Che giova saettar

General information

Author: Pietro Bembo, 1505 in Gli Asolani.

This poem was published in Bembo's "Gli Asolani" in 1505, but is no longer contained in the revised edition of 1530, and therefore also not to be found in the Einaudi edition of Bembo's works.

External websites:

• https://archive.org/details/ita-bnc-ald-00000246-001/page/n46/mode/1up?view=theater 1505 print of "Gli Asolani"

Settings by composers (automatically updated)

• Innocentio Alberti — Che giova saettar  Italian SATTB
• Philippe de Monte — Che giova saettar  Italian SSATB
• Hubert Naich — Che giova saettar  Italian SATB
• Marco Antonio de Pordenon — Che giova saettar un, che si more  Italian SATTB

The text is taken from Bembo's publication; variants by Monte are enclosed in square brackets, those by Alberti in round ones.

Italian text Che giova saettar un che si more, O (i)niquitoso et dispietato arc[i]ero? Di questa impresa homai, poi ch’io ne pero, Non te ne può [A te non può] venir più largo honore. Tu m’hai piagato il core Amor ferendo in guisa a parte a parte; Che loco a nova piaga non po darte, Ne di tuo(i) stral sentir fresco dolore. Che voi tu più da me? Ripon giù l’arme: Vedi, ch’io moro: homai che poi tu farme?

German translation Was nützt es, zu schießen auf einen, der stirbt, o zorniger und erbarmungsloser Schütze? Von diesem Vorhaben kann dir nun, da ich dadurch umkomme, keine große Ehre mehr zukommen. Du hast mir das Herz verwundet, Amor, ein Teil nach dem anderen, so dass ich dir keinen Ort für eine neue Wunde mehr bieten kann, noch von deinen Pfeilen frischen Schmerz fühlen kann. Was willst du noch von mir? Lass die Waffen sinken: Sieh, ich sterbe: was kannst du mir jetzt noch tun? Translation by Gerhard Weydt

English translation What use is it to shoot at one who is dying, oh irate and merciless archer? By this enterprise, as I will perish from it, you ill not gain much honour. You have wounded my heart, Amor, one part after the other, such that I cannot offer any place for a new wound, nor feel fresh pain by your darts. What else do you want from me? Lay down your weapons: behold, I die: what can you still do to me now? Translation by Gerhard Weydt