In faith, I do not love thee (Michael Gray): Difference between revisions

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==Original text and translations==
==Original text and translations==
{{NoText}}
{{Text|English|
 
In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,
For they in thee a thousand errors note,
But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,
Who in despite of view is pleas'd to dote.
Nor are my ears with thy tongue's tune delighted,
Nor tender feeling to base touches prone,
Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited
To any sensual feast with thee alone:
But my five wits nor my five senses can
Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee,
Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man,
Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be:
  Only my plague thus far I count my gain,
  That she that makes me sin awards me pain.}}
 
''William Shakespeare (Sonnet CXLI)''
 


[[Category:Sheet music]]
[[Category:Sheet music]]
[[Category:Modern music]]
[[Category:Modern music]]

Revision as of 05:03, 1 January 2020

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  • (Posted 2020-01-01)  CPDL #56473:   
Editor: Michael Gray (submitted 2020-01-01).   Score information: Letter (landscape), 8 pages, 259 kB   Copyright: CC BY NC ND
Edition notes:

General Information

Title: In faith, I do not love thee
Composer: Michael Gray
Lyricist: William Shakespeare

Number of voices: 3vv   Voicing: SAB

Genre: SecularPartsong

Language: English
Instruments: Piano

First published: 2019

Description: One of an on-going SAB project called "Book of Sonnets"

External websites: http://www.graymichael.com

Original text and translations

English.png English text


In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,
For they in thee a thousand errors note,
But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,
Who in despite of view is pleas'd to dote.
Nor are my ears with thy tongue's tune delighted,
Nor tender feeling to base touches prone,
Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited
To any sensual feast with thee alone:
But my five wits nor my five senses can
Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee,
Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man,
Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be:
  Only my plague thus far I count my gain,
  That she that makes me sin awards me pain.

William Shakespeare (Sonnet CXLI)