Ce ne sont qu'haims, qu'amorces et qu'appas
De son bel œil qui m'alléche en sa nasse,
Soit qu'elle rie, ou soit qu'elle compasse
Au son du luth le nombre de ses pas.
Une minuit tant de flambeaux n'a pas,
Ny tant de sable en Euripe ne passe,
Que de beautez embellissent sa grace,
Pour qui j'endure un millier de trespas.
Mais le tourment qui moissonne ma vie
Est si plaisant que je n'ay point envie
De m'esloigner de sa douce langueur.
Ains face Amour que mort encore j'aye
L'aigre douceur de l amoureuse playe
Que vif je porte au plus beau de mon cœur.
Available sung texts: (what is this?)
• A. Bertrand View text with all available footnotes
Text Authorship:
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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [
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This text was added to the website: 2010-10-28
Line count: 14
Word count: 105
These are just the charms, lures and bait
Of her fair eyes which attract me into her trap
Whether she smiles, or whether she measures
Her steps to the sound of a lute.
Midnight has not so many torches
Nor does so much sand flow through the straits at Euripus
As she has beauties to enhance her grace
For her I endure a thousand deaths.
But the torture which my life reaps as reward
Is so pleasant that I have no desire
To part from this sweet idleness.
But through Love, when dead I will still have
The bitter sweetness of love's wound
Which living I carry in the fairest place in my heart.
