Guiot de Dijon, Chanterai por mon corage - French trouvère lyric from the time of the Third [bad word]  used in the Director's Cut for Godfrey's flashback as he remembers Balian's mother.

Chanterai por mon corage
Que je vueill reconforter,
Car avec mon grant damage
Ne quier morir n'afoler,
Quant de la terre sauvage
Ne voi nului retorner
Ou cil est qui m'assoage
Le cuer, quant j'en oi parler.
Dex, quant crieront Outree,
Sire, aidies au pelerin
Por cui sui espoentee,
Car felon sunt Sarrazin.
Soferrai en tel estage
Tant quel voie rapasser.
Il est en pelerinage,
Dont Dex le lait retorner !
Et maugre tot mon lignage
Ne quier ochoison trover
D'autre face mariage ;
Folz est qui j'en oi parler !
Dex, quant crieront Outree,
Sire, aidies au pelerin
Por cui sui espoentee,
Car felon sunt Sarrazin.
De ce sui au cuer dolente
Que cil n'est en Biauvoisis
Qui si sovent me tormente :
Or n'en ai ne gieu ne ris.
S'il est biaus, et je sui gente.
Sire, Dex, por quel feis ?
Quant l'uns a l'autre atalente,
Por coi nos as departis ?
Dex, quant crieront Outree,
Sire, aidies au pelerin
Por cui sui espoentee,
Car felon sunt Sarrazin.
De ce sui en bone atente
Que je son homage pris,
Et quant la douce ore vente
Que vient de cel douz pais
Ou cil est qui m'atalente,
Volontiers i tor mon vis :
Adont m'est vis que jel sente
Par desoz mon mantel gris.
Dex, quant crieront Outree,
Sire, aidies au pelerin
Por cui sui espoentee,
Car felon sunt Sarrazin.
De ce sui mout decue
Que ne fui au convoier ;
Sa chemise qu'ot vestue
M'envoia por embracier :
La nuit, quant s'amor m'argue,
La met delez moi couchier
Mout estroit a ma char nue
Por mes malz assoagier
Dex, quant crieront Outree,
Sire, aidies au pelerin
Por cui sui espoentee,
Car felon sunt Sarrazin.

"chanson de croissades, XIII? siecle"

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Traduccion en ingles.

I will sing [bad word] my heart,
For I do not want to die
Or go mad from my great loss,
When I see that no one returns
From that foreign land,
Where the man is who
Brings solace to my heart
When I hear him spoken of.
God, When they cry 'Onward'
Give Your help to that pilgrim
For whom my heart trembles,
For the saracens are treacherous.
I shall bear my loss
Until I have seen a year go by,
He is on a pilgrimage;
May God grant that he return from it!
But, in spite of all my family,
I do not intend to marry any other.
Anyone who even speaks to me of it
Is a fool.
God, When they cry 'Onward'
Give Your help to that pilgrim
For whom my heart trembles,
For the saracens are treacherous.
However, I am hopeful
Because I accepted his homage.
And when the sweet wind
Blows [bad word] from that sweet country
Where is the man whom I desire,
Then I turn my face toward it gladly,
And it seems to me that I can feel him
Beneath my mantle of fur.
God, When they cry 'Onward'
Give Your help to that pilgrim
For whom my heart trembles,
For the saracens are treacherous.
I regret very much that I was not there
To set him on the road.
He sent me his shirt which he had worn,
So that I might hold it in my arms.
At night, when love for him tormets me,
I place it in bed beside me
And hold it all night against my bare skin
To assuage my pains.
God, When they cry 'Onward'
Give Your help to that pilgrim
For whom my heart trembles,
For the saracens are treacherous.