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Une jeune pucelette, Pucelette grasselette, Qu'esperdument j'aime mieux Que mon cœur ny que mes yeux, A la moitié de ma vie Esperdument asservie De son grasset en-bon-point ; Mais fasché je ne suis point D'estre serf pour l'amour d'elle, Pour l'en-bon-point de la belle Qu'esperdument j'aime mieux Que mon cœur ny que mes yeux. Las ! une autre pucelette, Pucelette maigrelette, Qu'esperdument j'aime mieux Que mon cœur ny que mes yeux, Esperdument a ravie L'autre moitié de ma vie De son maigret en-bon-point ; Mais fasché je ne suis point D'estre serf pour l'amour d'elle, Pour la maigreur de la belle, Qu'esperdument j'aime mieux Que mon cœur ny que mes yeux. Autant me plaist la grassette Comme me plaist la maigrette, Et l'une à son tour autant Que l'autre me rend contant. Je puisse mourir, grassette, Je puisse mourir, maigrette, Si le ne vous aime mieux Toutes deux que mes deux yeux, Ny qu'une jeune pucelle N'aime un nid de tourterelle, Ou son petit chien mignon, Du passereau compagnon, Petit chien qui point ne laisse De faire importune presse Au passereau, qui tousjours A pour fidele secours Le tendre sein de la belle, Quand le chien plume son aile, Ou de travers regardant, Aprés l'oiseau va grondant. Et si je ments, grasselette, Et si je ments, maigrelette, Si je ments, Amour archer Dans mon cœur puisse cacher Ses fleches d'or barbelées, Et dans vous les plombelées, Si je ne vous aime mieux Toutes deux que mes deux yeux. Bien est-il vray, grasselette, Bisn est-il vray, maigrelette, Que l'appast trop doucereux Des hameçons amoureux Dont vous me sçavez attraire, Est l'un à l'autre contraire. L'une, d'un sein grasselet Et d'un bel œil brunelet Dans ses beautez tient ma vie Esperdument asservie Mais par dessus tout m'espoint Un grasselet en-bon-point, Une cuisse rebondie, Une poitrine arrondie En deux montelets bossus, Où l'on dormiroit dessus Comme entre cent fleurs decloses, Ou dessus un lit de roses. Puis avecques tout cela Encor d'avantage elle a Je ne sçay quelle feintise, Ne sçay quelle mignotise, Qui fait que je l'aime mieux Que mon cœur ny que mes yeux. L'autre maigre pucelette A voir n'est pas si bellette : Elle a les yeux verdelets Et les tetins maigrelets; Son flanc, sa cuisse, sa hanche N'ont la charneure si blanche Comme a l'autre, et si ondez Ne sont ses cheveux blondez... Mais en lieu de beautez telles, Elle en a d'autres plus belles : Un chant qui ravit mon cœur, Et qui dedans moy vainqueur Toutes mes veines attise ; Une douce mignotise, Un doux languir de ses yeux, Un doux souspir gracieux, Quand sa douce main manie La douceur d'une harmonie. Nulle mieux qu'elle au danser Ne sçait ses pas devancer Ou retarder par mesure ; Nulle mieux ne me conjure Par les traits de Cupidon, Par son arc, par son brandon, Si j'en aime une autre qu'elle ; Et nulle mieux ne m'emmielle La bouche, quand son baiser Vient mes levres arroser, Begayant d'un doux langage. Que diray-je d'avantage?.... C'est pourquoy je l'aime mieux Que mon cœur ny que mes yeux. Jamais une ne me fasche Pour ne la servir à tasche ; Car quand je suis mi-lassé Du premier plaisir passé, Dés le jour je laisse celle Qui m'a fasché dessus elle, Et m'en vais prendre un petit Avec l'autre d'appetit, Afin qu'aprés la derniere Je retourne à la premiere, Pour n'estre recreu d'amours. Aussi n'est-il bon tousjours De gouster une viande; Car tant soit-elle friande, Sans quelquefois l'eschanger On se fasche d'en manger. Mais d'où vient cela, grassette, Mais d'où vient cela, maigrette, Que depuis deux ou trois mois Je n'embrassay qu'une fois (Encor ce fut à l'emblée, Et d'une joye troublée) Vostre estomac grasselet Et vostre sein maigrelet? A'-vous peur d'estre nommées Pucelles mal renommées?.... Las ! mignardes, je sçay bien Qui vous empesche, et combien Le seigneur de ce village Vous souille de son langage, Mesdisant de vostre nom Qui plus que le sien est bon. Ah ! à grand tort, grasselette, Ah ! à grand tort, maigrelette, Ah ! à grand tort cest ennuy Me procede de celuy Qui me deust servir de pere, De sœur, de frere et de mere. Mais luy, voyant que je suis Vostre cœur, et que je puis D'avantage entre les dames, Farcit vostre nom de blames, D'un mesdire trop amer, Pour vous engarder d'aimer Celuy qui gaillard vous aime Toutes deux plus que soy-mesme, Celuy qui vous aime mieux Toutes deux que ses deux yeux. [Bien, bien, laissez-le mesdire! Deust-il tout vif crever d'ire Et forcené se manger, Il ne sçauroit estranger L'amitié que je vous porte, Tant elle est constante et forte.]1 Ny le temps ny son effort, Ny violence de mort, Ny les mutines injures, Ny les mesdisans parjures, Ny les outrageux brocars De vos voisins babillars, Ny la trop soigneuse garde D'une cousine bavarde, Ny le soupçon des passans, Ny les maris menaçans, Ny les audaces des freres, Ny les preschemens des meres, Ny les oncles sourcilleux, Ny les dangers périlleux Qui l'amour peuvent deffaire, N'auront puissance de faire Que [tousjours]2 je n'aime mieux Que mon cœur ny que mes yeux L'une et l'autre pucelette, Grasselette et maigrelette.
C. Saint-Saëns sets stanzas 1-3, 15
About the headline (FAQ)
View original text (without footnotes)1 omitted by Saint-Saëns
2 Saint-Saëns: "jamais"
Authorship:
- by Pierre de Ronsard (1524 - 1585), "Gayeté III", appears in Gayetez et Epigrammes, first published 1553 [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Charles Camille Saint-Saëns (1835 - 1921), "Grasselette et maigrelette", 1920, stanzas 1-3,15, from Cinq poèmes de Ronsard, no. 4. [ sung text verified 1 time]
Available translations, adaptations, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (David Wyatt) , title 1: "The plump lass and the slim lass", copyright © 2012, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this page: Ted Perry
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 182
Word count: 867
A young girl, A plump girl, Whom I love utterly, more Than my heart or my eyes, With half of my life Which has been utterly enslaved By her fine plump form; But I'm in no way upset To be a slave for her love, And for that beauty's fine form Which I love utterly, more Than my heart or my eyes. Alas! Another girl, A slim girl, Whom I love utterly, more Than my heart or my eyes, Has utterly stolen The other half of my life With her fine slim form; But I'm in no way upset To be a slave for her love, And for that beauty's slim lines Which I love utterly, more Than my heart or my eyes. The plump one pleases me as much As does the slim one, And each in her turn, as much As the other leaves me satisfied. May I die, my plump lass, May I die, my slim lass, If I don't love the two of you More than my two eyes, More than a young girl Loves a dove's nest, Or her darling little pup, Companion to her sparrow; The little pup who never stops Crowding and bothering The sparrow, which still Has a trusted haven In the tender breast of the fair lady When the pup pulls feathers from its wing; Or [never stops] watching sidelong, When the bird goes complaining. And if I lie, my plump lass, And if I lie, my slim lass, If I lie, Love the archer Can bury in my heart His barbed arrows of gold And in you leaden ones If I don't love the two of you More than my two eyes. It's very true, my plump lass, It's very true, my slim lass, That the too-sweet appeal Of love's baits, With which you've been able to lure me, Is the opposite, one from the other. For the one, with her plump breast And lovely brown eyes, Keeps my life by her beauties Utterlyly enslaved; But above all she hooks me with Her fine plump form Her bouncing thighs Her rounded bosom With its two little peaks On which you could sleep As if among a hundred blooming flowers Or on a bed of roses. Then with all that She has as well A way of feigning, A kind of charm, Which makes me love her more Than my heart or my eyes. The other slim lass Is not so comely to look at: She has fine green eyes And tiny little breasts; Her waist, her thighs, her hips Don't have that white plumpness Of the other, and her blonde hair Does not flow in such waves... But in place of such beauties She has others more lovely: Her singing delights my heart And within me conquers And arouses the blood in my veins; A sweet charm A soft languor in her eyes A soft and graceful sigh When her soft hand strikes A sweet harmonious chord. None is better than her in the dance At stepping forward Or back exactly on the beat; None is better at asking me By the wounds of Cupid, By his bow, by his fire brand, If I love any other than her; And none leaves so sweet a taste in My mouth, when her kiss Just brushes my lips, Stammering its sweet language. What else shall I say? That's why I love her more Than my heart or my eyes. Never do I get too bored with one As not to serve her in my task; For when I am half worn-out With the first pleasure passed, Towards day I leave her Who has tired me on top of her, And go off to have a little Appetiser with the other And after the second I return to the first Since I'm not exhausted by love. Anyway, isn't it good always To appreciate your meat? For however delicate it is, Without sometimes changing the menu You get fed up of eating it. But how does it come about, my plump lass, But how does it come about, my slim lass, That after two or three months I could only kiss you just once -- And that was straight away And with a troubled joy -- Your plump waist And your slim bosom? Are you afraid of being called Girls with a bad reputation?... Oh, you darling girls, I know Who is holding you back, and how much The curé of the village Is tarnishing you with his language, Slandering your name Which is better than his own. Ah, it's very wrong, my plump lass, Ah, it's very wrong, my slim lass, Ah, it's very wrong that this annoyance Comes on me from him Who should act as my father, Sister, brother and mother. But he, seeing that I am pursuing Your heart, and that I can manage Still more women, Stuffs1 your names with censure And too-bitter slander To protect you from loving The lively lad who loves The two of you more than himself, He who loves the two of you More than his two eyes. Well, well: let him slander! If it made him burst with anger And frenziedly gnaw himself, He still wouldn't be able to alienate The love that I bear you, So constant and strong it is. Neither time nor his efforts, Nor fatal violence, Nor mischievous insults, Nor untruthful slander, Nor insulting jibes From your chattering neighbours, Nor the over-careful watch Of that gossiping cousin, Nor the suspicion of passers-by, Nor threatening husbands, Nor the boldness of brothers, Nor the preaching of mothers, Nor haughty uncles, Nor perilous dangers Which can tear love asunder - These will have no power to stop me From always loving more Than my heart or my eyes The one girl and the other, The plump lass and the slim lass.
1 Ronsard's choice of word carries overtones suggesting the priest is motivated by his own sexual desires for the girls.
Authorship:
- Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2012 by David Wyatt, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
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Based on:
- a text in French (Français) by Pierre de Ronsard (1524 - 1585), "Gayeté III", appears in Gayetez et Epigrammes, first published 1553
This text was added to the website: 2012-11-05
Line count: 182
Word count: 977