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O miei tristi pensier, che vergognosi dentro il sen v'ascondete, or che siam soli uscite fuor dell'affannoso petto. Che mi giova, a dispetto delli natali miei, della mia sorte, aver saputo co' lo scaltro ingegno una corona, un regno e il titolo acquistar di re de' Corsi, se timido e meschino son costretto a fuggir ed a celarmi? E a qual birbon della più vil canaglia Genova pon sul capo mio la taglia? In ciaschedun che incontro un assassin pavento, a ogni passo un'insidia, un tradimento, un colpo d'archibuso o di pistola, o un coltel nella gola; se desino, se ceno, temo ch'ogni boccon non sia veleno, e in mezzo a tanti guai per tormentarmi mancava l'ostessina, quella crudel che ognora quanto mi sprezza più, più m'innamora.
Authorship:
- by Giovanni Battista Casti (1724 - 1803) [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Giovanni Paisiello (1740 - 1816), "O miei tristi pensier, che vergognosi", R 1.66 (1784), first performed 1784, from opera Il re Teodoro in Venezia, no. 2 [sung text not yet checked]
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Andrew Schneider) , "O my sad thoughts, shamefully hiding", copyright © 2018, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Andrew Schneider [Guest Editor]
This text was added to the website: 2018-06-05
Line count: 23
Word count: 127
O my sad thoughts, shamefully hiding yourselves in my breast, now that we are alone, you may leave my tormented breast. I have succeeded with my astute cunning in acquiring the crown, the kingdom, and the title of King of the Corsicans. What does this benefit me, if in spite of my fortune and birth, I am forced to flee and hide myself away, fearful and wretched? Genoa has placed what criminal's robes upon my head? In everyone I encounter, I fear an assassin, at every turn, a conspiracy, a betrayal, a shot from some arquebus or pistol, or a knife to my throat. At lunch or dinner, I fear every mouthful might be poison. And in the middle of so much woe, there had to be that hostess to torment me, that cruel innkeeper with whom I always fall more in love the more she spurns me.
Authorship:
- Translation from Italian (Italiano) to English copyright © 2018 by Andrew Schneider, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
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Based on:
- a text in Italian (Italiano) by Giovanni Battista Casti (1724 - 1803)
This text was added to the website: 2018-06-05
Line count: 26
Word count: 148