Janequin’s dedication to Queen Catherine de’ Medici of the 82 Psalms of David (published posthumously by Le Roy and Ballard in 1559).

Orphée au tems passé (si aux fables faut croire)
De son lut, & doux son de sa harpe d’ivoire
Faisoit bois, & rochers, & les pierres mouvoir,
Des animaux aussi les durs cueurs émouvoir,
Mais il n’a sçeu si bien de sa harpe sonner,
Que des enfers ayt peu ravir ne ramener
Euricide s’amye, Or David ce roy grand
Sonne bien d’autre grace, en (ton) plus excellent,
Car les ames sentens d’enfer l’obscurité
De ce lieu tenebreux les remet en clarté
Par un gratieux chant d’un son armonieux,
Qui descendant en bas remonte jusque aux cieux,
Sa harpe il fait sonner en si parfaictz accords,
Qu’aux mourans il remet pleine vie en leurs cors,
Et revivans il fait que mourans les delivre
De la seconde mort, pour les faire revivre.
Qu’en dittes vous humains? Fut il oncq un vivant
Qui sçeut si bien chanter? & au son si sçavant?
Certes son chant plaisant n’est une voix humaine,
Ains il vient du haut ciel surpassant la seraine,
De tant douce armonie & accord d’un tel maistre
Nous n’avons seulement que l’esprit de la lettre
Traduitte par Marot & par autres esprits
En langage françois sçavans & bien apris
Depuis en chant commun mise, qui plainement
Se chante en tous endroits & ordinairement,
Or, sur ce chant commun, haute princesse & dame,
En qui le ciel benin a donné si belle ame
En parfaites vertus & royalle bonté
Convenans aux effectz de ta grand’ majesté,
Ton treshumble servant, Janequin, par accords
La Musique il a mis, & luy tresbien records
Qu’à ton aureille docte en aucune façon
Ne plaist d’accord communs ouir chanter le son,
Pour à ton noble esprit satisfaire & complaire,
Accords non usités il a sçeu si bien faire
Que les oyant chanter, non seulement plairont
A toy, mais à tous ceux qui jugement auront,
Or, cest oeuvre royal (de David) il ne veut,
A nul autre qu’à toy dedier, & ne peut,
Comme celle qui plus de la grandeur soit digne
D’un tel subject royal, eternel, & insigne,
Doncq’ en gré ce present tresillustre princesse
Prens de ton Janequin, qui en povre vieillesse
Vivant, rien ne luy plaist fors que de t’honorer
Par son art de Musique & ton loz decorer.

***

Orpheus, in times gone by (if you believe the old stories)
With his lute, and the sweet sound of his ivory harp,
Made woods, rocks, and stones to move
And touched the hearts of the cruelest beasts:
Nevertheless, his playing was not sufficient
To bring back from the bounds of Hell
His beloved Eurydice. David, that great king,
Played with a different grace, and other tones
Wherein souls sentenced to eternal darkness
From these obscure places he brought to the light
By his pleasing song, so harmonious
That, descending to the depths, rose to the skies.
His harp gave forth sound such perfect chords
That the hearts of the dying were filled with hope
And reviving the condemned, he delivered them
From a second death, and made them live again.
Oh, humans, what of us? Is there anyone living
Who sings so well? And plays so beautifully?
Certainly, his pleasing sounds were not of mortal made,
But came from heaven on high, and praised the shade.
Of such sweet harmony and masterly sounds
Remain only for us the message of the words
Translated by Marot and other spirits
Into flowing and expressive French
After which were added familiar tunes
Commonly sung in all places.
Thus, on these familiar tunes, great princess and lady,
Who heaven has blessed with such a shining soul,
Full of virtues and royal generosity,
That accord so well with your exalted station,
Your humble servant, Janequin,
Has added chords to the music, remembering
That your learned ear appreciates
Not only the ordinary resonances.
Thus to please and satisfy your noble spirit
New and unusual chords have been used
Which, when sung, will not only please Your Majesty
But to all those who have the opportunity to judge.
This royal work (of David) he intends
To dedicate to none other than you,
Your grandeur in every way
Worthy of the subject.
Thus this gift, illustrious princess
Receive from your Janequin, who, in poor old age
Living, nothing pleases him more that to honor you
With his art of music, and your praises sing.