Sonnet 129

Di l’un des deux, sans tant me déguiser
Le peu d’amour que ton semblant me porte,
Je ne sçauroy, veu ma peine si forte,
Tant lamenter, ne tant Petrarquiser.
Si tu le veux, que sert de refuser
Ce doux present dont l’espoir me conforte ?
Sinon, pourquoy d’une esperance morte
Me nourris-tu pour tousjours m’abuser ?
L’un de tes yeux dans les enfers me rue,
L’autre plus doux, à l’envy s’esvertue
De me remettre en paradis encor :
Ainsi tes yeux pour causer mon renaistre,
Et puis ma mort, sans cesse me font estre
Or’ un Pollux, et ores un Castor.
                                                                            Say one or the other, without keeping from me so much
                                                                            That little love which your pretending brings me;
                                                                            I am no longer able, in view of this strong pain of mine,
                                                                            To grieve so much nor act so like Petrarch.
                                                                            If you are willing, what use is refusing
                                                                            That sweet gift, the hope of which comforts me?
                                                                            If not, why do you keep feeding me
                                                                            With dead hope, always deceiving me?
                                                                            One of your eyes rushes me into hell,
                                                                            The other is sweeter, it tries hard in opposition
                                                                            To place me back in paradise again;
                                                                            So your eyes, causing my rebirth
                                                                            And then my death, ceaselessly make me
                                                                            Now a Pollux, now a Castor.





A poem unchanged from edition to edition … The last tercet recalls the story of the heavenly twins Castor & Pollux; one was mortal, one immortal, but when the mortal one was killed the other gave up his immortality to restore his life.  Muret adds a couple of notes: one comments on Ronsard’s invented word “Petrarquiser” which Muret translates as ‘to (pretend to) die for love like Petrarch’. In the other, looking at the opening line  he remarks, ‘I cannot think that this is [addressed to] Cassandre, for he does not speak so boldly to her‘!



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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