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Welcome to my "other" life as a classical singer!
Song texts for Recital: From My Pandemic To Yours: Music for our times by Henry Purcell (1659 - 1695) Links: The Great Plague of London (1665 - 1666) Henry Purcell Here is an audio recording of my most recent performance, given at the Eastman School of Music's Memorial Art Gallery on 19th May 2022 in Rochester, NY. The organ is a a beautiful 18th century Italian organ, transported and lovingly rebuilt in the gallery! Listen for the "storm" and "bird" effects in Bess of Bedlam and Come All Ye Songsters!
This was recorded on a cassette player (Edirol) from the front row of the audience. Not bad, though. The program and words are below. Enjoy a selection of wonderful songs from Post-Pandemic London in the late 1600s! |
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Program:
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I Attempt From Love’s Sickness to Fly - John Dryden (The Indian Queen)
Music For a while - John Dryden (Oedipus) Evening Hymn - Dr. William Fuller, Lord-Bishop of Lincoln Lord, What is Man - Dr. William Fuller, Lord-Bishop of Lincoln Tis Nature’s Voice - Nicolas Brady (Ode on St Cecilia's Day) O Solitude - Katherine Philips (after Antoine Girard de Saint-Amant) Sweeter Than Roses - anon Dido’s Lament – Nahum Tate (Dido and Aeneas) If Music Be the Food of Love – Colonel Henry Heveningham What Can We Poor Females Do? – anon Bess of Bedlam - anon Fairest Isle – John Dryden (King Arthur) Come all Ye Songsters - (The Fairy Queen) based on Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream Hark, the ech’ing air - (The Fairy Queen) |
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Texts:
Texts reproduced with permission from lieder.net
I attempt from Love's sickness to fly in vain,
Since I am myself my own fever and pain.
No more now, fond heart, with pride no more swell,
Thou canst not raise forces enough to rebel.
I attempt from Love's sickness, etc..
For Love has more power and less mercy than fate,
To make us seek ruin and on those that hate.
I attempt from Love's sickness, etc..
Since I am myself my own fever and pain.
No more now, fond heart, with pride no more swell,
Thou canst not raise forces enough to rebel.
I attempt from Love's sickness, etc..
For Love has more power and less mercy than fate,
To make us seek ruin and on those that hate.
I attempt from Love's sickness, etc..
Music for a while
Shall all your cares beguile:
Wond'ring how your pains were eas'd
And disdaining to be pleas'd
Till Alecto free the dead
From their eternal bands,
Till the snakes drop from her head,
And the whip from out her hands.
Shall all your cares beguile:
Wond'ring how your pains were eas'd
And disdaining to be pleas'd
Till Alecto free the dead
From their eternal bands,
Till the snakes drop from her head,
And the whip from out her hands.
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!
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!
Lord, what is man, lost man,
That Thou shouldst be so mindful of him?
That the Son of God forsook his glory, His abode,
To become a poor, tormented man!
The Deity was shrunk into a span,
And that for me, O wound'rous love, for me.
Reveal, ye glorious spirits, when ye knew
The way the Son of God took to renew lost man,
Your vacant places to supply;
Blest spirits tell,
Which did excel,
Which was more prevalent,
Your joy or your astonishment,
That man should be assum'd into the Deity,
That for a worm a God should die.
Oh! for a quill, drawn from your wing
To write the praises of th'Eternal Love;
Oh! for a voice like yours to sing
That anthem here, which once you sung above.
Hallelujah!
That Thou shouldst be so mindful of him?
That the Son of God forsook his glory, His abode,
To become a poor, tormented man!
The Deity was shrunk into a span,
And that for me, O wound'rous love, for me.
Reveal, ye glorious spirits, when ye knew
The way the Son of God took to renew lost man,
Your vacant places to supply;
Blest spirits tell,
Which did excel,
Which was more prevalent,
Your joy or your astonishment,
That man should be assum'd into the Deity,
That for a worm a God should die.
Oh! for a quill, drawn from your wing
To write the praises of th'Eternal Love;
Oh! for a voice like yours to sing
That anthem here, which once you sung above.
Hallelujah!
'Tis Nature's Voice; thro' all the moving Wood
Of Creatures understood:
The Universal Tongue to none
Of all her num'rous Race unknown.
From her it learnt the mighty Art
To court the Ear or strike the Heart;
At once the Passions to express and move;
We hear, and straight we grieve or hate, rejoice or love;
In unseen Chains it does the Fancy bind;
At once it charms the Sense and captivates the Mind.
Of Creatures understood:
The Universal Tongue to none
Of all her num'rous Race unknown.
From her it learnt the mighty Art
To court the Ear or strike the Heart;
At once the Passions to express and move;
We hear, and straight we grieve or hate, rejoice or love;
In unseen Chains it does the Fancy bind;
At once it charms the Sense and captivates the Mind.
O solitude, my sweetest choice!
Places devoted to the night,
Remote from tumult and from noise,
How ye my restless thoughts delight!
O solitude, my sweetest choice!
O heav'ns! what content is mine
To see these trees, which have appear'd
From the nativity of time,
And which all ages have rever'd,
To look today as fresh and green
As when their beauties first were seen.
O, how agreeable a sight
These hanging mountains do appear,
Which th' unhappy would invite
To finish all their sorrows here,
When their hard fate makes them endure
Such woes as only death can cure.
O, how I solitude adore!
That element of noblest wit,
Where I have learnt Apollo's lore,
Without the pains to study it.
For thy sake I in love am grown
With what thy fancy does pursue;
But when I think upon my own,
I hate it for that reason too,
Because it needs must hinder me
From seeing and from serving thee.
O solitude, O how I solitude adore!
Places devoted to the night,
Remote from tumult and from noise,
How ye my restless thoughts delight!
O solitude, my sweetest choice!
O heav'ns! what content is mine
To see these trees, which have appear'd
From the nativity of time,
And which all ages have rever'd,
To look today as fresh and green
As when their beauties first were seen.
O, how agreeable a sight
These hanging mountains do appear,
Which th' unhappy would invite
To finish all their sorrows here,
When their hard fate makes them endure
Such woes as only death can cure.
O, how I solitude adore!
That element of noblest wit,
Where I have learnt Apollo's lore,
Without the pains to study it.
For thy sake I in love am grown
With what thy fancy does pursue;
But when I think upon my own,
I hate it for that reason too,
Because it needs must hinder me
From seeing and from serving thee.
O solitude, O how I solitude adore!
Sweeter than roses, or cool evening breeze
On a warm flowery shore, was the dear kiss,
First trembling made me freeze,
Then shot like fire all o'er.
What magic has victorious love!
For all I touch or see since that dear kiss,
I hourly prove, all is love to me.
On a warm flowery shore, was the dear kiss,
First trembling made me freeze,
Then shot like fire all o'er.
What magic has victorious love!
For all I touch or see since that dear kiss,
I hourly prove, all is love to me.
Thy hand, Belinda, darkness shades me;
On thy bosom let me rest.
More I would, but death invades me:
Death is now a welcome guest.
When I am laid in earth,
May my wrongs create
No trouble in thy breast.
Remember me, but ah! forget my fate.
On thy bosom let me rest.
More I would, but death invades me:
Death is now a welcome guest.
When I am laid in earth,
May my wrongs create
No trouble in thy breast.
Remember me, but ah! forget my fate.
If music be the food of love,
Sing on till I am fill'd with joy;
For then my list'ning soul you move
To pleasures that can never cloy.
Your eyes, your mien, your tongue declare
That you are music ev'rywhere.
Pleasures invade both eye and ear,
So fierce the transports are, they wound,
And all my senses feasted are,
Tho' yet the treat is only sound,
Sure I must perish by your charms,
Unless you save me in your arms.
Sing on till I am fill'd with joy;
For then my list'ning soul you move
To pleasures that can never cloy.
Your eyes, your mien, your tongue declare
That you are music ev'rywhere.
Pleasures invade both eye and ear,
So fierce the transports are, they wound,
And all my senses feasted are,
Tho' yet the treat is only sound,
Sure I must perish by your charms,
Unless you save me in your arms.
What can we poor females do
When pressing, teasing lovers sue?
What can we poor females do?
Fate affords no other way,
But denying or complying,
And relenting, or consenting,
Does alike our hopes betray.
When pressing, teasing lovers sue?
What can we poor females do?
Fate affords no other way,
But denying or complying,
And relenting, or consenting,
Does alike our hopes betray.
Bess of Bedlam
From silent shades and the Elysian groves
Where sad departed spirits mourn their loves
From crystal streams and from that country where
Jove crowns the fields with flowers all the year,
Poor senseless Bess, cloth'd in her rags and folly,
Is come to cure her lovesick melancholy.
"Bright Cynthia kept her revels late
While Mab, the Fairy Queen, did dance,
And Oberon did sit in state
When Mars at Venus ran his lance.
In yonder cowslip lies my dear,
Entomb'd in liquid gems of dew;
Each day I'll water it with a tear,
Its fading blossom to renew.
For since my love is dead and all my joys are gone,
Poor Bess for his sake
A garland will make,
My music shall be a groan.
I'll lay me down and die within some hollow tree,
The rav'n and cat,
The owl and bat
Shall warble forth my elegy.
Did you not see my love as he pass'd by you?
His two flaming eyes, if he comes nigh you,
They will burn up your hearts: Ladies beware ye,
Les he should dart a glance that may ensnare ye!
Hark! Hark! I hear old Charon bawl,
His boat he will no longer stay,
And furies lash their whips and call:
Come, come away, come, come away.
Poor Bess will return to the place whence she came,
Since the world is so mad she can hope for no cure.
For love's grown a bubble, a shadow, a name,
Which fools do admire and wise men endure.
Cold and hungry am I grown.
Ambrosia will I feed upon,
Drink Nectar still and sing."
Who is content,
Does all sorrow prevent?
And Bess in her straw,
Whilst free from the law,
In her thoughts is as great, great as a king.
From silent shades and the Elysian groves
Where sad departed spirits mourn their loves
From crystal streams and from that country where
Jove crowns the fields with flowers all the year,
Poor senseless Bess, cloth'd in her rags and folly,
Is come to cure her lovesick melancholy.
"Bright Cynthia kept her revels late
While Mab, the Fairy Queen, did dance,
And Oberon did sit in state
When Mars at Venus ran his lance.
In yonder cowslip lies my dear,
Entomb'd in liquid gems of dew;
Each day I'll water it with a tear,
Its fading blossom to renew.
For since my love is dead and all my joys are gone,
Poor Bess for his sake
A garland will make,
My music shall be a groan.
I'll lay me down and die within some hollow tree,
The rav'n and cat,
The owl and bat
Shall warble forth my elegy.
Did you not see my love as he pass'd by you?
His two flaming eyes, if he comes nigh you,
They will burn up your hearts: Ladies beware ye,
Les he should dart a glance that may ensnare ye!
Hark! Hark! I hear old Charon bawl,
His boat he will no longer stay,
And furies lash their whips and call:
Come, come away, come, come away.
Poor Bess will return to the place whence she came,
Since the world is so mad she can hope for no cure.
For love's grown a bubble, a shadow, a name,
Which fools do admire and wise men endure.
Cold and hungry am I grown.
Ambrosia will I feed upon,
Drink Nectar still and sing."
Who is content,
Does all sorrow prevent?
And Bess in her straw,
Whilst free from the law,
In her thoughts is as great, great as a king.
This song was omitted from the recording
From rosy bow'rs where sleeps the god of Love,
Hither, ye little waiting Cupids, fly:
Teach me in soft, melodious songs to move,
With tender passion, my heart's darling joy.
Ah! let the soul of music tune my voice,
To win dear Strephon, whom my soul enjoys.
Or if more influencing
Is to be brisk and airy,
With a step and a bound,
And a frisk from the ground,
I will trip like any fairy.
As once on Ida dancing,
Were three celestial bodies,
With an air and a face,
And a shape, and a grace,
Let me charm like Beauty's goddess.
Ah! 'tis all in vain,
Death and despair must end the fatal pain,
Cold despair, disguis'd, like snow and rain,
Falls on my breast!
Bleak winds in tempests blow,
My veins all shiver and my fingers glow,
My pulse beats a dead march for lost repose,
And to a solid lump of ice, my poor fond heart is froze.
Or say, ye Pow'rs, my peace to crown,
Shall I thaw myself or drown?
Amongst the foaming billows,
Increasing all with tears I shed,
On beds of ooze and crystal pillows,
Lay down my lovesick head.
Say, say, ye Pow'rs, my peace to crown,
Shall I thaw myself or drown?
No, I'll straight run mad,
That soon my heart will warm;
When once the sense is fled,
Love has no pow'r to charm.
Wild thro' the woods I'll fly,
Robes, locks shall thus be tore;
A thousand deaths I'll die
Ere thus in vain adore.
From rosy bow'rs where sleeps the god of Love,
Hither, ye little waiting Cupids, fly:
Teach me in soft, melodious songs to move,
With tender passion, my heart's darling joy.
Ah! let the soul of music tune my voice,
To win dear Strephon, whom my soul enjoys.
Or if more influencing
Is to be brisk and airy,
With a step and a bound,
And a frisk from the ground,
I will trip like any fairy.
As once on Ida dancing,
Were three celestial bodies,
With an air and a face,
And a shape, and a grace,
Let me charm like Beauty's goddess.
Ah! 'tis all in vain,
Death and despair must end the fatal pain,
Cold despair, disguis'd, like snow and rain,
Falls on my breast!
Bleak winds in tempests blow,
My veins all shiver and my fingers glow,
My pulse beats a dead march for lost repose,
And to a solid lump of ice, my poor fond heart is froze.
Or say, ye Pow'rs, my peace to crown,
Shall I thaw myself or drown?
Amongst the foaming billows,
Increasing all with tears I shed,
On beds of ooze and crystal pillows,
Lay down my lovesick head.
Say, say, ye Pow'rs, my peace to crown,
Shall I thaw myself or drown?
No, I'll straight run mad,
That soon my heart will warm;
When once the sense is fled,
Love has no pow'r to charm.
Wild thro' the woods I'll fly,
Robes, locks shall thus be tore;
A thousand deaths I'll die
Ere thus in vain adore.
Fairest isle, all isles excelling,
Seat of pleasure and of love
Venus here will choose her dwelling,
And forsake her Cyprian grove.
Cupid from his fav'rite nation
Care and envy will remove;
Jealousy, that poisons passion,
And despair, that dies for love.
Gentle murmurs, sweet complaining,
Sighs that blow the fire of love
Soft repulses, kind disdaining,
Shall be all the pains you prove.
Ev'ry swain shall pay his duty,
Grateful ev'ry nymph shall prove;
And as these excel in beauty,
Those shall be renown'd for love.
Seat of pleasure and of love
Venus here will choose her dwelling,
And forsake her Cyprian grove.
Cupid from his fav'rite nation
Care and envy will remove;
Jealousy, that poisons passion,
And despair, that dies for love.
Gentle murmurs, sweet complaining,
Sighs that blow the fire of love
Soft repulses, kind disdaining,
Shall be all the pains you prove.
Ev'ry swain shall pay his duty,
Grateful ev'ry nymph shall prove;
And as these excel in beauty,
Those shall be renown'd for love.
Come all ye songsters of the sky,
Wake and assemble in this wood;
But no ill-boding bird be nigh,
No, none but the harmless, and the good.
Wake and assemble in this wood;
But no ill-boding bird be nigh,
No, none but the harmless, and the good.
Hark! hark the echoing air a triumph sings.
And all around pleas'd Cupids clap their wings.
And all around pleas'd Cupids clap their wings.