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1. Love I Obey 2. Bruton Town 3. Geordie 4. Wagoner's Lad 5. Pastime 6. O Death 7. I Once Loved a Lass 8. What if a Day 9. Jack Hall 10. I love a Lasse 11. Hush you bye 12. Echoes / A Hymn to the Evening 13. An Evening Hymn 14. Poor Wayfaring Stranger
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LOVE I OBEY Love, I obey; shoot home thy dart. ‘Tis for a bleeding, wounded heart Whom oft I’ve heard to murmur tones For me would move the ruthless stones. Fly! Fly! Why stays my tardy sense To quench that flaming influence, Which else to cinders straight will burn All virtue in one sacred urn? Virgin more soft than vestal fire That shoots into us chaste desire. Canst thou forgive a savage beast That sacrifices now his breast? Why dost thou only look and sigh As if it breathed forth had thy life, Oh, tyrant Love? For see the red Is turned to paleness; beauty’s dead. May I forsaken be of all Unpitied find no funeral; My ashes through the world be blown, For love is dead, and beauty’s gone.
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BRUTON TOWN In Bruton Town there lived a farmer, Who had two sons and one daughter dear. By day and night they were a-contriving To fill their parents’ heart with fear. One told his secret to none other, But unto his brother this he said: I think our servant courts our sister, I think they have a mind to wed. If he our servant courts our sister, That maid from such a shame I’ll save. I’ll put an end to all their courtship, And send him silent to his grave. A day of hunting was prepared, In thorny woods where briars grew, And there they did that young man murder, And in the brook his fair body threw. Now welcome home, my dear young brothers, Our servant man is he behind? We’ve left him where we’ve been a-hunting, We’ve left him where no man can find.
Tracklist She went to bed crying and lamenting, Lamenting for her heart’s delight. She slept. She dreamed. She saw him by her All bloody red in gory plight. His lovely curls were wet with water; His body all agape with blows. O Love, for thee I’ve suffered murder: I’m lying now where no man knows. Then she rose early the next morning, Unto the yonder brook she sped, There she beheld her own dear jewel In gory plight, all bloody red. She took her kerchief from her pocket, She took his head upon her knee; And then she wiped his dear eyes softly: She wiped those eyes that could not see. And since my brothers have been so cruel To take your tender sweet life away, One grave shall hold us both together, Along with you in death I’ll stay.
GEORDIE As I walked out over London bridge One misty morning early, I overheard a fair pretty maid Weeping for the life of Geordie. Go saddle and bridle my milk white steed, Go saddle and bridle my pony, I will ride to London court To plead for the life of my Geordie.
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The judge looked over his left shoulder, He said fair maid I’m sorry He said fair maid you must be gone For I cannot pardon Geordie. My Geordie will be hanged in a golden chain, ‘Tis not the chain of many, Stole sixteen of the king’s royal deer And he sold them in Bohenny
She rode all day and she rode all night ‘Till she came wet and weary Oh Geordie was walking up the street A combing back her long yellow hair He bid farewell to many She pleaded for the life of Geordie He bid farewell to his own true love Which grieved him worse than any My Geordie never stole nor cow nor calf, He never killed anybody I wish I was on Yonder hill He Stole sixteen of the king’s royal deer, Where kisses I’ve had many And he sold them in Bohenny. My sword and my pistol by my side I’d fight for the life of Geordie. Two pretty babies have I born, The third lies in my body, I’d freely part with them every one If you’d spare the life of Geordie.
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WAGONER’S LAD Oh hard is the fortune of all womankind They’re always controlled, they’re always confined Controlled by their parents until they’re a bride Then slaves to their husbands the rest of their lives. Oh I am a poor girl, my fortune is sad I’ve always been courted by the wagoner’s lad He courted me daily by night and by day And now he is loaded and going away. My parents don’t like him because he is poor They say he’s not worthy of entering my door He works for his living, his money’s his own And if they don’t like him they can leave him alone. Your horses are hungry, go feed them some hay Come sit down beside me as long as you may My horses ain’t hungry, they won’t eat your hay So fare thee well, darling, I’ll be on my way. Your wagon needs greasing, your whip’s for to mend Come sit down beside me as long as you can My wagon is greasy, my whip’s in my hand So fare thee well, darling, no longer to stand.
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O DEATH O death, O death rock me asleep, Bring me to quiet rest; Let pass my weary guiltless ghost Out of my careful breast. Toll on, thou passing bell; Ring out my doleful knell; Let thy sound my death tell. For I must die, There is no remedy. My pains who can express? Alas, they are so strong; My dolour will not suffer strength My life for to prolong. Toll on, thou passing bell; Ring out my doleful knell; Let thy sound my death tell. For I must die, There is no remedy. Farewell, my pleasures past, Welcome, my present pain; I feel my torments so increase That life cannot remain. Cease now, then, passing bell; Rung is my doleful knell; For the sound my death doth tell. Death doth draw nigh; Sound my end dolefully. For now I die.
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I ONCE LOVED A LASS I once loved a lass, and I loved her so well I hated all others that spoke of her ill; But now she’s rewarded me well for my love, For she’s gone to be wed to another. When I saw my love to the church go, With bride and bride-maidens, they made a fine show; And I followed them on with a heart full of woe, For she’s gone to be wed to another. When I saw my love sit down to dine, I sat down beside her and poured out the wine, And I drank to the lass that should have been mine, And now she is wed to another. The men in yon forest they asked of me, “How many strawberries grew in the salt sea?” But I asked them back with a tear in my eye, “How many ships sail in the forest?” Oh dig me a grave and dig it so deep, And cover it over with flowers so sweet, And I’ll turn in for to tak’ a long sleep, And maybe in time I’ll forget her. They dug him a grave and they dug it so deep, And covered it over with flowers so sweet, And he’s turned in for to take a long sleep, And maybe by now he’s forgot her.
WHAT IF A DAY What if a day, or a month, or a year, Crown thy delights with a thousand sweet contentings? May not a change of a night or an hour Crosse thy delights with as many sad tormentings? Fortune, honour, beauty, youth Are but blossoms dying; Wanton pleasure, doting love, Are but shadows flying. All our joys are but toys, Idle thoughts deceiving; None has power of an hour Of the life’s bereaving. Earth’s but a point of the world, and a man Is but a point of the earth compared centre; Shall then the point of a point be so vain, As to triumph in a silly point’s adventure? All in hazard that we have, Here is nothing biding; Days of pleasure are as streams Through faire meadows gliding. Weal or woe, time doth go, Time hath no returning: Secret fates guide our states, Both in mirth and mourning.
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JACK HALL
O my name it is Jack Hall, chimney sweep, chimney sweep, O my name it is Jack Hall, chimney sweep. O my name it is Jack Hall and I’ve robbed both great and small, And my neck shall pay for all when I die, when I die, And my neck shall pay for all when I die. I have twenty pounds in store, that’s no joke, that’s no joke, I have twenty pounds in store, that’s no joke. I have twenty pounds in store and I’ll rob for twenty more, And my neck shall pay for all when I die, when I die, And my neck shall pay for all when I die. O they tell me that in jail I shall die, I shall die, O they tell me that in jail I shall die. O they tell me that in jail, I shall drink no more brown ale, But be dash’d if I ever fail, till I die, till I die, But be dash’d if I ever fail till I die. O I rode up Tyburn Hill in a cart, in a cart, O I rode up Tyburn Hill in a cart. O I rode up Tyburn Hill and t’was there I made my will, Saying: The best of friends must part, so farewell, so farewell, Saying: The best of friends must part, so farewell! Up the ladder I did grope, that’s no joke, that’s no joke, Up the ladder I did grope, that’s no joke. Up the ladder I did grope, and the hangman spread the rope, But never a word said I coming down, coming down, O but never a word said I coming down.
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I LOVE A LASSE I love a lasse, but I cannot show it, I keep a fire that burns within, Rack’d up in embers: Ah could she know it, I might perhaps be lov’d again: For a true love may justly call for friendship love reciprocall. Some gentle courteous winde betray me, A sigh by whispering in her eare, Or let some pitious shower convey me, By dropping on her breast a tear, Or two, or more; the hardest flint, By often drops receives a dint. Shall I then vex my heart and rend it, That is already too too weake; No, no, they say, Lovers may send it, By writing what they cannot speake: Go then my Muse, and let this verse Bring back my Life, or else my Hearse.
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HUSH YOU BYE (My Lady Careys Dompe)
Hush-you-bye, Don’t you cry, Go to sleepy, little baby, When you wake, You shall have a cake, An’ drive those pretty little horses. Hush-you-bye, Don’t you cry, Go to sleepy little baby, Blacks an’ bays, Dapples an’ grays, Coach an’ six little horses. Rock-a-bye, Don’t you cry, Go to sleepy, little baby, Send you to school Ridin’ on a mule An’ drivin’ those pretty little horses. Rock-a-bye, Don’t you cry, Go to sleepy, little baby, Blacks an’ bays, Dapples an’grays, Coach an’ six little horses.
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ECHOES / A HYMN TO THE EVENING Soon as the sun forsook the eastern main The pealing thunder shook the heav’nly plain; Majestic grandeur! From the zephyr’s wing, Exhales the incense of the blooming spring. Soft purl the streams, the birds renew their notes, And through the air their mingled music floats. Through all the heav’ns what beauteous dies are spread! But the west glories in the deepest red: So may our breasts with ev’ry virtue glow, The living temples of our God below! Fill’d with the praise of him who gives the light, And draws the sable curtains of the night, Let placid slumbers sooth each weary mind, At morn to wake more heav’nly, more refin’d; So shall the labours of the day begin More pure, more guarded from the snares of sin. Night’s leaden sceptre seals my drowsy eyes, Then cease, my song, till fair Aurora rise.
Phillis Wheatley (c. 1753–1784), a former Boston slave who became the first Black woman to get published.
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AN EVENING HYMN Now that the Sun hath veil’d his Light, And bid the World goodnight; To the soft Bed my Body I dispose, But where shall my Soul repose? Dear, dear God, even in thy Arms, And can there be any so sweet Security! Then to thy Rest, O my Soul! And singing, praise the Mercy That prolongs thy Days. Hallelujah.
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POOR WAYFARING STRANGER I am a poor wayfarin’ stranger, a travelin’ through this world of woes. And there’s no darkness, toil, danger, In that bright world to which I go. I know dark clouds will gather ‘round me, I know my way is rough and steep. And beauteous fields lie just before me, Where God’s redeemed, their vigils keep. I’m goin’ there to meet my Father. I’m goin’ there, no more to roam, I’m just a goin’ over Jordan, I’m just a goin’ over home.
I’ll soon be free from every trial, my body sleeps in the church yard; I’ll drop the cross of self denial and enter on my great reward. I’m goin’ there to meet my Mother. I’m goin’ there, no more to roam, I’m just a goin’ over Jordan. I’m just a goin’ over home. I want to wear that crown of glory, When I get home to that bright land, I want to shout salvation’s story, In concert with the blood-washed band, I’m going there to see my Saviour, I’m goin’ there, no more to roam, I’m just a going over Jordan, I’m just a going over home.
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ROSEMARY STANDLEY, vocals BRUNO HELSTROFFER, guitar, theorbo & chorus ELISABETH GEIGER, harpsichord, muselaar, organ & chorus MARTIN BAUER, viola da gamba MICHEL GODARD, bugle & serpent Recorded live from 7 to 11 July and from 22 to 25 July 2013 at Studio Sextan-La Fonderie in Malakoff and at Temple du Foyer de l’Âme, Paris.
Sound engineer & Artistic Director, Editing & Mastering: ALBAN SAUTOUR Sound engineer Assistant: LAURENT GUIGONNET Executive Producer: JULIEN DUBOIS Production & Post-production Executive: PAULINE PUJOL Concept & Graphic Design: GAËLLE LÖCHNER MICROPHONES: Neumann U47, Neumann U67, AEA R84, Schoeps MK4, Sanken CU-44x, DPA 4006, DPA 4011, Coles 4038 CONCERTS: Madamelune - sonia@madamelune.com PHOTOGRAPHS: Digipack photos (Rosemary Standley, Elisabeth Geiger &Bruno Helstroffer) & booklet (Michel Godard & Martin Bauer) © Julien Dubois. Page 5: Julia Margaret Cameron The parting of Sir Lancelot and Queen Guinevere, 1874 Albumen print from a collodion glass negative, glued on card 33.8 x 28.9 cm, Musée d’Orsay © photo RMN, Hervé Lewandowski, PHO 1980 10. Page 11: Phillis Wheatley © Boston Public Library. Page 25: Douce Ballads 1, fol.83r, The Forlorn Lover © Bodleian Library, University of Oxford 2011. All other photographs © Collection J.D.
MY LADY CAREYS DOMPE (anon.):
I ONCE LOVED A LASSE:
Royal Appendix MS 58, British Library, London.
The earliest texts are from the 1670s, for example a broadside ballad called
HUSH YOU BYE:
«The Forlorn Lover».
In «The Penguin Book of American
But versions of this song are still performed today,
Folk Songs» compiled by Alan Lomax.
340 years later. A Scottish variant called «I Loved A Lass» was first recorded
O DEATH ROCK ME ASLEEP
by Ewan MacColl with Peggy Seeger in 1956
(ascribed to Ann Boleyn): MS Mus. 371
for the LPClassic Scots Ballads.
(c. 1560), Christ Church, Oxford. WHAT IF A DAY I LOVE A LASS (Dr. John Wilson)
(ascribed to Thomas Campion):
In «Select Musicall Ayres and Dialogues»,
In «An Hour’s Recreation in musicke»
Published by John Playford in 1653
by Richard Allison, 1606.
LOVE, I OBEY (William Lawes):
WAGONER’S LAD: from Buell Kazee
In «the Autograph Songbook» (Lbl Add. MS 31, 432)
PASTIME (ascribed to Henry VIII)
JACK HALL: In «Folk Songs from Somerset», gathered and edited by Cecil. J. Sharp.
AN EVENING HYMN (Henry Purcell,
Words and tune from Mr. William Stokes
words by Dr. William Fuller, late Lord Bishop
at Chew Stoke.
of Lincoln). In «Harmonia Sacra», first book, printed by William Pearson, London, 1714.
BRUTON TOWN : In «Folk Songs from Somerset», gathered and
WAYFARING STRANGER:
edited by Cecil. J. Sharp. Words and melody sung
In «The Penguin Book of American Folk Songs»
by Mrs. Overd of Langport.
compiled by Alan Lomax.
GEORDIE: from Doc Watson.
Alpha 538