Firstpublished:1505 in Frottole libro 2 (Petrucci, Venice), no. 11 Description: A Frottola with two parts.
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Original text and translations
Italian text
Occhi dolci ove prendesti
Nel mirar tanta dolceza
O che gaudio o che allegreza
Ho da vostri sguardi honesti
Occhi dolci ove prendesti…
Sel mio ben da voi deriva
Onde vien che mocci deti
Quella gratia si atrativa
Che vol dir che lieto viva
E se voi mia morte seti
Che mostrate a cui ve vede
Oime dio ve la dede
In qui parte la tolesti.
Onde havesti quei bei guardi
Che mavampa gliocchi el core
Chi vede lalno splendore
Che la forza chognor ardi
Sonno sguardi o pur son dardi
D'amor dardi oime che sono
O che degno o che bel dono
Occhi bei dagliocchi havesti
Occhi dolci, occhi suavi
Del mio cor caro sepulchro
Per pieta un ragio pulchro
De dormarmi non ve agravi
Poi che havete in man le chiaui
De mia vita e de mia morte
Che felice fa mia forte
Meglio dar non me potresti
Sonno lacci o pur son nodi
O pur qualche virtu occulta
Che e sempre in voi sepulta
Nel mirar con gravi modi
E con dolci e aperti nodi
Ogni cor fate pregione
E con placida ragione
A cui presto convien che resti
English translation
Sweet eyes, you took from me,
By looking on him with such sweetness,
What joy or what cheerfulness,
I had from your honourable glances.
Sweet eyes, you took from me
By looking on him with so much sweetness,
So much sweetness.
As all the good I have comes from you,
Where would it come from, would you say,
If you are to be my death.
That means my happiness in life,
That grace that is so attractive,
That you give to whom you look at.
Oh, God gave it to you,
But you took it away from me.
Where have you lost those lovely looks
That makes the heart's eyes wander,
Who sees their splendour?
Oh, the strength of that which doth burn,
Are they gazes or are they darts?
Darts, Oh darts, are they!
Oh, what a worthy, what a lovely gift,
Are those Beautiful eyes you have?
Sweet eyes, wise eyes,
Tomb of my dear heart,
Give, for pity's sake, a chaste reason.
You do not need to put me to sleep.
As you have in your hand the key
Of my life and my death.
The key to strengthen me, make me happy.
You could not give me anything better.
They are snares or knots,
Even some hidden virtue,
Always hidden, buried in you.
Aiming with grave ways,
And with sweet and loose knots
To make every heart a prisoner.
And with placid reason,
Which soon must remain.
Italian text
English translation