With a Hat-tip to Nicrap!

Claudio Monteverdi (1567–1643)
Lamento d’Arianna Lasciatemi morire.
E chi volete voi
che mi conforte
in così dura sorte,
in così gran martire?
Lasciatemi morire.

O Teseo, o Teseo mio,
si che mio ti vo’ dir
che mio pur sei,
benchè t’involi, ahi crudo,
a gl’occhi miei.
Volgiti Teseo mio,
volgiti Teseo, o Dio,
volgiti indietro a rimirar colei
che lasciato ha per te la Patria e’l regno,
e in queste arene ancora,
cibo di fere dispietate e crude
lascierà l’ossa ignude.
O Teseo, o Teseo mio,
se tu sapessi, o Dio,
se tu sapessi, oimè,
come s’affanna
la povera Arianna;
Forse, forse pentito
rivolgeresti ancor la prora al lito.
Ma con l’aure serene
tu te ne vai felice, ed io qui piango.
A te prepara Atene
liete pompe superbe, ed io rimango,
cibo di fere in solitarie arene.
Te l’uno e l’altro tuo vecchio parente
stringeran lieti, ed io più non vedrovvi,
o Madre, o Padre mio.

Dove, dov’ è la fede
che tanto mi giuravi?
Così nell’ alta fede
tu mi ripon degl’ Avi?
Son queste le corone
onde m’adorn’ il crine?
Questi gli scettri sono,
queste le gemme e gl’ori?
Lasciarmi in abbandono
a fera che mi strazi e mi divori?
Ah Teseo, ah Teseo mio,
lascierai tu morire
invan piangendo, invan gridando aita
la misera Arianna
ch’a te fidossi e ti diè gloria e vita?

Ahi, che non pur rispondi,
ahi, che più d’aspe è sordo a miei lamenti!
O nembi, o turbi, o venti
sommergetelo voi dentr’ a quell’ onde!
Correte orche e balene,
e delle membra immonde
empiete le voragini profonde!
Che parlo, ahi, che vaneggio?
Misera, oimè, che chieggio?
O Teseo, o Teseo mio,
non son, non son quell’ io,
non son quell’ io che i feri detti sciolse;
parlò l’affanno mio,
parlò il dolore,
parlò la lingua si ma non già il core.

Misera, ancor dò loco
a la tradita speme,
e non si spegne
fra tanto scherno ancor d’amor il foco.
Spegni tu morte omai le fiamme indegne.
O Madre, o Padre,
o de l’antico Regno superbi alberghi,
ov’ ebbi d’or la cuna.
O servi, o fidi amici –
ahi fato indegno! –
mirate ove m’ha scort’ empia fortuna,
mirate di che duol m’ha fatto herede
l’amor mio, la mia fede
e l’altrui inganno.
Così va chi tropp’ ama
e troppo crede.


Let me die.
And who do you think
can comfort me
in thus harsh fate,
in thus great suffering?
Let me die.

Oh Theseus, oh my Theseus,
yes, I still call you mine
for mine you are,
although you flee, cruel one,
far from my eyes.
Turn back, my Theseus,
turn back, Theseus, o God,
turn back to see again the one,
who for you has left her fatherland and kingdom,
and who, staying on these shores,
a prey to cruel and pitiless beasts,
will leave her bones denuded.
Oh Theseus, oh my Theseus,
if you knew, oh God,
if you only knew
how much poor Arianna
is frightened,
perhaps, overcome with remorse,
you would return your prow shorewards again.
But with the serene winds
you sail on happily, while I remain here weeping.
Athens prepares to greet you
with joyful and superb feasts and I remain,
a prey to wild beasts on these solitary shores.
You will be happily embraced by
your old parents and I will not see you again,
oh mother, oh my father.

Where is the faith you
swore me so much?
Is this how you place me
on my antecestors throne?
Are these the crowns
with which you adorn my hair?
Are these the sceptres,
the diamonds and the gold?
To leave me abandoned
for the beast to tear up and devour?
Ah Theseus, ah my Theseus,
would you let me die,
weeping in vain, crying for aid
the wretched Arianna,
who trusted you and gave you glory and life?

Ah, that you do not even reply!
Ah, that your are deaf to my laments!
Oh clouds, oh storms, oh winds,
submerge him in those waves.
Fly, whales and orcs,
and fill up the profound gulfs
with these unworldly limbs!
What am I saying? Ah, what am I raving about?
Wretched that I am, what am I asking?
Oh Theseus, oh my Theseus,
that is, that is not I,
that it is not I who hurled these curses,
my anguish spoke,
the pain spoke,
it was my tongue but not my heart.

Wretched that I am, still I give place
to a hope betrayed,
and despite so much scorn
the fire of love is not put out.
For that put out now, death, the unworthy flames.
Oh mother, oh father,
oh superb dwellings of the ancient kingdom,
where my golden cradle stood!
Oh servants, oh faithful friends –
Ah, unjust fate! –
See where a cruel fortune has led me,
see what pain has been given to me as a heritage
for my love, my faith
and for his betraying me.
That is the fate of one who loves too much
and believes too much.