I' mi soglio accusare, et or mi scuso,
anzi me pregio et tengo assai piú caro,
de l'onesta pregion, del dolce amaro
colpo, ch'i' portai già molt'anni chiuso.
Invide Parche, sí repente il fuso
troncaste, ch'attorcea soave et chiaro
stame al mio laccio, et quello aurato et raro
strale, onde morte piacque oltra nostro uso!
Ché non fu d'allegrezza a' suoi dí mai,
di libertà, di vita alma sí vaga,
che non cangiasse 'l suo natural modo,
togliendo anzi per lei sempre trar guai
che cantar per qualunque, e di tal piaga
morir contenta, et viver in tal nodo.
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I used to accuse myself, and now I excuse:
more, I esteem myself: hold myself dearer,
because of the true prison, and the sweet bitter
blow that I kept concealed so many years.
Envious Fates, you shattered the spindle
suddenly, that wound a clear and gentle
thread around my bonds, and that rare gold arrow,
so that death itself pleases beyond belief!
There's no man who was ever so in love
with happiness, with liberty, with kindly life,
that he would not have altered his natural ways,
and chosen rather to be in grief for ever
than sing another, and from that wound
die happy, and live in so sweet a knot.
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