The Penguin Book of English Song Page 3

  John Skelton’s zaniness is diminished by tampering with his spelling and punctuation (just as Mussorgsky’s raw individuality is smoothed out in Rimsky-Korsakov’s version of Boris Godunov). It’s only by reading the poems of Robert Southwell in their original form that we can involve ourselves in the experiences of the poet entangled in the turmoil of post-Reformation Europe – to change the orthography in Britten’s settings of ‘This little babe’ (‘This little Babe, so fewe daies olde’) and ‘In freezing winter night’ (‘In freesing Winter nighte’) is to deny the reader the experience of appreciating the poems exactly as they appeared, clandestinely and illicitly, from the printing presses of the period. And by reproducing the authentic spelling of Traherne’s Centuries (see Finzi’s Dies Natalis), we become aware that the poet’s use of capitals frequently gives emphasis to certain words.

  The orthography of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century writers is not difficult if the words are read aloud and a few basic peculiarities are borne in mind: apostrophes are often used to indicate elision, as in John Donne; many possessive apostrophes are omitted; the ending -ed is usually pronounced; ‘then’ and ‘than’ and ‘thorough’ and ‘through’ are often interchangeable; ‘to’ is occasionally printed for ‘too’. Although it is sometimes difficult to detect a consistent principle governing the erratic spelling of the Elizabethan period, during which a word can appear spelt several different ways within the same poem, and although it must be borne in mind that the orthography and punctuation of a poem were often decided by the printer – especially when the poem was an extract from a play – to read a poem in its original orthography is part of our aesthetic response to poetry.

  Later writers also had their orthographical idiosyncrasies. William Blake’s ‘Illuminated Books’ are a case in point. The spelling and punctuation of the fifty-four plates that Blake made for the Songs of Innocence and of Experience should not be tampered with, since the simplicity of these poems is harmed when editors impose an over-sophisticated punctuation. The use of ampersands, the absence of commas, apostrophes, capital letters and full stops never interferes with the sense and should be honoured – even though it has not been possible to reproduce Blake’s ‘long s’. The erratic spelling, irregular grammar and virtual absence of punctuation of John Clare’s poetry allow us an insight into his madness that is denied us when editors meddle with his verse. Elizabeth Barrett Browning, like Blake, preferred ampersands to ‘and’s, tended to use two rather than three ellipses (. .) and often used equal signs (=) for dashes in her manuscripts – see the British Library manuscript notebook of Sonnets from the Portuguese; to change her orthography would be as ill-advised and perverse as altering Emily Dickinson’s idiosyncratic spelling and punctuation, although we have not replicated typographically Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s exclamation marks which lack the point. When vocal scores have modernized a poet’s spelling and punctuation, we have reinstated the original version.

  Footnotes provide information about the more recondite classical and learned references, difficult syntax and first performances, and give biographical details relevant to either composer or poet. Biography – pace the deconstructionists – enables singer, pianist and listener to engage more fully with a poem and its musical setting. Information about Thomas Hardy’s relationships, for example with Elizabeth Bishop, Emma Gifford, Louisa Harding, Florence Henniker, Fanny Hurden and Julia Martin, can only deepen a performer’s interpretation of Hardy songs by Ireland, Finzi and others. Or as D. H. Lawrence put it, referring to his own poetry in his introductory Note to The Collected Poems (1928): ‘It seems to me that no poetry, not even the best, should be judged as if it existed in the absolute, in the vacuum of the absolute. Even the best poetry, when it is at all personal, needs the penumbra of its own time and place and circumstance to make it full and whole. If we knew a little more of Shakespeare’s self and circumstance how much more complete the Sonnets would be to us, how their strange, torn edges would be softened and merged into a whole body!’ The Penguin Book of English Song gathers together in a single volume a huge amount of information about English Song that will assist musicians in performing these works and enlighten all those enthusiasts who delight in the fusion of words and music, which has produced countless moments of incandescent magic.

  Richard Stokes, London 2016

  GEOFFREY CHAUCER

  (c.1343–1400)

  In Chauser I am sped,

  His tales I have red;

  His mater is delectable,

  Solacious, and commendable;

  His Englysh well alowed,

  So as it is enprowed,

  For as it is enployd,

  There is no Englysh voyd,

  At those days moch commended;

  And now men wold have amended

  His Englyssh, whereat they barke

  And mar all they warke.

  Chaucer, that famus clerke,

  His termes were not darke,

  But pleasaunt, easy and playne;

  Ne worde he wrote in vayne.

  JOHN SKELTON: Phyllyp Sparowe (?1505)

  The Canterbury Tales were most probably written – in Middle English – during the final twenty years of Chaucer’s life; in other words, it had taken more than 300 years after the Norman Conquest of 1066 for the English tongue to evolve into the language that we can still read today without the trappings of scholarship – which cannot be said of Gawain and the Green Knight, for example, a work which used the more archaic West Midlands dialect. When Lord Harewood interviewed Benjamin Britten in the series People Today (23 June 1960, BBC Home Service), the composer reminisced on how Auden had introduced him to Chaucer for the first time: ‘I’d always imagined that was a kind of foreign language, but as he [Auden] read it, which was very well, I understood almost immediately what it meant, and I find now that it isn’t so difficult to read – one must just have confidence and read ahead and then the meaning comes very strongly, very easily.’ A glance at the language of Vaughan Williams’s Merciles Beaute reveals how accessible Chaucer’s East Midlands language is to the modern eye and ear. The manuscript of these poems, attributed to Chaucer, is held by Magdalene College, Cambridge, and printed by the Chaucer Society. The work is subtitled ‘A Triple Roundel’, which reminds us that it was Chaucer who introduced the rondel into England from France, though his form of the genre differs from that used by Charles d’Orléans, in that six of the thirteen lines are used as refrains.

  Very little is known of Chaucer’s life between 1360 and 1367, although he married in 1366 and had two sons: Lewis (to whom he dedicated A Treatise on the Astrolabe) and Thomas. Edward III offered him a pension in 1367. He spent much time abroad on diplomatic missions between about 1368 and 1378, and during the same decade probably received the patronage of John of Gaunt. He was given a house in Aldgate in 1374 and lived there for just over ten years. It was in 1374 that he became Controller of the Customs for wool, a post he held for some ten years, before he left the Custom House in 1385 and moved to Kent, which he represented in Parliament and where he was a Justice of the Peace. It was during those years that he translated Boethius’s Consolation of Philosophy, wrote Troilus and Criseyde and The Parliament of Fowles and drafted the first stories that were later to appear in The Canterbury Tales. He seems to have begun the Prologue in 1387. In 1389 he was appointed, perhaps by Richard II himself, Clerk of the King’s Works, a post he resigned in 1391, to become Deputy Forester in the royal forest of Petherton in Somerset. Despite receiving a number of grants from Richard II, he was continually in debt during the final decade of his life. He died in late October 1400 in a house that he had leased in the gardens of Westminster Abbey, where he is buried. Chaucer’s career as a courtier, diplomat and civil servant enabled him to observe a huge variety of human kind; and he had the privilege of writing for an aristocratic audience who, he knew, would both understand and accept him.

  RALPH VAUGHAN WILLIAMS

  Merciles Beaute

  for sop
rano or tenor, two violins and cello (1921/1922)1

  I

  Your yen2 two wol slee3 me sodenly:

  I may the beauté of hem not sustene,

  So woundeth hit thurghout my herte kene.

  And but your word wol helen4 hastily

  My hertës wounde, while that hit is grene,

  Your yen two wol slee me sodenly:

  I may the beautee of hem not sustene.

  Upon my trouthe I sey you feithfully,

  That ye ben of my lyf and deeth the quene,

  For with my deeth the trouthe shal be sene:

  Your yen two wol slee me sodenly;

  I may the beauté of hem not sustene,

  So woundeth it thrurghout my herte kene.

  (Bax, Finzi, Gurney)

  II

  So hath your beautee fro your herte chaced

  Pitee, that me ne availeth not to pleyne;

  For Daunger halt your mercy in his cheyne.

  Giltles my deeth thus han ye me purchaced;

  I sey you sooth, me nedeth not to feyne5:

  So hath your beautee fro your herte chased

  Pitee, that me ne availeth not to pleyne.

  Allas! that Nature hath in you compassed

  So greet beautee, that no man may atteyne

  To mercy, though he sterve for the peyne!

  So hath your beautee fro your herte chaced

  Pitee, that me ne availeth not to pleyne;

  For Daunger halt your mercy in his cheyne.

  (Bax, Rubbra)

  III

  Syn I fro Love escaped am so fat,6

  I never thenk to ben in his prison lene;

  Syn I am free, I counte him not a beane.

  He may answere, and seye this or that;

  I do no fors,7 I speke right as I mene:

  Syn I fro Love escaped am so fat,

  I never thenk to be in his prison lene.

  Love hath my name ystrike out of his sclat8,

  And he is strike out of my bokes clene

  For evermo; this is non other mene9.

  Syn I fro Love escaped am so fat,

  I never thenk to ben in his prison lene;

  Syn I am free, I counte him not a bene.

  SIR GEORGE DYSON: from The Canterbury Pilgrims (1931)1

  General Prologue

  [Prologue]

  Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote2

  The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,

  And bathed every veine in swich licour3

  Of which vertu engendred is the flour;4

  Whan Zephirus5 eek with his sweete breeth

  Inspired hath in every holt and heeth

  The tendre croppes6, and the yonge sonne

  Hath in the Ram7 his halve cours yronne,

  And smale foweles maken melodie,

  That slepen al the night with open ye

  (So priketh hem nature in hir corages);8

  Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,

  And palmeres9 for to seken straunge strondes,

  To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;10

  And specially from every shires ende

  Of Engelond to Caunterbury they wende,

  The hooly blisful martir for to seke,11

  That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke12.

  Bifil13 that in that seson on a day,

  In Southwerk at the Tabard14 as I lay

  Redy to wenden on my pilgrimage

  To Caunterbury with ful devout corage,

  At night was come into that hostelrie

  Wel nine and twenty in a compaignie,

  Of sondry folk, by aventure yfalle15

  In felaweshipe, and pilgrimes were they alle,

  That toward Caunterbury wolden ride.

  The chambres and the stables weren wide,

  And wel we weren esed atte beste16.

  And shortly, whan the sonne was to reste,

  So hadde I spoken with hem everichon

  That I was of hir felaweshipe anon,

  And made forward erly for to rise,

  To take oure wey ther as I yow devise.

  But nathelees, whil I have time and space,

  Er that I ferther in this tale pace,

  Me thinketh it acordaunt to resoun17

  To telle yow al the condicioun

  Of ech of hem, so as it semed me,

  And whiche they weren, and of what degree,

  And eek in what array that they were inne;

  And at a knight than wol I first biginne.

  WILLIAM DUNBAR

  (?1456–?1513)

  Sometimes Dunbar is a blinded, blundering, earthy giant, sometimes he has the vastness and strength of a genial, blustering, boisterous north wind, – a geniality that can blacken and turn dangerous. Yet even when he is most wind-like, his spirit has at the same time a queerly animal quality, – almost a smell; his genius has a terrible animal force, stinking and rank like that of Swift; but it is for the most part a genial and friendly rankness, unlike that of Swift. This rank darkness and animal stink is present, or can be present, in nearly all genius, but in most, ‘the angel that stands near the naked man’ has interfused it with sweetness and light.

  EDITH SITWELL: A Poet’s Notebook (1943)

  Little is known of Dunbar’s life that is certain. Mention is made of a William Dunbar who studied at St Andrew’s, obtaining a bachelor’s degree in 1477 and a master’s in 1479. There seems to be no documentary evidence of his whereabouts between 1479 and 1500, but it has often been deduced from his poems that he was a Franciscan novice, became a preaching friar and travelled abroad in the King’s service. He was granted a royal pension of £10 in 1500, and by 1504 had taken priest’s orders. He probably died at the Battle of Flodden Field. Among his greatest poems are ‘The Thrissil and the Rois’ (1503) and ‘The Dance of the Sevin Deidly Synnis’ (1507). The ‘Tua Mariit Wemen and the Wedo’, which deals with three women who discuss their experiences of marriage, is reminiscent of Chaucer’s satire on women in the ‘Wife of Bath’s Prologue’ in the Canterbury Tales. Dunbar’s ‘The Lament for the Makaris’ is an elegy about the ephemerality of life, and laments the passing, among other figures, of Chaucer and Gower. ‘The Flyting of Dunbar and Kennedie’ (a flyting is a Scots literary form that blends literary criticism and lampoon) displays Dunbar’s Rabelaisian humour. Some eighty poems survive in manuscript, with no obvious line of development.

  FRANCIS GEORGE SCOTT: from Scottish Lyrics III (1934)

  Rorate cœli desuper

  [Of the nativitie of Christ] (1922)1

  Rorate celi desuper.2

  Hevins distill your balmy schouris,

  For now is rissin the bricht day ster

  Fro the ros Mary, flour of flouris;

  The cleir sone quhome no clud devouris,

  Surmunting Phebus in the est,

  Is cummin of his hevinly touris

  Et nobis Puer natus est.3

  [Archangellis, angellis, and dompnationis,4

  Tronis, potestatis, and marteiris seir,

  And all ye hevinly operationis,

  Ster, planeit, firmament, and spear,

  Fyre, er, air, and watter cleir,

  To him gife loving, most and lest,

  That come in to so meik maneir

  Et nobis Puer natus est.

  Synnaris, be glaid and penance do

  And thank your maker hairtfully,

  For he that ye mycht nocht cum to

  To yow is cumin full humly;

  Your saulis with his blud to by

  And lous yow of the feindis arrest,

  And only of his awin mercy

  Pro nobis Puer natus est.

  All clergy do to him incline

  And bow unto that barne benyng,

  And do your observance devyne

  To him that is of kingis king;

  Ensence his altar, reid and sing

  In haly kirk, with mynd degest,

  Him honouring attour all thing

&nbs
p; Qui nobis Puer natus est.

  Celestiall fowlis in the are,

  Sing with your nottis upoun hicht,

  In firthis and in forrestis fair

  Be myrthfull now, at all your mycht;

  For passit is your dully nycht,

  Aurora hes the cluddis perst,

  The son is rissin with glaidsum lycht,

  Et nobis Puer natus est.

  Now spring up, flouris, fra the rute,

  Revert yow upwart naturaly,

  In honour of the blissit frute5

  That rais up fro the rose the rose Mary;

  Lay out your levis lustily,

  Fro deid tak lyfe now at the lest

  In wirschip of that Prince wirthy

  Qui nobis Puer natus est.]

  Syng hevin imperiall6, most of hicht,

  Regions of air mak armony;

  All fishe in flud and foull of flicht

  Be myrthfull and mak melody;

  All Gloria in excelsis cry,

  Hevin, erd, se, man, bird, and best:

  He that is crownit abone the sky

  Et nobis Puer natus est.

  RONALD CORP: from Flower of Cities (2000)1

  To the City of London

  London, thou art of townes A per se.

  Soveraign of cities, semeliest in sight,

  Of high renoun, riches, and royaltie;

  Of lordis, barons, and many goodly knyght;

  Of most delectable lusty ladies bright;

  Of famous prelatis in habitis clericall;

  Of merchauntis full of substaunce and myght:

  London, thou art the flour of Cities all.

  […]

  Strong be thy wallis that about the standis;

  Wise be the people that within the dwellis;

  Fresh is thy ryver with his lusty strandis;

  Blith be thy chirches, wele sownyng be thy bellis;