Che giova dunque (Cipriano de Rore)

From ChoralWiki
Jump to navigation Jump to search

Music files

L E G E N D Disclaimer How to download
ICON SOURCE
Icon_pdf.gif Pdf
Icon_mp3.gif Mp3
MusicXML.png MusicXML
Logo_capella-software_kurz_2011_16x16.png Capella
File details.gif File details
Question.gif Help
  • (Posted 2021-06-29)  CPDL #64911:         
Editor: Gerhard Weydt (submitted 2021-06-29).   Score information: A4, 6 pages, 175 kB   Copyright: CPDL
Edition notes: transposed up a major second

General Information

Title: Che giova dunque
Composer: Cipriano de Rore
Lyricist: Francesco Petrarca
Number of voices: 5vv   Voicing: SATTB
Genre: SecularMadrigal

Language: Italian
Instruments: A cappella

First published: 1576 in Musica di 13 autori illustri, no. 17
Description: 

External websites:

Original text and translations

Italian.png Italian text

Che giova dunque perché tutta spalme
La mia barchetta, poi che’n fra gli scogli
E ritenut’anchor da tai duo nodi?
Tù che da gli altri ch’in diversi modi
Legan’ il mondo in tutto mi disciogli,
Signor mio, che non togli
Hormai dal volto mio questa vergogna,
Ch’a guisa d’huom che sogna
Haver la mort’innanzi gli occhi parme,
E vorrei far difesa e non hò l’arme.

German.png German translation

Was hilft es nun, dass fest in Eins gefüget
mein Nachen? Bleibt er doch in Klippen hangen,
gefesselt annoch von zwei solchen Schlingen.
Du, der du mich erlöst von andern Dingen,
die vielgestaltig sonst die Welt befangen,
warum von meinen Wangen
nimmst du, o Herr, nicht solches Jammers Zeichen?
Träumendem zu vergleichen,
seh‘ vor den Augen ich des Todes Speere;
gern kämpft‘ ichach! Und habe keine Wehre.

Translation by Karl Förster
English.png English translation

What boots it, trammel‘d by such adverse ties,
If still between the rocks must lie her course,
to trim my little bark to new emprize?
Ah! wilt thou never, Lord, who yet dost keep
Me safe and free from common chains which bind
In different modes mankind,
Deign also from my brow this shame to sweep?
For, as one sunk in sleep,
Methinks Death ever present to my sight,
Yet when I would resist, I have no arms to fight.
Robert Guthrie MacGregor, Indian Leisure, London 1854