Adiuro vos (Jacob Handl)

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  • (Posted 2015-09-23)   CPDL #36902:   
Editor: Lewis Jones (submitted 2015-09-23).   Score information: A4, 21 pages, 155 kB   Copyright: Personal
Edition notes: Edited from facsimile of original print.

General Information

Title: Adiuro vos
Composer: Jacob Handl
Source of text: Song of Songs 2:7-14

Number of voices: 12vv   Voicing: SSTTBarB.SATTBarB
Genre: SacredMotet

Language: Latin
Instruments: Unknown

First published: 1590

Description:

External websites:

Original text and translations

Latin.png Latin text

Adiuro vos filiae Ierusalem
per capreas cervosque camporum ne suscitetis,
neque evigilare faciatis delictam quo ad usque ipsa velit
vos dilecti mei ecce iste venit saliens
in montibus transiliens colles
similis est dilectus meus capreae hinnuloque cervorum
en ipse stat post parietem nostrum
respiciens per fenestras
prospiciens per cancellos
en dilectus meus loquitur mihi.

Surge propera amica, columba mea, formosa mea et veni,
iam enim hiems transiit imber abiit et recessit.
Flores apparuerunt in terra nostra,
tempus putationis advenit.
Vox turturis audita est in terra nostra,
ficus protulit grossos suos vineae florentes dederunt odorem suum.

Surge propera amica mea, speciosa mea et veni,
columba mea, in foraminibus petrae in caverna maceriae.
Ostende mihi faciem tuam sonet vox tua in auribus meis
vox enim tua dulcis et facies tua decora.

English.png English translation

I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem,
by the roes, and by the hinds of the field,
that ye stir not up, nor awake my love, till he please.
The voice of my beloved! behold, he cometh leaping
upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills.
My beloved is like a roe or a young hart:
behold, he standeth behind our wall,
he looketh forth at the windows,
shewing himself through the lattice.
My beloved spake, and said unto me,

Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.
For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;
The flowers appear on the earth;
the time of the singing of birds is come,
and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land;
The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell.

Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.
O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs,
let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice;
for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.
(KJV)