Five Medieval Lyrics

Song Cycle by Geoffrey Bush (1920 - 1998)

1. Colloquy

Language: English 
Who shall have me for loving
 . . . . . . . . . .

— The rest of this text is not
currently in the database but will be
added as soon as we obtain it. —

Text Authorship:

  • by Anonymous / Unidentified Author

Go to the general single-text view

2. Confession  [sung text not yet checked]

Language: English 
My gostly fader, I me confesse,
First to God and then to you,
That at a window -- wot ye how? --
I stale a cosse of grete sweteness,
Which don was out avisèness;
But hit is doon, not undoon now.
My gostly fader, I me confesse
First to God and then to you.

But I restore it shall doutless 
Agein, if so be that I mow;
And that to God I make a vow
And elles I axè foryefness.
My gostly fader, I me confesse
First to God and then to you.

Text Authorship:

See other settings of this text.

Confirmed with Early English Lyrics: Amorous, Divine, Moral and Trivial, Chosen by E. K. Chambers & F. Sidgwick, Volume 12, London: A. H. Bullen, 1907, page 31. A note below the text reads: "cosse, kiss". This section of the anthology contains other English poems by Charles de Valois, Duc d'Orléans.

Note: in Selections from the English Poets. Dunbar Anthology, 1401-1508, ed. by Professor Edward Arber, London: Henry Frowde, 1901, page 122, there is a version of the poem with more modern spelling, as follows: 

My ghostly father! I me confess,
  First to GOD and then to you,
  That at a window, wot ye how! 
I stole a kiss of great sweetness! 
Which done was out avisiness. 
But it is done; not undone now! 
  My ghostly... 
  First to... 
But I restore it shall doubtless 
Again, if so be that I mow! 
And that GOD I make a vow, 
And else I ask forgiveness. 
  My ghostly... 
  First to...


Researcher for this page: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

3. Carol  [sung text not yet checked]

Language: English 
A litel childe there is ibore, 
Ispronge out of Jesses more, 
To save alle us that were forlore. 
        Gloria tibi domine.

Jhesus that is so fulle of might 
Ibore he was aboute midnight; 
The angel songe with alle here might 
        Gloria tibi domine.

Jhesus is that childes name, 
Maide and moder is his dame, 
And so oure sorow is turned to game. 
        Gloria tibi domine.

Three kinges there came with here presence,
Of mirre and golde and frankencense, 
As clerkes singe in here sequence 
       Gloria tibi domine.

Now sitte we downe upon oure knee, 
And pray that child that is so free;
And with gode herte now sing we 
        Gloria tibi domine.

Text Authorship:

  • by Anonymous / Unidentified Author

Go to the general single-text view

Researcher for this page: Malcolm Wren [Guest Editor]

4. The Vanity of Human Wishes  [sung text not yet checked]

Language: English 
Winter wakeneth al my care,
Now thise leves waxeth bare;
Ofte I sike and mourne sare
When hit cometh in my thoht
Of this worldes joie, hou hit geth al to noht.

Nou hit is, and nou hit nys,
Al so hit ner nere, ywys;
Al goth bote Godes wille:
Alle we shule deye, thah us like ylle.

Al that gren me graveth grene,
Nou hit faleweth al bydene:
Jehsu, help that hit be sene,
And shild us from helle!
For y not whider y shal, ne hou longe her duelle.

Text Authorship:

  • by Anonymous / Unidentified Author, Ludlow 1340

See other settings of this text.

Text as set by Bax: 

Winter wakeneth all my care, 
Now these leaves waxeth bare;
Oft I sigh and mourne sare
When it cometh in my thought, 
Of this world's joy, how it goeth all to nought.

Now it is, and now it nys, 
All so it ne'er were, I-wis;
That many man saith, sooth it is:
All goeth bote Godes will:
All we shall die, tho' us like ill.

All that green me groweth green, 
Now it fadeth albydene, 
Jesu, help that it be seen, 
And shield us from hell!
For I know not whither I shall, 
Nor how long here dwell.


Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

5. Rutterkin  [sung text not yet checked]

Language: English 
Rutterkin is come unto our town
In a cloak without coat or gown
save ragged hood to cover his crown
Like a Rutterkin
Hoyda, hoyda, jolly Rutterkin!

Rutterkin can speak no English,
His tongue runneth all on butter'd fish,
Besmear'd with grease about his dish,
Like a Rutterkin
Hoyda, hoyda, jolly Rutterkin!

Rutterkin shall bring you all good luck,
A stoup of beer up at a pluck
Till his brain be as wise as a duck,
Like a Rutterkin
Hoyda, hoyda, jolly Rutterkin!

[ ... ]

Text Authorship:

See other settings of this text.

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
Total word count: 409