Heere! keere van ons af
U vertoorent aengesicht,
En door dees verdiende straf,
Ons verblint verstant verlicht;
Dat u vriendelyck gelaet
Lichtend over ons mach staen,
En u uytverkoren saet
Eens toch mach met vreden gaen.
Toomt en breydelt ’s Vyants macht,
Die ’t dus al in roeren stelt.
Heer! verschijnt eens so met kracht
Dat hy ruymen mach het velt,
En u volck, naer sulcken werck,
Veylich eenmael opgaen mach
In u lieve heyl’ge Kerck,
U te loven nacht en dag.
Doch so ’t u believen sal
Dat ghy ons noch langer sult
Laten in dit ongeval;
Geef ons Heere toch gedult,
En laet uwen wil geschien:
Want ghy seker en gewis,
Best kont weten en voorsien
Wat ons meest van noden is.
Nederlandtsche gedenck-clanck (ed. Adriaen Valerius, 1626)
In English
Lord! Turn away from us
Your angered look,
And through this deserved punishment,
Enlighten our blinded minds;
May your friendly countenance
Shine upon us,
And may your chosen ones
Be in peace once more.
Tame and bridle the enemy’s power
That puts everything in turmoil.
Lord! Appear with such force
That they will take off,
And your people, after such work,
May safely ascend
Into your dear holy Church,
To praise you night and day.
But if it pleases you
That you will keep us longer
In this misfortune;
Give us patience, Lord,
And let your will be done:
For you certainly
Know best and foresee
What is in our best interest.
Mariette Reefman
Fuggi fuggi fuggi da questo cielo
Aspro e duro spietato gelo
Tu che tutto imprigioni e leghi
Né per pianto ti frangi o pieghi
fier tiranno, gel de l’anno
fuggi fuggi fuggi là dove il Verno
su le brine ha seggio eterno.
Vieni vieni candida vien vermiglia
tu del mondo sei maraviglia
Tu nemica d’amare noie
Dà all’anima delle gioie
messagger per Primavera
tu sei dell’anno la giovinezza
tu del mondo sei la vaghezza.
Vieni vieni vieni leggiadra e vaga
Primavera d’amor presaga
Odi Zefiro che t’invita
e la terra che il ciel marita
al suo raggio venga Maggio
vieni con il grembo di bei fioretti,
Vien su l’ale dei zefiretti.
Unknown author.
In English
Flee, flee, flee from this sky,
harsh and unyielding, relentless cold.
You, who shackle all in prison
neither bending nor breaking to tears.
You, the year’s cruel, frozen tyrant,
flee, flee, flee to wherever winter
has its eternal throne over the frost.
Come, come white, come vermilion,
you are the marvel of the world.
You, nemesis of all things dreary,
give joy to the soul
through your message of spring.
You are the youth of the year
and the beauty of the world.
Come, come, come, graceful and gentle,
spring of foreboding love.
Harken Zephyrus who invites you,
and the earth that marries the sky;
may May come at its ray,
come with your lap full of beautiful blossoms,
come on the wings of little Zephyrs.
“quidnunc” on Lyricstranslate.com
All in a garden green
Two lovers sat at ease,
As they could scarce be seen
Among the leafy trees.
They long had loved y-fere,
And no longer than truly,
In the time of the year
Cometh ´twixt May and July.
Quoth he, “Most lovely maid,
My troth shall aye endure;
And be thou not afraid,
But rest thee still secure.
That I will love thee long
As life in me shall last;
Now I am strong and young,
And when my youth is past”.
“Yonder thou seest the sun
Shine in the sky so bright,
And when this day is done,
And cometh the dark night,
No sooner night is not,
But he returns alway,
And he shines as bright and hot
As on this gladsome day.
He is no older now
Than when he first was born;
Age cannot make him bow,
He laughs old Time to scorn.
My love shall be the same,
It never shall decay,
But shine without all blame,
Though body turn to clay.”
She listened to his song,
And heard it with a smile.
And, innocent as she was young,
She dreamed not of guile.
Nor guile he meant, I ween,
Since he was true as steel,
As was thereafter seen
When she made him her weal.
The Ballad Literature and Popular Music of the Olden Time, Vol. I (ed. William Chappell, 1855)
Susanne un jour d’amour solicitée
par deux viellardz, convoitans sa beauté,
fut en son coeur triste et desconfortée,
voyant l’effort fait à sa chasteté.
Elle leur dict, Si par desloyauté
de ce corps mien vous avez jouissance,
c’est fait de moy. Si je fay resistance,
vous me ferez mourir en deshonneur.
Mais j’aime mieux périr en innocence,
que d’offenser par peché le Seigneur.
Guillaume Guéroult (1507–1569)
In English
One day, Susanne’s love was solicited by
two old men coveting her beauty.
She became sad and discomforted in her heart,
seeing the attempt at her chastity.
She said to them, ‘If, dishonourably,
from my body you take pleasure,
I perish. If I resist,
you would make me die in disgrace.
But I would rather perish innocent,
than offend the Lord through sin.
Wikipedia
Doen Daphne d’overschoone Maegt
Van Apollo haer vlucht nam ten Bosschewaert in.
En van hem snel wierd naeghejaeght.
Hy liep en hy riep vast, O schoone Goddin,
Toeft wat, toeft wat, weest niet verbolghen.
Ey waerom loopje? jou selven besind:
Leeuwen, noch Beyren, noch Tygers dy volghen.
Maer ‘t is Apollo die u soo bemind:
Wild u erbarmen yet,
Acht ghy mijn karmen niet?
Laet ghy mijn Godheyt dan in de ly?
Hebt deernis, o Daphne! hebt deernis met my.
De geen daer ghy so schuw van vlucht,
Is Harder, noch kinckel,
die ‘t vee hoed, of weyd:
Maer ‘t is een God die door de lucht
De gulde glans van sijne stralen uytspreyd.
d’Opperste Iupiter is mijn Heer vader,
Claros, en Delphos, en Tenedos staen
Tot mijn gebied en bevel allegader:
Ick ben de Son, mijn suster de Maen.
Kruyden en bloemen,
die ick nau te noemen,
sie locken mijn stralen alleen uyt d’aerd:
Mach dit u niet locken?
O schoon’ u bedaerd!
Noyt word ick oud, staeg blijf ick jong,
Mijn hayr en vergrijst noyt: maer blijft even geel,
En dat mijn stem: wanneer ick song
By de negen Musen, en ‘t spel van mijn Veel
U (O mijn Daphne!) mocht komen ter ooren,
Dat ghy soo lang u loopen eens liet.
‘t Sou buyten twijffel u hartje bekoren,
Om my te helpen uyt mijn verdriet.
Och hoe gerustjes wou,
Ick dan met kusjes jou
Liefjen onthalen, als een Goddin!
Nu Daphne staet, Daphne hoord doch na mijn min.
Maer ‘t was om niet wat Phoebus riep:
Want Daphne vlood van hem so snel als sy kon.
Waerom hy oock soo schichtich liep,
Dat hy haer in ‘t lopen op ‘t laetste verwon.
Peneus! Peneus! Phoebus bestormt my,
Helpt my o vader! riep Daphne vertsaegt.
Kuysche Diana komt, bid ick, vervormt ghy
Stracx dese schoonheyt, verhoort doch u maeght:
Want ick wil sterven, eer
Hy sou verwerven meer.
Dood! ghy zijt my seer wellekoom,
Daermede wierd Daphne vervormt in een boom.
Friesche Lusthof (ed. Jan Janszoon Starter, 1622)
In English
When Daphne, the fair maiden,
Fled from Apollo into the woods.
And he swiftly pursued her.
He ran and cried out, O beautiful Goddess,
Wait, wait, do not be angry.
Why are you running? Consider yourself:
Lions, bears, or tigers do not follow you.
But it is Apollo who loves you so much:
Will you not have mercy,
Do you not hear my cries?
Will you leave my divinity in the dust?
Have pity, O Daphne! Have pity on me.
The one from whom you flee so fearfully
Is neither a shepherd nor a cowherd
who tends cattle or grazes sheep:
But it is a god who spreads through the air
The golden splendour of his rays.
The Supreme Jupiter is my Lord Father,
Claros, Delphos, and Tenedos all
Belong to my domain and command:
I am the Sun, my sister is the Moon.
Herbs and flowers
Which I hardly need to name
Are lured from the earth by only my rays:
Does this not attract you?
O beautiful one, calm yourself!
I never grow old, I remain always young,
My hair never turns grey: but remains ever golden,
And should my voice, when I sing
With the nine Muses, and the sound of my fiddle
Reach your ears (O my Daphne!),
Should you stop walking for so long,
It would undoubtedly charm your heart,
To help me out of my sorrow.
Oh, how gladly I would,
With kisses, entertain you,
My dear, like a goddess!
Halt, Daphne, hear my plea.
But Phoebus’ cries were in vain,
For Daphne fled from him as fast as she could.
Wherefore he ran so swiftly,
That he overtook her at last.
Peneus! Peneus! Phoebus is attacking me,
Help me, father! cried Daphne, fearfully.
Chaste Diana come, I pray, transform
At once this beauty, hear your maidservant.
For I would rather die
than let him gain more.
Death! You are most welcome to me,
and with that, Daphne was transformed into a tree.
Mariette Reefman
Flow my teares fall from your springs
Exilde for ever: Let mee morne
where nights black bird hir sad infamy sings,
there let mee live forlorne.
Downe vaine lights shine you no more,
No nights are dark enough for those
that in despaire their last fortuns deplore,
light doth but shame disclose.
Never may my woes be relieved,
since pitie is fled,
and teares, and sighes, and grones my wearie dayes,
of all joyes have deprived.
Frõ the highest spire of contentment,
my fortune is throwne,
and feare, and griefe, and paine for my deserts
are my hopes since hope is gone.
Harke you shadowes that in darcknesse dwell,
learne to contemne light,
Happie they that in hell
feele not the worlds despite.
The Second Booke of Songs or Ayres (John Dowland, 1600)
Une jeune fillette
de noble coeur,
Plaisante et joliette
de grand’ valeur,
Outre son gre on l’a rendu’ nonnette
Cela point ne luy haicte
dont vit en grand’ douleur.
Mon pauvre coeur
souspire incessament,
Aussi ma mort
desire journellement.
Qu’a mes parens ne puis mander n’escrire,
Ma beauté fort empire,
je vis en grand tourment.
Que ne m’a-t-on donnee
a mon loyal amy,
Qui tant m’a desiree
aussi ay-je moy luy,
Toute la nuict my tiendroit embrassee
Me disant la pensee
et moy la mienne a luy.
A Dieu vous dy mon pere,
ma mere e mes parens,
Qui m’avez voulu faire
nonette en ce couvent,
Ou il n’y a point de resjouissance,
Je vis en desplaisance
je n’attens que la mort.
Le recueil des plus belles et excellentes chansons (ed. Jean Chardavoine, 1576)
In English
There was a young girl
of noble heart,
Charming and pretty
and of great worth,
Against her will, she was made a nun.
This doesn’t please her at all
so she lives in great pain.
My poor heart
sighs incessantly,
And my death
I desire daily.
I cannot send word or write to my parents,
My beauty is fading fast,
I live in great torment.
Why was I not given
to my faithful lover,
Who longed for me so much
as I did for him,
All night long he would hold me in his arms,
Whispering his thoughts to me,
and I mine to him.
Farewell to you, my father,
my mother and my family,
who wished to make me
a nun in this convent,
where there is no joy;
I live in misery
and await only death.
Mariette Reefman
Now O now I needs must part,
parting though I absent mourne,
absence can no joye empart,
joye once fled can not returne.
While I live I needs must love,
love lives not when hope is gone,
now at last despayre doth prove,
love devided loveth none:
Sad dispaire doth drive me hence,
this dispaire unkindnes sends.
If that parting be offence,
it is she which then offendes.
Deare if I doe noet returne,
Love and I shall die togither,
For my absence never mourne
Whom you might have joyed ever:
Part we must for now I dye,
Die I doe to part with you,
Him despayre doth cause to lie,
Who both lived and dieth true.
The First Booke of Songes or Ayres (John Dowland, 1597)
O vezzosetta dalle chiome d’oro,
Dolce ristoro d’ogni mio tormento,
Deh fa’ contento il mio grave martire—
O vezzosetta non mi far morire!
O ritrosetta ch’hai sì bello il seno
Deh fa’ sereno il mio dolente stato
E fa’ felice il mio grave martire—
O ritrosetta non mi far morire!
O giovanetta dalla bella mano,
Non far ch’in vano spenda la mia fede,
Ma da’ mercede al mio grave martire—
O giovanetta non mi far morire!
O sdegnosetta ch’hai sì crudo il core,
O mai d’ardore il tuo bel seno accendi,
E dolce rendi il mio grave martire—
O sdegnosetta non mi far morire!
O bella figlia dal soave rio,
Volgimi il viso, ormai dolce e pietoso,
E da’ riposo al mio grave martire—
O bella figlia non mi far morire!
Unknown author. Text in: Libro primo di villanelle (Andrea Falconieri, 1616)
In English
O pretty little one with hair of gold,
sweet relief for my every torment,
ah, grant contentment to my heavy suffering—
O pretty little one, don’t let me die!
O coy little one who has such a lovely breast,
ah, bestow serenity on my sorrowful state,
and bring joy to my heavy suffering—
O coy little one, don’t let me die!
O young little one with the fair hand,
do not let my faith be spent in vain,
but offer mercy to my heavy suffering—
O young little one, don’t let me die!
O scornful little one who has a heart so cruel,
O let your fair breast at last burn with passion,
and yield sweetness to my heavy suffering—
O scornful little one, don’t let me die!
O lovely maiden by the gentle stream,
turn your face toward me, now sweet and compassionate,
and give repose to my heavy suffering—
O lovely maiden, don’t let me die!
Allen Garvin