Pregovi frondi, fiori, aque e herbe (Bartolomeo Tromboncino)

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  • (Posted 2020-08-22)  CPDL #60258:    (Voices) (Sopr. & Lute)  
Editor: Andreas Stenberg (submitted 2020-08-22).   Score information: A4 (landscape), 16 pages, 166 kB   Copyright: CPDL
Edition notes: The two versions of the frottola are printed both in diplomatorical scores and in practical scores. The Lute intavolation given both in the original Italian tablature, in french tablature and as a raw transcript.

General Information

Title: Pregovi frondi, fiori, aque e herbe
Composer: Bartolomeo Tromboncino
Lyricist:

Number of voices: 4vv   Voicing: SATB
Genre: SecularFrottola

Language: Italian
Instruments: Lute

First published: 1507 in Frottole libro 7, no. 12, p. 11
  2nd published: 1510 in Canzoni nove con alcune scelte ..., no. 24
  3rd published: 1511 in Tenori e contrabassi intabulati col sopran in canto figurato per cantar e sonar col lauto Libro Secundo (Franciscus Bossinensis), no. 15
Description: A Frottola as rendered in two different source setts: for four voices or for soprano voice and lute.

External websites:

Original text and translations

Italian.png Italian text

  Pregovi fronde, fiori, aque e herbe
  Che almen prestate orechie a mie parole
  mentre chio sfoco queste fiamme acerbe

  Al sol al Vento


Rafrena il tuo bel corso almo mio sole
E tu fresci aura che si dolce spiri
Odi vu che ha gran ragion damor si dole }

Oditi o duri sassi i miei suspiri }
Poi chaltri non ascolta il mio lamento
Che su sola cagion di miei martyri }

Io tui gia tra gliamanti il piu contento
Mentre fortuna el ciel non mhebbe asdegno
Hor son il piu infelice e piu scontento

Unde per non amar pongo ogni ingegno
Ma nulla forza contra amor mi vale
Che vince il tutto e rompe ogni disegno

Penso el di mille volte al mio gran male
E fingo la mia dea cruda e defforme
Ne pur se extingue il fuoco aspro e mortale

Si arecho nel pensier mille altre forme
E singo hor questa hor quella assai piu bella
Ma nulla trovo al mio martyr couforme


Hai troppo duro fato hai dura stella
Che me constringe amar chi me non cura
Chi fu mei contra amor tanto ribella

Posto ho ogni mio pensier posto ogni cura
Sol per placar questalma tanto altiera
Ma sempre e piu ver me spietata e dura }

Facto glio prova demia fe sincera
Et pianto o mille volte al suo conspecto
Ne per pianto o per fe se fa men cura

Unde che in me non trovo alcun diffecto
Poi che altro non so far piango e mi doglio
Narrando il grave ardor che ho dentro al pecto
Al sol al vento ai tronchi e ad ogni scoglio
 

English.png English translation

I beg you fronds, flowers, waters and herbs
At least to lend ear to my words
while I blaze in these bitter flames.

Refresh me with your beautiful course, my good sun
And blow gently, fresh aura of sweet breathe:
Hate gives great reason for love to be sad.

Hate as hard as stones I breathe
As the other one does not listen to my complaint.
This is the only cause of my torments.

I was already the happiest among lovers
While the luck of heaven did not disdain me.
Now I am the most unhappy and most discontented.

I strive with every wit not to love.
But to have no strength against love is my destinity:
Love conquers everything and breaks every design.

I think of this great evil a thousand times over and over.
And I pretend my goddess is raw and deformed
Even this doesn't extinguish the bitter and deadly fire.

A thousand other forms come into my mind
As I find, in this hour of houres, so much beauty.
But I find nothing that comforts me in my torments.


I have to a hard a fate, to hard stars,
Wich force me to love that one who doesn't care for me,
Who is ever rebellious against my love.

I strive with my every thought and every care
Only to appease this good and high
Who is ever more and more ruthless and hard against me:

"Let him prove that he is sincere.
Let him cry a thousand times in my hearing.
I'll head neither his tears nor his faithfulness to se if he'll take less care."

While I don't find any foulth in myself,
What else is it I that I do not know,
As I am made to cry and hurt,
Confessing the flamming passion that I have in my breast
To the sun to the wind to the trunks and every rock.