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Pub. 1541. This edition is offered at original pitch for S.A.T.B. or transposed down an octave for A.T.T.B.
Lyrics: Anon
De ceux qui tant de mon bien se tormentent
J'ai d'une part grève compassion;
Puis je m'en ris en voyant qu'ils augmentent
Dedans m'amie un feu d'affection;
Un feu lequel par leur invention
Cuident éteindre. O la pauvre cautelle!
Ils sont plus loin de leur intention,
Qu'ils ne voudraient que je fusse loin d'elle.
For those who worry so much about my good fortune
I have on one hand great compassion;
But then I laugh when I see that they exaggerate
A blaze of affection in my lover;
A fire which by their invention
They think to extinguish. What a feeble ploy!
So far are they from their purpose,
That they would wish only that I was far from her.
De ceux qui tant de mon bien se tormentent
J'ai d'une part grève compassion;
Puis je m'en ris en voyant qu'ils augmentent
Dedans m'amie un feu d'affection;
Un feu lequel par leur invention
Cuident éteindre. O la pauvre cautelle!
Ils sont plus loin de leur intention,
Qu'ils ne voudraient que je fusse loin d'elle.
For those who worry so much about my good fortune
I have on one hand great compassion;
But then I laugh when I see that they exaggerate
A blaze of affection in my lover;
A fire which by their invention
They think to extinguish. What a feeble ploy!
So far are they from their purpose,
That they would wish only that I was far from her.