A ver gente... quién es el/la corajudo/da que se anime a traducir al español estas canciones de John Dowland, contemporaneo de Shakespeare??Ahí van algunas.
CAN SHE EXCUSES MY WRONGS:
(English)
Can she excuse my wrongs with virtue’s cloak? shall I call her good when she proves unkind? Are those clear fires which vanish into smoke? must I praise the leaves where no fruit I find?
No, no: where shadows do for bodies stand, thou may’st be abused if thy sight be dim. Cold love is like to words written on sand, or to bubbles which on the water swim.
Wilt thou be thus abused still, seeing that she will right thee never? if thou canst not overcome her will, thy love will be thus fruitless ever.
Was I so base, that I might not aspire Unto those high joys which she holds from me? As they are high, so high is my desire: If she this deny what can granted be?
If she will yield to that which reason is, It is reasons will that love should be just. Dear make me happy still by granting this, Or cut off delays if that I die must.
Better a thousand times to die, then for to live thus still tormented: Dear but remember it was I Who for thy sake did die contented.
(Français)
Peut-elle mes maux excuser par le manteau de la vertu?
Puis-je l’appeler bonne quand elle se montre dure?
Est-ce que ce sont des feux clairs qui disparaissent en fumée?
Dois-je louer les feuilles, là où je ne trouve aucun fruit?
Non, non : là où les ombres remplacent les corps, Tu peux être trompé si ta vue est faible L'amour froid est comme des mots écrits sur le sable, ou des bulles qui nagent sur l'eau.
Seras-tu encore trompé plus longtemps voyant qu'elle ne te rendra jamais justice? si tu ne peux pas surmonter sa volonté Ton amour sera ainsi stérile à jamais.
Étais-je si vil, que je ne puisse aspirer À ces joies élevées qu'elle tient éloignées de moi? Car aussi hauts soient-elles, ainsi en est-il de mon désir Si elle refuse ceci, que peut-il être admis? Si elle cède devant ceci qui est la raison, C’est la volonté de la raison que l’amour fût juste. (Ma) Chère, rends-moi heureux en m’accordant ceci, Ou supprime toute attente si je dois mourir. Il vaut mieux en mourir mille fois Plutôt que de vivre ainsi torturé : (Ma) Chère souviens-toi que c’était moi Par égard pour toi, qui mourus contenté.
IN DARKNESS LET ME DWELL.
(Esta traducción no es difícil, sólo que no entiendo lo que quiere decir al final con "let me living die", ¿alguien me podría decir? Gracias...).
In darkness let me dwell;
the ground shall sorrow be,
The roof despair, to bar all cheerful light from me;
The walls of marble black,
that moist'ned still shall weep;
My music, hellish jarring sounds,
to banish friendly sleep.
Thus, wedded to my woes, and bedded
to my tomb,
O let me living, living die till death do come, till death do come.
In darkness let me dwell.
Behold a wonder here
Behold a wonder here -
Love hath receiv'd his sight,
Which many hundred years
Hath not beheld the light.
Such beams infused be
By Cynthia in his eyes,
At first have made him see
And then have made him wise.
Love now no more will weep
For them that laugh the while,
Nor wake for them that sleep,
Nor sigh for them that smile.
So pow'rful is the beauty
That Love doth now behold,
As love is turn'd to duty
That's neither blind nor bold.
Thus beauty shows her might
To be of double kind,
In giving Love his sight
And striking Folly blind.
The Oak and the Ash
1. A North Country maid up to London had strayed,
Although with her nature it did not agree.
She wept and she sighed, and so bitterly she cried,
"How I wish once again in the North I could be!
Oh the oak and the ash, and the bonny ivy tree,
They flourish at home in my own country."
2. "While sadly I roam I regret my dear home,
Where lads and young lasses are making the hay.
The merry bells ring and the birds sweetly sing,
The meadows are pleasant and maidens are gay.
Oh the oak and the ash, and the bonny ivy tree,
They flourish at home in my own country."
3. "No doubt, did I please, I could marry with ease,
For where maidens are fair many lovers will come,
But the one whom I wed must be North Country bred,
And tarry with me in my North Country home.
Oh the oak and the ash, and the bonny ivy tree,
They flourish at home in my own country."
Greensleeves
(poss. Henry VIII of England, 1500's.)
Alas, my love, you do me wrong,
To cast me off discourteously.
For I have loved you well and long,
Delighting in your company.
Chorus:
Greensleeves was all my joy
Greensleeves was my delight,
Greensleeves was my heart of gold,
And who but my lady greensleeves.
Your vows you've broken, like my heart,
Oh, why did you so enrapture me?
Now I remain in a world apart
But my heart remains in captivity.
chorus
I have been ready at your hand,
To grant whatever you would crave,
I have both wagered life and land,
Your love and good-will for to have.
chorus
If you intend thus to disdain,
It does the more enrapture me,
And even so, I still remain
A lover in captivity.
chorus
My men were clothed all in green,
And they did ever wait on thee;
All this was gallant to be seen,
And yet thou wouldst not love me.
chorus
Thou couldst desire no earthly thing,
but still thou hadst it readily.
Thy music still to play and sing;
And yet thou wouldst not love me.
chorus
Well, I will pray to God on high,
that thou my constancy mayst see,
And that yet once before I die,
Thou wilt vouchsafe to love me.
chorus
Ah, Greensleeves, now farewell, adieu,
To God I pray to prosper thee,
For I am still thy lover true,
Come once again and love me.
BARBARA ALLEN (Anonymus)
Las tres estrofas que se suelen cantar son las 3 primeras...el resto suele quedar en el tintero, para que no se haga taaaan larga.
Twas in the merry month of May
When green buds all were swelling,
Sweet William on his death bed lay
For love of Barbara Allen.
He sent his servant to the town
To the place where she was dwelling,
Saying you must come, to my master dear
If your name be Barbara Allen.
So slowly, slowly she got up
And slowly she drew nigh him,
And the only words to him did say
Young man I think you're dying.
He turned his face unto the wall
And death was in him welling,
Good-bye, good-bye, to my friends all
Be good to Barbara Allen.
When he was dead and laid in grave
She heard the death bells knelling
And every stroke to her did say
Hard hearted Barbara Allen.
Oh mother, oh mother go dig my grave
Make it both long and narrow,
Sweet William died of love for me
And I will die of sorrow.
And father, oh father, go dig my grave
Make it both long and narrow,
Sweet William died on yesterday
And I will die tomorrow.
Barbara Allen was buried in the old churchyard
Sweet William was buried beside her,
Out of sweet William's heart, there grew a rose
Out of Barbara Allen's a briar.
They grew and grew in the old churchyard
Till they could grow no higher
At the end they formed, a true lover's knot
And the rose grew round the briar.
Gracias a todos aquellos que puedan aportar algo. Otro día envío las que me quedan, que son 4 de Thomas Campion (contemporáneo de Dowland).
Mi e-mail es: pehuen1981@ciudad.com.ar avísenme si traducen algo de todo esto. Mil gracias.
Mi sitio web es: www.myspace.com/pehuencontratenor
