Pront'era l'alma mia (Andrea Gabrieli)

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(Posted 2023-09-18) CPDL #75481: (LilyPond

Editor: Allen Garvin (submitted 2023-09-18). Score information: Letter, 8 pages, 132 kB Copyright: CC BY NC

Edition notes:

(Posted 2021-03-24) CPDL #63727:

Editor: Gerhard Weydt (submitted 2021-03-24). Score information: A4, 11 pages, 224 kB Copyright: CPDL

Edition notes:

General Information

Title: Pront'era l'alma mia
Composer: Andrea Gabrieli
Lyricist:
Number of voices: 8vv Voicing: SATB.SATB
Genre: Secular, Madrigal

Language: Italian
Instruments: A cappella

First published: 1587 in Concerti di Andrea et di Giovanni Gabrieli, no. 2.59 & 60
2nd published: 1588 in Gemma musicalis liber primus (Friedrich Lindner), no. 5
Description:

External websites:

Original text and translations

Italian text

Pront’era l’alma mia, Pront’il mio amore,
Tal che più di me pront’altri non era,
Ver voi, mia dolce e crud’empia guerriera,
Quando pront’a voi diè, Madonn’, il core,
Però ch’accort’al’hor conobb’amore
A tosto farmi di sua nobil schiera,
E me cader da quell’antica e vera
Mia cara libertà, folle in ardore.

E cert’anco di ciò già non mi doglio,
se non che, fera, voi de mio languire
Sempre ve ne ridete, e di mia sorte.
E pur dovreste, fatta del cordoglio,
Ch’in me tanto vedete, accorta dire:

German translation

Bereit war meine Seele, bereit meine Liebe,
so wie mehr als ich niemand bereit war,
für Euch, meine süße und unbarmherzige, grausame Kriegerin,
als ich bereitwillig Euch gab, Herrin, mein Herz,
obwohl ich erkannte, dass Amor
mich alsbald in seine noble Schar aufnehmen werde,
und ich jene meine alte und wahre, liebe
Freiheit aufgeben würde, närrisch in meiner Begierde.

Und sicher ist auch, dass ich mich noch nicht beklage,
es sei denn, Grausame, dass ihr euch über mein Schmachten
immer lächerlich macht, und über mein Schicksal.
Und ihr müsstet doch, angesichts des Herzeleids,
das ihr so deutlich in mir seht, sagen:
Ich bin nicht immer bereit, dir den Tod zu geben.

Translation by Gerhard Weydt

English translation

Willing was my soul, willing my love,
such as no other was more willing than I,
towards you, my sweet and cruel merciless warrioress,
when I readily gave to you, Lady, my heart,
although I then saw that Amor
would soon make me one of his noble crew,
and that I would be falling from that old and true
dear liberty of mine, foolish in my desire.

And certainly I do not yet complain about it,
if it wasn’t that you, cruel one, always make fun
of my languishing, and of my fate.
Instead, you should, accounting for the distress
that you so much see in me, be so wise to say:
I will not always be willing to give you death.