Monday, April 18, 2016

Here's the script from our Apr. 23rd 'Sweet Swan of Avon' season finale at Heliconian Hall. 

8PM. Heliconian Hall, 35 Hazelton Ave. near Bay Subway

Hallie Fishel sings, John Edwards plays lute, Christopher Verrette leads the string band and Seth Lerer reads. 

Single tickets at the door $30/$20 students & seniors

Shakespeare's Sorrows

Prelude – Anon.
Richard II I:3
Gaunt. Shorten my dayes thou canst with sudden sorow,
And plucke nights from me, but not lend a morrow:
Thou canst helpe time to furrow me with age,
But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage:
Thy word is currant with him, for my death,
But dead, thy kingdome cannot buy my breath.

Song by Dowland
From silent night, true register of moanes,
From saddest Soule consumde with deepest sinnes,
From hart quite rent with sighes, and heavie groanes,
My wayling Muse her wofull work begins.
And to the world brings tunes of sad despaire,
Sounding nought else but sorrow griefe and care.
Lachrimae Antique – John Dowland

The text of the previous song is by Robert, Earl of Essex
Hamlet IV:5
Ophe. There's Fennell for you, and Columbines: ther's
Rew for you, and heere's some for me. Wee may call it
Herbe-Grace a Sundaies: Oh you must weare your Rew
with a difference. There's a Daysie, I would give you
some Violets, but they wither'd all when my Father dy-
ed: They say, he made a good end;

Song by Thomas Morley
O, griefe, even on the bud that fairely flouered,
The sun hath lowered,
And ah that brest which Love durst never venture,
Bold death did enter.
Pitie O heavens that have my love in keeping,
My cries and weeping.
Lachrimae Antique Novae – Dowland

Hamlet I:2
Ham. Seemes Madam? Nay, it is: I know not Seemes:
'Tis not alone my Inky Cloake (good Mother)
Nor Customary suites of solemne Blacke,
Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath,
No, nor the fruitfull River in the Eye,
Nor the dejected haviour of the Visage,
Together with all Formes, Moods, shewes of Griefe,
That can denote me truly. These indeed Seeme,
For they are actions that a man might play:
But I have that Within, which passeth show;
These, but the Trappings, and the Suites of woe.

Song by Dowland
In darknesse let me dwell the ground shall sorrow be,
The roofe Dispaire to barre all cheerfull light from mee,
The wals of marble blacke that moistened still shall weepe,
My musicke hellish jarring sounds to banish friendly sleepe.
Thus wedded to my woes and bedded to my Tombe,
O let me living die, till death, till death doe come
   In darknesse let me dwell.
Lachrimae Gementes – Dowland

The Tempest I:2
Fer. Where shold this Musick be? I'th aire, or th'earth?
It sounds no more: and sure it waytes upon
Some God 'oth' Iland, sitting on a banke,
Weeping againe the King my Fathers wracke.
This Musicke crept by me upon the waters,
Allaying both their fury, and my passion
With it's sweet ayre: thence I have follow'd it
(Or it hath drawne me rather) but 'tis gone.
No, it begins againe.

Song by Dowland
Come yee heavy states of night,
Doe my fathers spirit right,
Soundings balefull let mee borrow,
Burthening my song with sorrow,
Come sorrow come hir eies that sings,
By thee are turned into springs.

Come you Virgins of the night,
That in Dirges sad delight,
Quier my Anthems, I doe borrow
Gold nor pearle, but sounds of sorrow:
Come sorrow come hir eies that sings,
By thee are tourned into springs.
Lachrimae Tristes – Dowland

Measure for Measure III:1
Duke. Be absolute for death: either death or life
Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life:
If I do loose thee, I do loose a thing
That none but fooles would keepe: a breath thou art,
Servile to all the skyie-influences
That dost this habitation where thou keepst
Hourely afflict: Meerely, thou art deaths foole,
For him thou labourst by thy flight to shun,
And yet runst toward him still.

Song by John Danyel
The first part.
Greefe keep within and scorne to shew but teares,
Since Joy can weepe as well as thou :
Disdaine to sigh for so can slender cares,
Which but from Idle causes grow.
Doe not looke forth unlesse thou didst know how
To looke with thine owne face, and as thou art,
And onely let my hart,
That knowes more reason why,
Pyne, fret, consume, swell, burst and dye.

Henry VI Pt. III II:1
Rich. I cannot weepe: for all my bodies moysture
Scarse serves to quench my Furnace-burning hart:
Nor can my tongue unloade my hearts great burthen,
For selfe-same winde that I should speake withall,
Is kindling coales that fires all my brest,
And burnes me up with flames, that tears would quench.
To weepe, is to make lesse the depth of greefe:

The second part
Drop not myne eyes nor Trickle downe so fast,
For so you could doe oft before,
In our sad farewells and sweet meetings past,
And shall his death now have no more ?
Can niggard sorrow yeld no other store :
To shew the plentie of afflictions smart,
Then onely thou poore hart,
That knowst more reason why,
Pyne, Fret, Consume, Swell, Burst and Dye.

Henry VI Pt. II III:2
Qu. Might liquid teares, or heart-offending groanes,
Or blood-consuming sighes recall his Life;
I would be blinde with weeping,

The third part
Have all our passions certaine proper vents, 
And sorrow none that is her owne ?
But she must borow others complements,
To make her inward feelings knowne ?
Are Joyes delights and deathes compassion showne,
With one lyke face and one lamenting part ?
Then onely thou poore hart
That know'st more reason why,
Pyne, Fret, Consume, Swell, Burst and Dye.
Lachrimae Coactae – Dowland


Sonnet 85
My toung-tide Muse in manners holds her still,
While comments of your praise richly compil'd,
Reserve their Character with goulden quill,
And precious phrase by all the Muses fil'd.
I thinke good thoughts, whilst other write good wordes,
And like unlettered clarke still crie Amen,
To every Himne that able spirit affords,
In polisht forme of well refined pen.
Hearing you praisd, I say 'tis so, 'tis true,
And to the most of praise adde some-thing more,
But that is in my thought, whose love to you
(Though words come hind-most) holds his ranke before,
   Then others, for the breath of words respect,
   Me for my dombe thoughts, speaking in effect.

Song by Dowland
Unquiet thoughts your civill slaughter stint,
And wrap your wrongs within a pensive heart:
And you my tongue that makes my mouth a mint,
And stamps my thoughts to coine them words by art,
Be still: for if you ever do the like,
Ile cut the string that makes the hammer strike.

But what can stay my thoughts they may not start,
Or put my tongue in durance for to die?
When as these eyes, the keyes of mouth and hart,
Open the locke where all my love doth lie;
Ile seale them up within their lids for ever:
So thoughts, and words, and looks shall die together.

How shall I then gaze on my mistresse eyes?
My thoghts must have som vent: else hart wil break.
My tongue would rust as in my mouth it lies,
If eyes and thoughts were free, and that not speake.
Speake then, and tell the passions of desire;
Which turns mine eies to floods, my thoghts to fire.
Lachrimae Amantis – Dowland

Pericles IV:3
Gow.  And Pericles in sorrowe all devour'd,
With sighes shot through, and biggest teares ore-showr'd.
Leaves Tharsus, and againe imbarques, hee sweares
Never to wash his face, nor cut his hayres:
Hee put on sack-cloth, and to Sea he beares,
A Tempest which his mortall vessell teares.
And yet hee rydes it out,

Song by Dowland
Sorrow come, lend true repentant teares,
To a woefull wretched wight,
Hence dispair with thy tormenting feares:
O doe not my poor heart affright,
Pitty, help now or never,
Mark me not to endlesse paine,
Alack I am condempned ever,
No hope, nor help there doth remain,
But down, down, down, down I fall,
Down and arise I never shall.
Lachrimae Verae – Dowland

Sonnet 30
When to the Sessions of sweet silent thought,
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lacke of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new waile my deare times waste:
Then can I drowne an eye (un-us'd to flow)
For precious friends hid in deaths dateles night,
And weepe a fresh loves long since canceld woe,
And mone th'expence of many a vannisht sight.
Then can I greeve at greevances fore-gon,
And heavily from woe to woe tell ore
The sad account of fore-bemoned mone,
Which I new pay as if not payd before.
   But if the while I thinke on thee (deare friend)
   All losses are restord, and sorrowes end.

Song by Dowland
Flow my tears fall from your springs,
Exilded for ever: let mee mourne,
Where nightes black bird hir sad infamy sings,
There let mee live forlorne.

Downe vaine lightes shine you no more,
No nightes are dark enough for those
That in dispaire their lost fortuns deplore,
Light doth but shame disclose.

Never may my woes be relieved,
Since pittie is fled,
And teares and sighes and grones my wearie dayes
Of all joyes have deprived.

From the highest spire of contentment
My fortune is throwne,
And feare and griefe and paine for my deserts
Are my hopes since hope is gone.

Harke you shadowes that in darkness dwell,
Learne to contemne light
Happie they that in hell
Feele not the worlds despite.
The Image of Melancholly – Antony Holborne

Thomas More 
Moo…. youle put downe straingers
kill them cutt their throts possesse their howses
and leade the majestie of lawe in liom
to slipp him lyke a hound; say nowe the king
as he is clement, yf thoffendor moorne
shoold so much com to short of your great trespas
as but to banysh you, whether woold you go.
what Country by the nature of your error
shoold gyve you harber go you to ffraunc or flanders
to any Jarman province, spane or portigall
nay any where that not adheres to Ingland
why you must needs be straingers. woold you be pleasd
to find a nation of such barbarous temper
that breaking out in hiddious violence
woold not afoord you, an abode on earth
whett their detested knyves against your throtes
spurne you lyke doggs, and lyke as yf that god
owed not nor made not you, nor that the elaments
wer not all appropriat to your Comforts.
but Charterd unto them, what woold you thinck
to be thus usd, this is the straingers case
all and this your montanish inhumanyty

Motet by Orlando Lassus
Timor et tremor venerunt super me,
et caligo cecidit super me:
miserere mei Domine,
quoniam in te confidit anima mea.

Exaudi Deus deprecationem meam
quia refugium meum es
tu adjutor fortis.
Domine, invocavi te, non confundar.

(Fear and terror have settled upon me;
the shadows have invaded me.
Have mercy on me, Lord; have mercy.
Unto you I commend my spirit.

Hear, O Lord, my prayer,
for you are my refuge
and my succour, all-powerful Lord
and I invoke Thee: let me never be confounded.)

No comments: