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For Voice & Viols
Genarps kyrka
______________________________________________The Genarps kyrka programme, 15th June 1997.
English music from the time of Queen Elizabeth I.All as a sea.
William Byrd (1543-1623).In nomine a 4.
John Taverner (c.1490-1545).Can she excuse my wrongs?
John Dowland (1563-1626).Almain for two lutes.
Anon.Come to me, grief, for ever.
William Byrd.Come again, sweet love doth now invite.
John Dowland.Eccho for ii Lutes.
Francis Pilkington (1565-1638)Though Amaryllis dance in green.
William Byrd.In nomine a 4.
Orlando Gibbons (1583-1625).Ye sacred muses.
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William Byrd.The Wolftooth home page | About Wolftooth | Links from Wolftooth
______________________________________________All as a sea.
From Psalmes, sonnets & songs of sadness and pietie, 1588
All as a sea, the world no other is,
Our selves are ships still tossed to and fro,
And Lo! each man, his love to that or this,
Is like a storm that drives the ship to go,That thus our life in doubt of shipwreck stands:
Our wills the rocks, our want of skill the sands. Our passions be the pirates still that spoil
And overboard casts out our reasons straight;
The mariners that day and night do toil
Be our conceits that do on pleasures wait;Pleasure, master, doth tyrannize the ship
And giveth virtue secretly the nip. The compass is a mind to compass all,
Both pleasure, profit, place and fame for nought;
The winds that blow, men overweening call,
The merchandise is wit full dearly bought:Trial the anchor cast upon experience,
For labour, life and all ado the recompence. Can she excuse my wrongs?
From The first booke of songes or ayres of fowre partes with tableture for the lute, 1597
Can she excuse my wrongs with Virtue's cloak?
Shall I call her good when she proves unkind?
Are those clear fires which vanish into smoke?
Must I praise the leaves where no fruit I find?No no: where shadows do for bodies stand,
Thou may'st be abus'd if thy sight be dim.
Cold love is like to words written on sand,
Or to bubbles which on the water swim.
Wilt thou be thus abused still,
Seeing that she will right thee never?
If thou cans't not o'ercome her will,
Thy love will be thus fruitless ever.Was I so base, that I might not aspire
Unto those high joys which she holds from me?
As they are high, so high is my desire:
If she this deny, what can granted be?If she will yield to that which Reason is,
It is Reason's will that Love should be just.
Dear, make me happy still by granting this,
Or cut off delays if that I die must.
Better a thousand times to die,
Than for to live thus still tormented:
Dear, but remember it was I
Who for thy sake did die contented.Come to me, grief, forever.
Elegy for Sir Philip Sydney, d. 1586
Come to me, grief, for ever,
Come to me, tears, day and night,
Come to me, plaint, ah helpless,
Just grief, heart's tears, plaint worthy.Go from me dread to die now,
Go from me care to live more,
Go from me joys all on earth,
Sidney, O Sidney is dead.He whom the court adorned,
He whom the country courtis'd,
He who made happy his friends,
He that did good to all men.Sidney, the hope of land strange,
Sidney, the flower of England,
Sidney, the spirit heroic,
Sidney is dead, o dead, dead.Dead? No, no but renomed
With the anointed oned:
Honour on earth at his feet,
Bliss everlasting his seat.Come to me, grief, for ever,
Come to me, tears, day and night,
Come to me, plaint, ah helpless,
Just grief, heart's tears, plaint worthy.Come again, sweet love doth now invite
From The first booke of songes or ayres of fowre partes with tableture for the lute, 1597
Come again:
Sweet love doth now invite,
Thy graces that refrain,
To do me due delight,
To see, to hear, to touch, to kiss, to die,
With the again in sweetest sympathy.Come again
That I may cease to mourne,
Through thy unkind disdain:
For now left and forlorn,
I sit, I sigh, I weep, I faint, I die,
In deadly pain and endless misery.All the day
The sun that lends me shine,
By frowns do cause me pine,
And feed me with delay,
Her smiles my spings, that makes my joys to grow,
Her frowns the Winters of my woe:All the night
My sleeps are full of dreams,
My eyes are full of streams.
My heart takes no delight,
To see the fruites and joys that some do find,
And mark the storms are me assign'd.Out alas,
My faith is evey true,
Yet will she never rue,
Nor yield me any grace:
Her eyes of fire, her heart of flint is made,
Whom tears, nor truth may once invade.Gentle Love
Draw forth thy wounding dart,
Thou canst not pierce her heart,
For I that to approve,
By sighs and tears more hot than are thy shafts,
Did tempt while she for triumph laughs.Though Amaryllis dance in green.
From Psalmes, sonnets & songs of sadness and pietie, 1588
Though Amaryllis dance in green
Like fairy queen
And sing full clear
Corinna can with smiling cheer
Yet sith their eyes make hearts so sore
Hey ho, 'chill love no more.My sheep are lost for want of food,
And I so wood,
That all the day,
I sit and watch a herdmaid gay,
Who laughs to see me sigh so sore,
Hey ho, 'chill love no more.Her loving looks, her beauty bright
Is such delight,
That all in vain
I love to like and lose my gain,
For her that thanks me not therefor,
Hey ho, 'chill love no more.Ah, wanton eyes, my friendly foes,
And cause of woes,
Your sweet desire
Breeds flames of ice and freeze in fire.
Ye scorn to see me weep so sore,
Hey ho, 'chill love no more.("'chill"= "I will")
Ye sacred Muses.
Elegy on the death of Thomas Tallis, 23rd November, 1585
Ye sacred Muses, race of Jove,
Whom Music's lore delighteth,
Come down from crystal heav'ns above
To earth, where sorrow dwelleth,
In mourning weeds, with tears in eyes:
Tallis is dead, and Music dies.("weeds"= "clothes")
