Integer vitae scelerisque purus (Michael Pesenti)

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  • (Posted 2015-01-25)   CPDL #34403:        (Sibelius 5)
Editor: Jonathan Goodliffe (submitted 2015-01-24).   Score information: A4, 2 pages, 25 kB   Copyright: CPDL
Edition notes: MusicXML source file is in compressed .mxl format.

General Information

Title: Integer vitae scelerisque purus
Composer: Michael Pesenti
Lyricist: Quintus Horatius Flaccus

Number of voices: 4vv   Voicing: SATB
Genre: SecularFrottola

Language: Latin
Instruments: A cappella

Published: 1504

Description: A 4 part frottola to an ode (I, 22) by Horace

External websites: Source

Original text and translations

Latin.png Latin text

Integer vitae scelerisque purus
non eget Mauris iaculis neque arcu
nec venenatis gravida sagittis,
Fusce, pharetra,

sive per Syrtis iter aestuosas
sive facturus per inhospitalem
Caucasum vel quae loca fabulosus
lambit Hydaspes.

Namque me silva lupus in Sabina,
dum meam canto Lalagen et ultra
terminum curis vagor expeditis,
fugit inermem;

quale portentum neque militaris
Daunias latis alit aesculetis
nec Iubae tellus generat, Ieonum
arida nutrix.

Pone me pigris ubi nulla campis
arbor aestiva recreatur aura,
quod latus mundi nebulae malusque
Iuppiter urget;

pone sub curru nimium propinqui
solis in terra domibus negata:
dulce ridentem Lalagen amabo,
dulce loquentem

English.png English translation

Translation by Thomas Creech
(1659-1700)

A man unstained, and pure from sin,
No quiver fraught with poisoned heads,
No Afric javelin needs,
He has a guard and arms within;

Whether o’er Syrtes’ wandring sands,
Or brutish Caucasus he goes,
Or where Hydaspes flows
And swiftly cuts the savage lands.

Of late, when cares forsook my head,
I strayed and sang ith' Sabine grove
My Lalage, my love,
A wolf saw me unarmed, and fled;

A beast so large did never roar
Ith' Daunian woods, and fright the Swains,
Nor in her burning plains
The lion’s dry-nurse Afric bore.

So place me where no sun appears,
Or wrapped in clouds or drowned in tears;
Where woods with whirling tempests tossed:
Where no relieving summer’s breeze
Does murmur through the trees,
But all lies bound and fixed in frost.

Or place me where the scorching sun
With beams too near, doth burn the zone,
Yet fearless there I'll gladly rove,
Let frowning, or let smiling fate
Or curse, or bless my state
Sweet smiling Lalage I'll always love.