To his soul (Dernier vers)

Amelette Ronsardelette,
Mignonnelette doucelette,
Treschere hostesse de mon corps,
Tu descens là bas foiblelette,
Pasle, maigrelette, seulette,
Dans le froid Royaume des mors :
Toutesfois simple, sans remors
De meurtre, poison, ou rancune,
Mesprisant faveurs et tresors
Tant enviez par la commune.
Passant, j’ay dit, suy ta fortune
Ne trouble mon repos, je dors.
                                                                            Little soul of little Ronsard
                                                                            Darling and sweet,
                                                                            Dearest guest within my body
                                                                            You are going down below weak,
                                                                            Pale, small, thin and lonely,
                                                                            Into the cold kingdom of the dead:
                                                                            And yet modest, not remorseful
                                                                            For murder, poison or malice,
                                                                            Despising favours and treasures
                                                                            So envied by the common herd.
                                                                            Traveller, I have spoken: follow your fortune,
                                                                            Trouble not my rest, I sleep.
His very last poem – at least, the last poem in the Dernier Vers, placed at the end of his collected works; though these days followed by a mountain of pieces he’d cut from earlier editions, not published, published but not collected…! Are the last two lines an address to his soul, or to a passing traveller (like an inscription for his tomb)? It’s ambiguous: read it both ways.

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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