Would my conceit that first enforc'd my woe (John Dowland): Difference between revisions

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{{Language|English}}
{{Language|English}}
{{Instruments|Lute}}
{{Instruments|Lute}}
'''Published:''' ''The First Booke of Songs or Ayres'' (1597), no. 16<br>
{{Published|''The First Booke of Songs or Ayres'' (1597), no. 16}}


'''Description:'''  
'''Description:'''  

Revision as of 20:30, 2 September 2016

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General Information

Title: Would my conceit that first enforc'd my woe
Composer: John Dowland

Number of voices: 4vv   Voicing: SATB

Genre: SecularLute song

Language: English
Instruments: Lute

{{Published}} is obsolete (code commented out), replaced with {{Pub}} for works and {{PubDatePlace}} for publications.

Description:

External websites:

Original text and translations

English.png English text

1. Would my conceit that first enforc'd my woe,
Or else mine eyes which still the same increase,
Might be extinct, to end my sorrows so
Which now are such as nothing can release:
Whose life is death, and eke whose change,
Each change of sour, and eke whose hell reneweth every hour.

2. Each hour amidst the deep of hell I fry,
Each hour I waste and wither where I sit,
But that sweet hour wherein I wish to die,
My hope alas may not enjoy it yet,
Whose hope is such bereaved, of the bliss,
Which unto all save me allotted is.

3. To all save me is free to live or die,
To all save me remaineth hap or hope,
But all perforce, I must abandon it,
Sith Fortune still directs my hap a slope,
Wherefore to neither hap nor hope I trust,
But to my thralls I yield, for so I must.
 

Polish.png Polish translation

by Stanisław Jonczyk

1. Gdybyż ma pycha, która dała zaczątek niedoli
I oczy moje, wciąż ją potęgujące,
Mogły przepaść, by cierpienie ukoić
Dotąd lekarstwa nie znajdujące.
Czyje życie śmiercią jest a słodycz w gorycz zmienia,
Komu piekło, w żadnej godzinie, nie daje wytchnienia.

2. Każdej godziny, w mrocznych czeluściach się smażę,
Każdej godziny, marnieję i więdnę
Lecz słodką godziną, gdy o śmierci zamarzę,
Nadzieją mą, cieszyć się jeszcze nie będę.
Którego nadzieja obdarta jest z radości,
Która, w sercach wszystkich, z mego wyjątkiem gości.

3. Wszyscy, prócz mnie, mogą zginąć lub żyć,
Zostaje im nadzieja lub rządy przypadku.
Ja wszystko zmuszonym porzucić, gdyż
Fortuna decyduje o wzlocie mym lub upadku.
Ni nadziei nie ufam, ni przypadkowi
Lecz cóż mi pozostało, skorom w ich niewoli?