Sonnet 46

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Je veux mourir pour tes beautez, Maistresse,
Pour ce bel oeil, qui me prit à son hain,
Pour ce doux ris, pour ce baiser tout plein
D’ambre et de musq, baiser d’une Déesse.
 
Je veux mourir pour ceste blonde tresse,
Pour l’embompoinct de ce trop chaste sein,
Pour la rigueur de ceste douce main,
Qui tout d’un coup me guerit et me blesse.
 
Je veux mourir pour le brun de ce teint,
Pour ceste voix, dont le beau chant m’estreint
Si fort le cœur, que seul il en dispose.
 
Je veux mourir ès amoureux combas,
Soulant l’amour, qu’au sang je porte enclose,
Toute une nuit au milieu de tes bras.
 
 
 
 
                                                                       I wish I could die for your beauty, Mistress,
                                                                       For this lovely eye which has chosen to hate me
                                                                       For this sweet smile, for your kiss full
                                                                       Of ambrosia and musk, the kiss of a goddess.
 
                                                                       I wish I could die for this blonde hair,
                                                                       For the swell  of your most chaste breast
                                                                       For the strictness of this sweet hand
                                                                       Which in one stroke cures me and harms me.
 
                                                                       I wish I could die for your tanned skin
                                                                       For this voice whose lovely song embraces
                                                                       My heart so strongly that it alone has power over it.
 
                                                                       I wish I could die in the battle of love
                                                                       Drunk on love, which I carry in my very blood
                                                                       For a whole night in the embrace of your arms.
 
As usual, Blanchemain has a variant text.  There are changes everywhere except the first quatrain, so here is the whole poem once more, in his version:
 
 
Je veux mourir pour tes beautez, Maistresse,
Pour ce bel oeil qui me prit à son hain,
Pour ce doux ris, pour ce baiser tout plein
D’ambre et de musq, baiser d’une Deesse.
 
Je veux mourir pour ceste longue tresse,
Pour le mignard embonpoinct de ce sein,
Pour la rigueur de ceste douce main,
Qui tout d’un coup me guarit et me blesse.
 
Je veux mourir pour le brun de ce teint,
Pour ce maintien qui, divin, me contraint
De trop aimer ; mais, par sus toute chose
 
Je veux mourir ès amoureux combas,
Laissant l’Amour qu’au coeur je porte enclose
Toute une nuit au milieu de tes bras.
 
 
                                                                      I wish I could die for your beauty, Mistress,
                                                                      For this lovely eye which has chosen to hate me
                                                                      For this sweet smile, for your kiss full
                                                                      Of ambrosia and musk, the kiss of a goddess.
 
                                                                      I wish I could die for this long hair,
                                                                      For the charming swell of this breast
                                                                      For the strictness of this sweet hand
                                                                      Which in one stroke cures me and harms me.
 
                                                                      I wish I could die for your tanned skin
                                                                      For this bearing so divine which forces me
                                                                      To love too much; but, above everything
 
                                                                      I wish I could die in the battle of love
                                                                      Letting Love whom I carry shut up in my heart
                                                                      Spend a whole night in the embrace of your arms.
 
 
 
 
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About fattoxxon

Who am I? Lover of all sorts of music - classical, medieval, world (anything from Africa), world-classical (Uzbek & Iraqi magam for instance), and virtually anything that won't be on the music charts... Lover of Ronsard's poetry (obviously) and of sonnets in general. Reader of English, French, Latin & other literature. And who is Fattoxxon? An allusion to an Uzbek singer - pronounce it Patahan, with a very plosive 'P' and a throaty 'h', as in 'khan')

One response »

  1. Pingback: Cassandre 38-50: a note « Oeuvres de Ronsard

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