Amours retranch. 37

Pour ce que tu sçais bien que je t’aime trop mieux,
Trop mieus dix mille fois que je ne fais ma vie,
Que je ne fais mon cœur, ma bouche, ny mes yeux,
Plus que le nom de mort, tu fuis le nom d’amie.  
Si je faisois semblant de n’avoir point envie
D’estre ton serviteur, tu m’aimerois trop mieux,
Trop mieux dix mille fois que tu ne fais ta vie,
Que tu ne fais ton cœur, ta bouche, ny tes yeus.  
C’est d’amour la coustume, alors que plus on aime
D’estre tousjours hay : je le sçay par moy-mesme
Qui suis tousjours banny du meilleur de tes graces 
Quand je t’aime sur toute : helas, que doy-je faire !
Si je pensois guarir mon mal par son contraire
Je te voudrois haïr à fin que tu m’aimasses.


                                                                            Because you know very well that I love you best,
                                                                            Ten thousand times as well as I do my life,
                                                                            As I do my heart, my lips, my eyes,
                                                                            You run from the word ‘beloved’ more than the word ‘death’.
                                                                            If I pretended to have no desire at all
                                                                            To be your servant, you would love me better,
                                                                            Ten thousand times better than you do your life,
                                                                            Than you do your heart, your lips, your eyes.
                                                                            That’s the custom in love, the more you love
                                                                            The more you’re always hated; I know it from my own case,
                                                                            As I am always banished from the best of your grace
                                                                            Though I love you above all. Alas, what to do?
                                                                            If I thought I might cure my ills by their opposite,
                                                                            I’d want to hate you, that you might love me.


Pretty much a classic sonnet! The octet balanced exactly by the sestet, the last lines recalling but re-working the opening; even a rather attractive tension between the line and the meaning as we cross between the tercets with an enjambement. Another odd choice to delete from the main text, but that’s what happened…


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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