Chanson (Amours retranch. 47)

Standard
Pourquoy tournez-vous voz yeux
       Gracieux
De moy quand voulez m’occire ?
Comme si n’aviez pouvoir
       Par me voir
D’un seul regard me destruire ?
 
Las ! vous le faites à fin
       Que ma fin
Ne me semblast bien-heureuse,
 Si j’allois en perissant
       Jouïssant
De vostre œillade amoureuse.
 
Mais quoy ? vous abusez fort,
       Cette mort,
Qui vous semble tant cruelle,
Ce m’est vrayment un bonheur
       Pour l’honneur
De vous, qui estes si belle.
 
 
 
 

                                                                           Why turn away your eyes,
                                                                                       My lady,
                                                                           From me when you wish to kill me?
                                                                           As if you had no power
                                                                                 In seeing me
                                                                           To destroy me with a glance.
 
                                                                           Alas, you do it so
                                                                                 That my end
                                                                           Should not seem fortunate to me,
                                                                           As I would die
                                                                                 Joyfully
                                                                           From your loving look.
 
                                                                           So what then? You very much misuse me.
                                                                                 This death
                                                                           Which seems to you so cruel
                                                                           To me is truly happiness
                                                                                 For your honour
                                                                           You who are so beautiful.
 
 
 
Only one variant to report: Blanchemain prints the slightly less-convinced “Me semble un gain de bon-heur” 3 lines from the end (‘To me seems an increase in happiness’)

 
 
 
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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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