The Magnificent Seven Series: Love and Fear
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From the deeper shade of soul to hardcore sexy-beat.
Music videos related to love, passion, fears & tears, seduction, possesion, ....
What can YOU do with it? lol
You can do IT (^_~)!
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This page and the playlist are dedicated to a very special person. She is very-very
special for me... the most special one for me! I love you Semara!
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Al cor gentil rempaira sempre amore
Guido Guinizzelli (ca. 1230–1240 — before 1276)
XIII Century
Al cor gentil rempaira sempre amore
come l’ausello in selva a la verdura;
né fe’ amor anti che gentil core,
né gentil core anti ch’amor, natura:
ch’adesso con’ fu ’l sole,
sì tosto lo splendore fu lucente,
né fu davanti ’l sole;
e prende amore in gentilezza loco
così propïamente
come calore in clarità di foco.
Foco d’amore in gentil cor s’aprende
come vertute in petra prezïosa,
che da la stella valor no i discende
anti che ’l sol la faccia gentil cosa;
poi che n’ha tratto fòre
per sua forza lo sol ciò che li è vile,
stella li dà valore:
così lo cor ch’è fatto da natura
asletto, pur, gentile,
donna a guisa di stella lo ’nnamora.
Amor per tal ragion sta ’n cor gentile
per qual lo foco in cima del doplero:
splendeli al su’ diletto, clar, sottile;
no li stari’ altra guisa, tant’è fero.
Così prava natura
recontra amor come fa l’aigua il foco
caldo, per la freddura.
Amore in gentil cor prende rivera
per suo consimel loco
com’ adamàs del ferro in la minera.
Fere lo sol lo fango tutto ’l giorno:
vile reman, né ’l sol perde calore;
dis’omo alter: «Gentil per sclatta torno»;
lui semblo al fango, al sol gentil valore:
ché non dé dar om fé
che gentilezza sia fòr di coraggio
in degnità d’ere’
sed a vertute non ha gentil core,
com’aigua porta raggio
e ’l ciel riten le stelle e lo splendore.
Splende ’n la ’ntelligenzïa del cielo
Deo crïator più che [’n] nostr’occhi ’l sole:
ella intende suo fattor oltra ’l cielo,
e ’l ciel volgiando, a Lui obedir tole;
e con’ segue, al primero,
del giusto Deo beato compimento,
così dar dovria, al vero,
la bella donna, poi che [’n] gli occhi splende
del suo gentil, talento
che mai di lei obedir non si disprende.
Donna, Deo mi dirà: «Che presomisti?»,
sïando l’alma mia a lui davanti.
«Lo ciel passasti e ’nfin a Me venisti
e desti in vano amor Me per semblanti:
ch’a Me conven le laude
e a la reina del regname degno,
per cui cessa onne fraude».
Dir Li porò: «Tenne d’angel sembianza
che fosse del Tuo regno;
non me fu fallo, s’in lei posi amanza».
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FABLE LXIII:
Plutus, Cupid, and Time
Fables (1727) by John Gay (1685—1732)
Of all the burthens mortals bear
Time is most galling and severe;
Beneath his grievous load oppressed
We daily meet a man distressed:
“I’ve breakfasted, and what to do
I do not know; we dine at two.”
He takes a pamphlet or the papers,
But neither can dispel his vapours;
He raps his snuff-box, hums an air,
He lolls, or changes now his chair,
He sips his tea, or bites his nails,
Then finds a chum, and then bewails
Unto his sympathising ear
The burthen they have both to bear.
“I wish all hours were post meridiem,”
Said Tom; “so that I were well rid of ’m.
Why won’t men play piquet and ombre
Before the evening hour grows sombre?
The women do it,—play quadrille
Morning and evening when they will.
They cast away the spleen and vapours
By daylight as by midnight tapers.”
“My case is different,” said Will;
“I have the means, but lack the skill:
I am a courtier, in attendance,
And sleep the time out in dependence.
I should have been until the dark,
But for this rain now, in the park,
And then at court, till coming night
Puts court and all my cares to flight.
Then comes my dinner: then away
From wine unto the stupid play
Till ten o’clock; and then assemblies.
And so my time, which you contemn, flies.
I like to ramble midst the fair,
And nothing I find vexes there,—
Save that time flies: and then the club
Gives men their supper and their rub.
And there we all enjoy ourselves,
Till slumber lays us on her shelves.”
My worthy friends, Time which devours,
Eats up the demons—passing hours:
Were you to books or business bred,
Too fleetly, then, would they be sped;
For time is fugitive as air.
Now lay aside your spleen or care,
And listen unto me and fable—
That is to say, if you are able.
Plutus, one morn, met Master Cupid;
They stood a moment, as though stupid,
Until they recognised each other.
They complimented with some pother,
When Time overtook them in his walk,
And then all three fell into talk
Of what each one had done for man.
And Plutus, purse-proud, he began:
“Let kings or cobblers, for that matter,
Tell of the gifts which we bespatter;
Deem ye, that loyalty encumbers
The congregated courtly numbers?
Be undeceived: the strongest hold
Man has on fellow-man is gold!
Knaves have led senates, swayed debates,
Enriched themselves, and beggared states
Flatter yourselves no more: ’tis riches—
The depth of pocket of the breeches
That rules the roast. Unhappy wight
Is the poor soul with pocket light;
His solitary day descends,
Quite unencumbered by his friends.”
“Of human hearts, and of their yearnings,”
Said Cupid, “I have some discernings;
And own the power of gold. Its power,
Added to beauty as its dower,
Has oftentimes—there’s no disputing—
Added a charm, was passed confuting.
Ay—marriage, as has been professed,
Is but a money-job at best;
But not so hearts, and not so love,—
They are the power of gold above.
Those who have true love known and tried,
Have every pettier want defied;
They nestle, and, beneath the storm,
In their own love lie snug and warm.
They every selfish feeling smother,
And one lives only for the other.”
Then Time, who pulled his forelock, said:
“To love and money man is wed,
And very apt are both to flout me;
And, if they could, would do without me.
Fools! I supply the vital space
In which they move, and run their race;
Without me they would be a dream.
Behold the miser! does he deem
Those hoards are his? So long—no more—
Than I am with him, is the store.
Soon from him as I pass away,
His heir will lavish them with play.
To arts and learning, matins’ chime,
Vespers and midnight, seizing time,
I never know an idle hour
Love not more fugitive in bower.
But I have heard coquettes complain
That they have let the seasons wane,
Nor caught me in my flight; and sorrowed
To see the springtide was but borrowed—
Not permanent—and so had wasted
The tide of joy they never tasted.
But myriads have their time employed,
And myriads have their time enjoyed.
Why then are mortals heedless grown,
Nor care to make each hour their own?
They should beware how we may sever,
At unawares, once and for ever!”
Cupid and Plutus understood
Old Time was man’s supremest good:
To him they yielded, and confessed
Time is of godlike blessings—best.
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The Hunting Of Cupid (1591)
by George Peele (1559—1596)
On the snowie browes of Albion.
Sueet woodes sueet running brookes,
yt chide in a pleasant tune and make quiet murmur,
leaving the lilies,
mints and waterflowers in ther gentle glide.
Making her face the marke of his wondring eies
and his eyes the messengers of his woundit hart.
Like a candle keepith but a litil roome zet blazeth round about.
Heardgroome wt his strauberrie lasse.
Some wt his sueet hart making false position
putting a schort sillabe wher a long one should be.
Some a false supposition.
To celebrate mistres holiday in Idlenesse.
Love
What thing is love (for wel I wot) love is a thing
it is a pricke, it is a sting
it is a prettie, prettie thing
it is a fire, it is a cole
whose flame creepes in at eurie hole.
and is [as] my wit doth best devise
loves dwelling is in ladys eies:
from whence do glance loves piercing darts
that mak such holes into or harts
and al the world herin accord
love is a great and mightie lord
And when he list to mount so hie
With Venus he in heaven doth lie
And ever more hath been a god
Since Mars and sche plaid even and od.
Kis a litle and use not.
Q:
Why kissings good.
R:
To stirre zour bloud to make zou wel dispos'd to play.
ab aquilone omne malum.
wold have moued teares in vreath herselfe.
wrinckled sorrow sate in furrowes of a faire face.
famous for his il fortune.
zou that think ther is no heaven but on earth.
zou that sucke poison insteed of honney.
he excedeth fiends in crueltie and fortune in unconstancie.
Set up Cynthea by day and Citherea by nigt sche strakid his head and mist his hornes.
who bluntly bespake her grew this sueet rose in this soure stalke
Cupids Arrowes
At Venus entreate for Cupid her sone
these arrowes by Vlcan are cunningly done
the first is love the second shafte is hate
but this is hope from whence sueet comfort springs
this jelousie in bassest minds doth duell
his mettall Vlcan's Cyclops fetcht from Hel
A smaking kis that wakt me wt the dine knew good and eschew it praise chastnesse
and follow lustful love like the old [.....] al quicklie com home by weeping crosse.
highest imperial orbe and throne of the thunder Et non morieris inultus.
schelter and shade. holdeth them faster than Vlcan's fine wires kept Mars.
a song to be sung for a wager a dish of damsons new gathered off the trees.
Melampus when wil love be voide of feares
when jelousie hath nather eies nor eires
Melampus tel me when is love best fed
when it hath sucke the sueet yt ease hath bred
Licoris as sueet to him as licorice.
Cor sapit et [.....] a hot liver must be in a lover.
To commend anay thing is the Italian way of crauing.
my hart is like a point of geometrie indiuisible,
and wher it goes it goes al.
Hard hart that did thy reed (poore shephard) brake
thy reed yt was the trumpet of thy wit
Zet thought unworthie sound thy phenix's praise
and with this slender pipe her glorie raise
Cupid enraged to see a thousand boyes
as faire as he sit shooting in her eies
fell doune and sche
pIuckt al his plumes and made herselfe a fan
suering him her true litle seruing man.
Muse chuse
My mistres feeds the ayre ayre feeds not her
lyt of the lyt sche is, delyt supreame.
Zet so far from the lytness of her sex
for sche is the bird whose name doth end in X.
Not clouds cast from the spungie element
nor darknesse shot from Orcus pitchie eyes
Zet both her shines vailed wt her arche beauties
her words such quickning odors cast
as raise the sicke and make the soundest thinke
ayre is not wholsome, til her walke be past
more then the fontaynes til the vnicornes drinke
a thousand echoes vat upon her voice.
Cupid
Those milkie mounts he eurie morning hants
wher to their drink his mothers doues he calls.
in my younger dayes when my witts ran a wool gathering
some prettie lye he coined.
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“Why did she love him? Curious fool!
—be still—
Is human love the growth of human will?” ~ Lord George Gordon Noel Byron
(1788-1824), Lara, Canto II (1814)
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“Give, you gods,
Give to your boy, your Caesar,
The rattle of a globe to play withal,
This gewgaw world, and put him cheaply off;
I'll not be pleased with less than [Semara]” ~ John Dryden (1631-1700),
All for Love, Act II, Scene ii (1678)
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