Makaronisk Sång (1571-73)
Winter
och frost thet kommer med ijs,
Et horror hyemalis;
Sommar
och blomster thet kommer med pris,
Et decor estiualis.
The
glædie sigh mott sommarsens tijder,
Iam vario decore,
Förvtan
then ena migh görs oblidh,
Præ nimio dolore.
Nu
är kommen then lystighe tid,
Quo flores floreantur,
Marken
giörs grön och solen giörs blidh,
Et silue foliantur.
Thet
glæder sigh bådhe foghell och diur,
Estatis in dulcore,
Ther
til bådhe pighor och stålte jungfruer,
Earumque amore.
Jagh
haffner fååt så lönligh en sotth,
Quem nolo promulgare;
Then
fick jagh ij skoghen ij går,
Dum iui spaciari.
Eij
är then mester ij werlden till,
Qui curam medicabit,
För
vtan then ene om hon så will,
Hæc sola me sanabit.
Nu
ähr kommen then lekia kan,
Et morbum suffocare;
Ther
till haffner bådhe mackt och sin
Et me sanabit.
Förvtan
then ene vill nu rådha migh bott,
Vaticinio prolato,
Tå
bliffuer iagh vtaff sorgen löst,
Furore duplicato.
Min
kärest hon bor på högt itt bergh,
Qui culmen habet litis;
Och
till thet huus tå ligger en bro,
De gemmis margaritis.
Jag
steg migh wp, iagh gick ther in,
Progrediens ad illam,
Hon
togh mig så kärligh wthi sin fampn,
Pie palpabit maxillas.
Ij
waren wellkommen, käre herre min,
Spes meæ sanitatis;
Ij
skolen dricka thet klara win,
De cornibus auratis!
Hon
lade migh vthi en silkes sengh,
Carbunculis opressum,
Ther
soff jagh så söttelig på hennes arm,
Diei post regressum.
Macaronic Song
Winter
and frost they come with ice,
Et horror hyemalis;
Summer
and flowers they both entice,
Et decor estiualis.
They
look forward to summertime,
Iam vario decore,
Without
a loved one I do but pine,
Præ nimio dolore.
Now
the joyful season is here,
Quo flores floreantur,
The
field turns green the sun warm and clear,
Et silue foliantur.
Both
bird and beast give joyful sign,
Estatis in dulcore,
As
do young maids and ladies fine,
Earumque amore.
So
secret a sickness has come my way,
Quem nolo promulgare;
In
the forest I caught it yesterday,
Dum iui spaciari.
No
physician exists in the world entire,
Qui curam medicabit,
Except
for her, should she so desire,
Hæc sola me sanabit.
Now
one has come who can cure this ill,
Et morbum suffocare;
For
that she has both power and skill
Et me sanabit.
Were
she to remedy this disease,
Vaticinio prolato,
From
sorrow I would find release,
Furore duplicato.
My
dearest lives on a hill so high,
Qui culmen habet litis;
And
to that house a bridge runs nigh,
De gemmis margaritis.
I
climbed and entered that high place,
Progrediens ad illam,
She
took me so fondly in her embrace,
Pie palpabit maxillas.
You’re
welcome here, dear lord of mine,
Spes meæ sanitatis;
You
shall drink of the pure clear wine,
De cornibus auratis!
On
a silken bed she laid me to rest,
Carbunculis opressum,
There
I slept sweetly at her breast,
Diei post regressum.
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