Meravigliosa-mente
un amor mi distringe
e soven ad ogn'ora.
Com'omo che ten mente
in altro exemplo pinge
la simile pintura,
cosí, bella, facc'eo,
che 'nfra lo core meo
porto la tua figura.
In cor par ch'eo vi porti,
pinta come parete,
e non pare di fore.
O Deo, co' mi par forte,
non so se vi sapete,
com' v'amo di bon core;
ca son sí vergognoso
ca pur vi guardo ascoso
e non vi mostro amore.
Avendo gran disio
dipinsi una pintura,
bella, voi simigliante,
e quando voi non vio
guardo 'n quella figura,
par ch'eo v'aggia avante:
sì com'om che si crede
salvare per sua fede,
ancor non via davante.
Al cor m'ard'una doglia,
com'om che te-lo foco
a lo suo seno ascoso,
quando piú lo 'nvoglia,
tanto arde piú loco
e non pò stare incluso:
similemente eo ardo
quando pass'e non guardo
a voi, vis'amoroso.
S'eo guardo, quando passo,
inver'voi no mi giro,
bella, per risguardare;
andando, ad ogni passo
sì getto uno sospiro
che facemi ancosciare;
e certo bene ancoscio,
ch'a pena mi conoscio,
tanto bella mi pare.
Assai v'aggio laudato,
madonna, in tutte parti
di bellezze c'avete.
Non so se v'è contato
ch'eo lo faccia per arti,
che voi ve ne dolete:
sacciatelo per singa
zo ch'e' voi dire' a linga,
quando voi mi vedite.
Canzonetta novella,
và canta nova cosa;
lèvati da maitino
davanti a la piú bella,
fiore d'ogn'amorosa,
bionda piú ch'auro fino:
«Lo vostro amor, ch'è caro,
donatelo al Notaro
ch'è nato da Lentino».
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Wonderfully
a love clenches me
and keeps me every time.
Like he who minds
in another example depicts
a similar painting,
so, beauty, I make her,
because, inside of my heart,
I bring her figure.
It seems that I bring you in my heart,
painted as a wall,
and it seems not outside.
O God, how it seems hard
I don't know if you know it,
how I love you goodhearted;
because I am so bashful
that I look at you hidden
and I don't show you love.
Because I had great wish
I painted a picture
beauty, similar to you,
and when I don't see you
I look at that figure,
as I have you in front of me:
like he who believes
to save himself for his faith,
though he doesn't see it onwards.
In my heart a pain burns,
like he who keeps the fire
hidden in his breast,
when it invites him more,
then it burns stronger
and it cannot stay closed:
likewise I burn
when I go from and don't look
at you, lovely visage.
If I look at, when I go from,
I don't turn to you,
beauty, for look you again;
going, at every step
I cast a big sigh
that make me distressed;
and sure I distress well,
that barely I recognize myself,
so beauty she seems to me.
Enough I eulogized you
milady, in every part,
of the beauties that you hold.
I don't know if you realize
that I do it through the arts,
for you sorry of it:
that you know it through signs
what I don't say with tongue,
when you see me.
O novel song,
go and sing new thing;
wake up at the morn
in front of the most beauty,
flower of every lover,
more blonde than fine gold:
«Your love, that is darling,
donate to the Notary
that is born in Lentini.»
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