Cursed be the looks
Claudio Monteverdi
Cursed be the looks
that have set my heart on fire.
Alas! unhappy me, for I suffer
cruel torment and will surely die,
nor can any but you ease my suffering.
Cursed be the looks
that have set my heart on fire.
Cursed be the arrow
that has wounded me, of which I'll die.
She wills it so, my sun,
she wills it, who despises me with all her might.
What shall I do?
Cursed be the arrow
that has wounded me, of which I'll die.
The pitiless lady, death to me,
who dealt this blow would have it so.
She makes light of my ardor,
wishes me to suffer pain and death.
Here I'll die this grievous day.
The pitiless lady, death to me,
who dealt this blow would have it so.