Sonnet 24

Standard

 

Je liay d’un filet de soye cramoisie
Vostre bras l’autre jour, parlant avecques vous :
Mais le bras seulement fut captif de mes nouds,
Sans vous pouvoir lier ny cœur ny fantaisie.
 
Beauté, que pour maistresse unique j’ay choisie,
Le sort est inegal : vous triomphez de nous.
Vous me tenez esclave esprit bras et genous,
Et Amour ne vous tient ny prinse ny saisie.
 
Je veux parler, Maistresse, à quelque vieil sorcier,
Afin qu’il puisse au mien vostre vouloir lier,
Et qu’une mesme playe à nos cœurs soit semblable.
 
Je faux : l’amour qu’on charme est de peu de sejour.
Estre beau jeune riche eloquent agreable,
Non les vers enchantez, sont les sorciers d’Amour.
 
 
 
                                                                                I was binding a fillet of crimson silk
                                                                                Around your arm the other day, as I spoke with you;
                                                                                But your arm only was held captive in my knots:
                                                                                I could not bind your heart or thoughts.
 
                                                                                Beauty, whom alone I have chosen as mistress,
                                                                                Fate is unfair: you triumph over us.
                                                                                You hold me enslaved, spirit arms and limbs,
                                                                                And Love neither gains, wins nor seizes you.
 
                                                                                I’d like to talk, my Mistress, to some ancient sorcerer,
                                                                                That he might bind your will to mine,
                                                                                And that the same wound might exist equally in our hearts.
 
                                                                                I am mistaken: the love one gains by a spell does not last long.
                                                                                Being fair, young, rich, eloquent and charming –
                                                                                These, not magic spells, are Love’s sorcerers.

 

 
 
Blanchemain’s text is identical; but he footnotes another version of the first tercet, as follows:
 
 
Je veux parler, Maistresse, à quelque vieux charmeur,
Pour vous rendre amoureuse et changer vostre humeur,
Et qu’une mesme playe à nos cœurs soit semblable.
 
                                                                               I’d like to talk, my Mistress, to some ancient charmer,
                                                                               To make you fall in love and to change your mood,
                                                                               And that the same wound might rest equally in our hearts.
 
 
 The later version they both adopt as the primary text seems better!
 
 
 
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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')

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