Sonnet 7

Quand je pense à ce jour, où je la vey si belle
Toute flamber d’amour, d’honneur et de vertu,
Le regret, comme un trait mortellement pointu,
Me traverse le cœur d’une playe eternelle.
Alors que j’esperois la bonne grace d’elle,
Amour a mon espoir par la mort combatu :
La mort a son beau corps d’un cercueil revestu,
Dont j’esperois la paix de ma longue querelle.
Amour, tu es enfant inconstant et leger :
Monde, tu es trompeur pipeur et mensonger,
Decevant d’un chacun l’attente et le courage.
Malheureux qui se fie en l’amour et en toy :
Tous deus comme la mer vous n’avez point de foy.
La mer tousjours parjure, Amour tousjours volage.


                                                                                            When I think on that day when I saw her, so lovely,
                                                                                            All aflame with love, honour and virtue,
                                                                                            Regret like a sharp and mortal blow
                                                                                            Stabs my heart with an everlasting wound.
                                                                                            As I was hoping for loving attention from her,
                                                                                            Love defeated my hopes through death:
                                                                                            Death has clothed that fair form of hers in a coffin,
                                                                                            From which I was hoping for peace from my long troubles.
                                                                                            Love, you are an inconstant and thoughtless child:
                                                                                            World, you are deceptive, a cheater and untrue,
                                                                                            Disappointing each and everyone’s efforts and hopes.
                                                                                            Unhappy he who trusts in love and in you;
                                                                                            Both of you, like the sea, cannot be trusted at all.
                                                                                            The sea always breaks its promises, Love is always fickle.


Blanchemain has a couple of variants: in line 7,”La mort a mon espoir d’un cercueil revestu” (‘Death has clothed my hopes in a coffin‘); it’s a matter of opinion whether the repetition in lines 6-7 in this version works.
He has a different last line, which refers back to all three villains (Love, the World, the sea) mentioned in the penultimate line instead of the rather odd version above which misses out one of the three!  That said, the version above is probably a better line:
Tous deus comme la mer vous n’avez point de foy.
L’un fin, l’autre parjure et l’autre oiseau volage.
                                                                                            …Both of you, like the sea, cannot be trusted at all.
                                                                                            The one is cunning, the other breaks its promises, the last is a flighty bird.



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')

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