  I Although you do your best to regard me With an air seeming offended, Never can you deny, when all's ended, Calm eyes, that you did regard me. However much you're at pains to Offend me, by which I may suffer, What offence is there can make up for The great good he finds who attains you? For though with mortal fear you reward me, Until my sorry sense is plenished, Never can you deny, when all's ended, Calm eyes, that you did regard me. Thinking thus to dismay me You beheld me with disdain, But instead of destroying the gain, In fact with doubled good you paid me. They keep off from leniency bended, Never can you deny, when all's ended, Calm eyes, that you did regard me. II Ah, little green eyes, Ah, little eyes of mine, Ah, Heaven be willing That you think of me somewise. The day of departure You came full of grieving And to see I was leaving The tears 'gan to start sure With the heavy torture Of sorrows unbrightened When you lie down at night and When there to you dreams rise, Ah, Heaven be willing That you think of me somewise. Deep is my assurance Of you, little green eyes, Something of my durance Eyes of hope's fair assurance And good premonition By virtue of whose condition All green colours I prize. Ah, Heaven be willing That you think of me somewise. Would God I might know you To which quarter bended And why comprehended When sighings overflow you, And if you must go through Some certain despair, For that you lose his care Who was faithful always. Ah, Heaven be willing That you think of me these days. Through never a moment I've known how to live lest All my thoughts but as one pressed You-ward for their concernment. May God send chastisement And if it truth be My own little green eyes. Ah, Heaven be willing That you think of me somewise. III Poplars of the meadow, Fountains of Madrid, Now I am absent from you All are slandering me. Each of you is telling How evil my chance is The wind among the branches, The fountains in their welling To every one telling You were happy to see. Now I am absent from you All are slandering me. With good right I may wonder For that at my last leaving And the waters in tears were. That you played double, never Thought I this could be, Now I am absent from you All are slandering me. There full in your presence Music you sought to waken, Later I'm forsaken Since you are ware of my absence. God, wilt Thou give me patience Here while suffer I ye, Now I am absent from you All are slandering me. IV The day draweth nearer, And morrow ends our meeting, Ere they take thee sleeping Be up—away, my treasure! Soft, leave her breasts all unheeded, Far hence though the master still remaineth! For soon uptil our earth regaineth The sun all embraces dividing. N'er was delight lest passion won, And to the wise man the fit occasion Has not yet refused a full measure: Be up—away, my treasure! If that my love thy bosom inflameth With honest purpose and just intention, To free me from my soul's contention Give over joys the day shameth; Who thee lameth he also me lameth, And my good grace builds all in thy good grace; Be up—away! Fear leaveth place, That thou art here, no more unto pleasure, Be up—away, my treasure! Although thou with a sleep art wresting, 'Tis rightful thou bringst it close, That of the favour one meeting shows An hundred may hence be attesting. 'Tis fitting too thou shouldst be mindful That the ease which we lose now, in kind, full Many a promise holds for our leisure; Ere they take thee sleeping; Be up—away, my treasure! |
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