
—Remain a prisoner long.

V
They know this well who now are rich and strong
Young gentlemen of Anjou and Touraine,
That far from them, on hostile bonds I strain.
They loved me much, but have not loved me long.
Their plans will see no more fair lists arrayed
—While I lie here betrayed.

VI
Companions whom I love, and still do love,
Geoffroi du Perche and Ansel de Caieux,
Tell them, my song, that they are friends untrue.
Never to them did I false-hearted prove;
But they do villainy if they war on me,
—While I lie here, unfree.

VII
Countess sister! Your sovereign fame
May he preserve whose help I claim,
—Victim for whom am I!

VIII
I say not this of Chartres' dame,
—Mother of Louis!

[matadorsalasgoles]

Richard The Lionheart, crusader knight, defender of the people, defender of the faith and the Holy Church. God bless him forever.

[frithar]

Owain's music is a dance of the four winds and magic. May his time in the Summerlands be sweet.

[Xamarin]

I
Ja nus hons pris ne dira sa raison
Adroitement, se dolantement non;
Mais par effort puet il faire chançon.
Mout ai amis, mais povre sont li don;
Honte i avront se por ma reançon
— Sui ça deus yvers pris.

II
Ce sevent bien mi home et mi baron–
Ynglois, Normant, Poitevin et Gascon–
Que je n'ai nul si povre compaignon
Que je lessaisse por avoir en prison;
Je nou di mie por nule retraçon,
—Mais encor sui [je] pris.

III
Or sai je bien de voir certeinnement
Que morz ne pris n'a ami ne parent,
Quant on me faut por or ne por argent.
Mout m'est de moi, mes plus m'est de ma gent,
Qu'aprés ma mort avront reprochement
—Se longuement sui pris.

IV
N'est pas mervoille se j'ai le cuer dolant,
Quant mes sires met ma terre en torment.
S'il li membrast de nostre soirement
Quo nos feïsmes andui communement,
Je sai de voir que ja trop longuement
—Ne seroie ça pris.

V
Ce sevent bien Angevin et Torain–
Cil bacheler qui or sont riche et sain–
Qu'encombrez sui loing d'aus en autre main.
Forment m'amoient, mais or ne m'ainment grain.
De beles armes sont ore vuit li plain,
—Por ce que je sui pris

VI
Mes compaignons que j'amoie et que j'ain–
Ces de Cahen et ces de Percherain–
Di lor, chançon, qu'il ne sunt pas certain,
C'onques vers aus ne oi faus cuer ne vain;
S'il me guerroient, il feront que vilain
—Tant con je serai pris.

VII
Contesse suer, vostre pris soverain
Vos saut et gart cil a cui je m'en clain
—Et por cui je sui pris.

VIII
Je ne di mie a cele de Chartain,

[TheFlutecart]

I miss you my honest friend. Musical genius. Free thinker.

[tonyd]

When I met Owain around 1998-1999 and he was living in Michigan and had Michigan plates on his van. He lived in many countries as he travelled learning folk songs of those regions. In person he performed this way better than this recording. I missed seeing him at a festival in Florida and that was the last opportunity we had before we heard of his passing.

[Korivassilyou]

Although born in Oxford, Richard is not known to have spoken English and spent less than one year in England during his 10 year reign.  He spent his formative years in his duchy of Aquitaine, inherited through his mother Alienor, battling the stubborn vassals.  He also preferred to be with his mother at her very cultured court in Poitiers.  It took what would be 12 million pounds to ransom him.  His body is interred at Fontevrault next to his father Henry II, his heart entombed at Rouen and his entrails at Chalus, where he died.  Not even a bone for England, which he apparently disliked for the excessive rain.

[vasundharasaha]

It's so beautiful.
No word could ever be adequate enough to describe the feeling.

[kensley]

I get the chills when I hear still used french words popping up in the mids of old french.
Had to shed a tear.

[MJCF-zy]

Wat heeft deze man een prachtige stem.Hij kan met deze stem van elk lied iets prachtigs maken !❤❤❤❤

[adelefontaine]

I have just finished reading Sharon Kay Penman's  novel  A King's Ransom. Penman knows how to make you part of the story. I stood with Richard and his wonderful supporters. Hating his enemies as much as him, rejoicing at their deaths and weeping with Eleanor at his death. How fortunate I am to witness this story and l then to listen to the late Owain Phyfe' haunting rendition of Richard's lament while in prison.

[SantiagoGarcia-odgr]

Éste lamento y clamor del Rey Ricardo Corazón de León, en su cautiverio, te transporta a otras dimensiones, a otras esferas y a otros mundos. Es una pieza de refinada belleza, de altiva melancolía y de profunda desolación y desesperanza. Una de las canciones más bellas que jamás se hallan hecho.