Montano, Silvio, and Mirtillo, shepherds Montano Bad are the times. Silvio And worse than they are we. Montano Troth, bad are both ; worse fruit, and ill the tree : The feast of shepherds fail. Silvio None crowns the cup Of wassail now or sets the quintell up ; And he who us'd to lead the country-round, Youthful Mirtillo, here he comes, grief-drown'd. Ambo. Let's cheer him up. Silvio Behold him weeping-ripe. Mirtillo Ah ! Amaryllis, farewell mirth and pipe ; Since thou art gone, no more I mean to play To these smooth lawns my mirthful roundelay. Dear Amaryllis ! Montano Hark! Silvio Mark! Mirtillo This earth grew sweet Where, Amaryllis, thou didst set thy feet. Ambo. Poor pitied youth ! Mirtillo And here the breath of kine And sheep grew more sweet by that breath of thine. This flock of wool and this rich lock of hair, This ball of cowslips, these she gave me here. Silvio Words sweet as love itself. Montano, hark ! Mirtillo This way she came, and this way too she went ; How each thing smells divinely redolent ! Like to a field of beans when newly blown, Or like a meadow being lately mown. Montano A sweet-sad passion — Mirtillo In dewy mornings when she came this way Sweet bents would bow to give my love the day ; And when at night she folded had her sheep, Daisies would shut, and, closing, sigh and weep. Besides (Ah me !) since she went hence to dwell, The voices' daughter ne'er spake syllable. But she is gone. Silvio Mirtillo, tell us whether. Mirtillo Where she and I shall never meet together. Montano Forfend it Pan, and, Pales, do thou please To give an end. Mirtillo To what ? Silvio Such griefs as these. Mirtillo Never, O never ! Still I may endure The wound I suffer, never find a cure. Montano Love for thy sake will bring her to these hills And dales again. Mirtillo No, I will languish still ; And all the while my part shall be to weep, And with my sighs, call home my bleating sheep : And in the rind of every comely tree I'll carve thy name, and in that name kiss thee. Montano Set with the sun thy woes. Silvio The day grows old, And time it is our full-fed flocks to fold. Chorus The shades grow great, but greater grows our sorrow ; But let's go steep Our eyes in sleep, And meet to weep To-morrow.
Nine Sets of Four Songs Each, Set V , opus 86
by Fritz Bennicke Hart (1874 - 1949)
1. The shades grow great  [sung text not yet checked]
Authorship:
- by Robert Herrick (1591 - 1674), "A pastoral sung to the king"
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Confirmed with Works of Robert Herrick, Vol I, ed. by Alfred Pollard, London, Lawrence & Bullen, 1891, pages 198-200.
Glossary
Quintell = quintain or tilting board.
Bents = bent grasses.
Whether = whither.
Pales = the goddess of sheepfolds.
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
2. The old wives' prayer  [sung text not yet checked]
Holyrood, come forth and shield Us i' th' city and the field : Safely guard us, now and aye, From the blast that burns by day ; And those sounds that us affright In the dead of dampish night. Drive all hurtful fiends us fro, By the time the cocks first crow.
Authorship:
- by Robert Herrick (1591 - 1674), "The old wives' prayer"
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Confirmed with Works of Robert Herrick, Vol I, ed. by Alfred Pollard, London, Lawrence & Bullen, 1891, pages 222.
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
3. To flowers
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in the database but will be added
as soon as we obtain it. —
4. The Plunder  [sung text not yet checked]
I am of all bereft, Save but some few beans left, Whereof, at last, to make For me and mine a cake, Which eaten, they and I Will say our grace, and die.
Authorship:
- by Robert Herrick (1591 - 1674), "The Plunder"
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Confirmed with Works of Robert Herrick, Vol I, ed. by Alfred Pollard, London, Lawrence & Bullen, 1891, page 216.
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]