Rumming Tell you I will, If that ye will A-while be still, Of a comely Jill That dwelt on a hill: She is somewhat sage And well worn in age: For her visage It would assuage A man's courage. Droopy and drowsy, Scurvy and lowsy, Her face all bowsy, Comely crinkled, Wondrously wrinkled Like a roast pig's ear, Bristled with hair. Her nose some deal hookéd, And camously-crookéd, Never stopping, But ever dropping; Her skin loose and slack, Grained like a sack; With a crooked back. Jawed like a jetty; A man would have pity To see how she is gumméd, Fingered and thumbéd, Gently jointed, Greased and anointed Up to the knuckles; Like as they were with buckles Together made fast. Her youth is far past! And yet she will jet Like a jollivet, In her furréd flocket, And gray russet rocket, With simper and cocket. Her hood of Lincoln green It has been hers, I ween, More than forty year; And so doth it appear, For the green bare threadés Look like sere weedés, Withered like hay, The wool worn away. And yet, I dare say She thinketh herself gay Upon the holiday When she doth her array And girdeth on her geets Stitched and pranked with pleats; Her kirtle, Bristol-red, With clothes upon her head That weigh a sow of lead, Writhen in wondrous wise After the Saracen's guise, With a whim-wham Knit with a trim-tram Upon her brain-pan; Like an Egyptian Cappéd about, When she goeth out. And this comely dame, I understand, her name Is Elinor Rumming, At home in her wonning; And as men say She dwelt in Surrey In a certain stead Beside Leatherhead. She is a tonnish gib, The devil and she be sib. But to make up my tale She breweth nappy ale, And maketh thereof pot-sale To travellers, to tinkers, To sweaters, to swinkers, And all good ale-drinkers, That will nothing spare But drink till they stare And bring themselves bare, With 'Now away the mare! And let us slay care'. As wise as an hare! Come who so will To Elinor on the hill With 'Fill the cup, fill!' And sit there by still, Early and late. Thither cometh Kate, Cisly, and Sare, With their legs bare, They run in all haste, Unbraced and unlaced; With their heelés daggéd, Their kirtles all jaggéd, Their smocks all to-raggéd, With titters and tatters, Bring dishes and platters, With all their might running To Elinor Rumming To have of her tunning. She lendeth them on the same, And thus beginneth the game. Some wenches come unlaced Some housewives come unbraced Some be flybitten, Some skewed as a kitten; Some have no hair-lace, Their locks about their face Such a rude sort To Elinor resort From tide to tide, Abide, abide! And to you shall be told How her ale is sold To Maud and to Mold. Some have no money That thither comé For their ale to pay. That is a shrewd array! Elinor sweared, 'Nay, Ye shall not bear away Mine ale for nought, By him that me bought! ' With 'Hey, dog, hey! Have these hogs away! ' With 'Get me a staffé The swine eat my draffé! Strike the hogs with a club, They have drunk up my swilling-tub!' Then thither came drunken Alice, And she was full of talés, Of tidings in Walés, And of Saint James in Galés, And of the Portingalés, With 'Lo, Gossip, I wis, Thus and thus it is: There hath been great war Between Temple Bar And the Cross in Cheap, And there came an heap Of mill-stones in a rout '. She speaketh thus in her snout, Snivelling in her nose As though she had the pose. 'Lo, here is an old tippet, An ye will give me a sippet Of your stale ale, God send you good sale! ' 'This ale', said she, 'is noppy; Let us suppé and soppy And not spill a droppy, For, so may I hoppy, It cooleth well my croppy , Then began she to weep And forthwith fell asleep. ('With Hey! and with Ho! Sit we down a-row, And drink till we blow.') Now in cometh another rabble: And there began a fabble, A clattering and babble They hold the highway, They care not what men say, Some, loth to be espied, Start in at the back-side Over the hedge and pale, And all for the good ale. (With Hey! and with Ho! Sit we down a-row, And drink till we blow.) Their thirst was so great They asked never for meat, But drink, still drink, And 'Let the cat wink, Let us wash our gummés From the dry crummés!' Some brought a wimble, Some brought a thimble, Some brought this and that Some brought I wot ne'er what. And all this shift they make For the good ale sake. 'With Hey! and with Ho! Sit we down a-row, And drink till we blow, And pipe "Tirly Tirlow!", * * * But my fingers itch, I have written too much Of this mad mumming Of Elinor Rumming! Thus endeth the geste Of this worthy feast.
Five Tudor Portraits: A Choral Suite in Five Movements
Song Cycle by Ralph Vaughan Williams (1872 - 1958)
1. Ballad The Tunning of Elinor  [sung text checked 1 time]
Authorship:
- by John Skelton (1460 - 1529)
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Glossary
camously-crookéd -- snub-nosed
cocket -- coquetry
daggéd -- muddy
draffé -- hog-wash
Egyptian -- gipsy
fabble -- jabbering
Galés -- Galicia
geets -- clothes
gib -- cat
hoppy -- have good luck
jetty -- a projection
jollivet -- gay young girl
kirtle -- skirt
Mold -- Molly
nappy/noppy -- foaming
Portingalés -- Portuguese
pose -- catarrh
pranked -- decked
rocket -- dress
sib -- akin
stead -- place
swinkers -- toilers
tonnish -- beery
trim-tram -- pretty trifle
tunning -- brewing
whim-wham -- trinket
wimble -- gimlet
wonning -- dwelling
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
2. Intermezzo ‑ Pretty Bess  [sung text checked 1 time]
My proper Bess My pretty Bess; Turn once again to me! For sleepest thou, Bess, Or wakest thou, Bess, Mine heart it is with thee. My daisy delectable, My primrose commendable, My violet amiable, My joy inexplicable, Now turn again to me. Alas! I am disdained, And as a man half maimed, My heart is so sore pained! I pray thee, Bess, unfeigned, Yet come again to me! By love I am constrained To be with you retained, It will not be refrained: I pray you, be reclaimed, And turn again to me. My proper Bess, My pretty Bess, Turn once again to me! For sleepest thou, Bess, Or wakest thou, Bess, Mine heart it is with thee.
Authorship:
- by John Skelton (1460 - 1529)
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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]3. Burlesca ‑ Epitaph on John Jayberd of Diss  [sung text checked 1 time]
Sequitur trigintale Tale quale rationale, Licet parum curiale, Tamen satis est formale, Joannis Clerc, hominis Cujusdam multinominis, Joannes Jayberd qui vocatur, Clerc cleribus nuncupatur. Obiit sanctus iste pater Anno Domini Millesimo Quingentesimo sexto. In parochia de Diss Non erat sibi similis; In malitia vir insignis, Duplex corde et bilinguis; Senio confectus, Omnibus suspectus, Nemini dilectus, Sepultus est among the weeds: God forgive him his misdeeds! Carmina cum cannis Cantemus festa Joannis: Clerk obiit vere, Jayberd nomenque dedere: Diss populo natus, Clerk cleribus estque vocatus. Nunquam sincere Solitus sua crimina flere: Cui male linguo loquax -- -- Qui mendax que, fuere Et mores tales Resident in nemine quales; Carpens vitales Auras, turbare sodales Et cives socios. Asinus, mulus velut, et bos. Quid petis, hic sit quis? John Jayberd, incola de Diss; Cui, dum vixerat is, Sociantur jurgia, vis, lis. Jam jacet hic stark dead, Never a tooth in his head. Adieu, Jayberd, adieu, In faith, deacon thou crew! Fratres, orate For this knavate, By the holy rood, Did never man good: I pray you all, And pray shall, At this trental On knees to fall To the football, With 'Fill the black bowl For Jayberd's soul'. Bibite multum: Ecce sepultum Sub pede stultum. Asinum et mulum. With, 'Hey, ho, rumbelow!' Rumpopulorum Per omnia Secula seculorum!
Authorship:
- by John Skelton (1460 - 1529)
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FREE TRANSLATIONHere follows a trental, more or less reasonable, hardly fitting for the Church, but formal enough, for John the Clerk, a certain man of many names who was called John Jayberd. He was called clerk by the clergy. This holy father died in the year of our Lord 1506. In the parish of Diss there was not his like; a man renowned for malice, double-hearted and double-tongued, worn out by old age, suspected of all, loved by none. He is buried. . . Sing we songs in our cups to celebrate John. The clerk truly is dead and was given the name of Jayberd. He was born among the people of Diss and was called clerk by the clergy. Never was he wont truly to bewail his sins. His evil tongue was loquacious and lying. Such morals as his were never before in anyone. When he breathed the vital air he disturbed his companions and his fellow citizens as if he were an ass, a mule, or a bull. Do you ask who this is? John Jayberd, inhabitant of Diss with whom while he lived were associated quarrels, violence and strife. Now here he lies. . . Pray, brethren. . . " Drink your fill. See he is buried under your feet, a fool, an ass, and a mule. . . For ever and ever.
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
4. Romanza. Jane Scroop: Her lament for Philip Sparrow  [sung text checked 1 time]
Placebo! Who is there, who? Dilexi! Dame Margery? Fa, re, mi, mi, Wherefore and why, why? For the soul of Philip Sparrow, That was, late, slain at Carrow, Among the Nuns Black. For that sweet soul's sake, And for all sparrows' souls Set in our bead-rolls. When I remember again How my Philip was slain, Never half the pain Was between you twain, Pyramus and Thisbe, As then befell to me: I wept and I wailed, The tears down hailed, But nothing it availed To call Philip again, Whom Gib, our cat, hath slain. Vengeance I ask and cry, By way of exclamation, On all the whole nation Of cattés wild and tame: God send them sorrow and shame! That cat specially That slew so cruelly My little pretty sparrow That I brought up at Carrow! O cat of churlish kind, The fiend was in thy mind So traitorously my bird to kill That never owed thee evil will! It had a velvet cap, And would sit upon my lap, And seek after small wormes, And sometime whitebread-crumbes; And many times and oft, Between my breastes soft It would lie and rest; It was proper and prest! Sometime he would gasp When he saw a wasp; A fly, or a gnat, He would fly at that; And prettily he would pant When he saw an ant! Lord how he would pry After a butterfly! Lord, how he would hop After the grasshop! And when I said, 'Phip, Phip!' Then he would leap and skip, And take me by the lip. Alas! it will me slo That Philip is gone me fro! For Philip Sparrow's soul, Set in our bead-roll, Let us now whisper A Pater noster. Lauda, anima mea, Dominum! To weep with me, look that ye come, All manner of birdés in your kind; See none be left behind. To mourning look that ye fall With dolorous songs funeral, Some to sing, and some to say, Some to weep, and some to pray, Every bird in his lay. The goldfinch, the wagtail; The jangling jay to rail, The fleckéd pie to chatter Of this dolorous matter; And Robin Redbreast, He shall be the priest The requiem mass to sing, Softly warbling, With help of the reed sparrow, And the chattering swallow, This hearse for to hallow; The lark with his long toe; The spinke, and the martinet also; The fieldfare, the snite The crow and the kite; The raven called Rolfe, His plain song to sol-fa; The partridge, the quail; The plover with us to wail; The lusty chanting nightingale; The popinjay to tell her tale, That toteth oft in a glass, Shall read the Gospel at mass; The mavis with her whistle Shall read there the Epistle. Our chanters shall be the cuckoo, The culver, the stockdoo, With 'peewit' the lapwing, The Versicles shall sing. The swan of Maeander, The goose and the gander, The duck and the drake, Shall watch at this wake; The owl that is so foul, Must help us to howl; The heron so gaunt, And the cormorant, With the pheasant, And the gaggling gant, The dainty curlew, With the turtle most true. The peacock so proud, Because his voice is loud, And hath a glorious tail, He shall sing the Grail. The bird of Araby That potentially May never die, A phoenix it is This hearse that must bless With aromatic gums That cost great sums, The way of thurification To make a fumigation, Sweet of reflare, And redolent of air, This corse for to 'cense With great reverence, As patriarch or pope In a black cope. Whiles he 'censeth the hearse, He shall sing the verse, Libera me, Domine! In do, la, sol, re, Softly Be-mol For my sparrow's soul. And now the dark cloudy night Chaseth away Phoebus bright, Taking his course toward the west, God send my sparrow's soul good rest! Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine! I pray God, Philip to heaven may fly! Domine,exaudi orationem meam! To Heaven he shall, from Heaven he came! Dominus vobiscum! Of all good prayers God send him some! Oremus, Deus, cui proprium est misereri et parcere, On Philip's soul have pity! For he was a pretty cock, And came of a gentle stock, And wrapt in a maiden's smock, And cherished full daintily, Till cruel fate made him to die; Alas, for doleful destiny! Farewell, Philip adieu! Our Lord, thy soul rescue! Farewell, without restore, Farewell for evermore!
Authorship:
- by John Skelton (1460 - 1529)
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Glossary and Notes
Carrow -- Carrow Abbey, near Norwich, where Jane was being educated
culver -- dove
gant -- gannet
Nuns Black -- Benedictine Nuns
prest -- neat
reflare -- perfume
slo -- slay
snite -- snipe
spinke -- chaffinch
stockdoo -- pigeon
toteth -- peeps
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
5. Scherzo ‑ Jolly Rutterkin  [sung text checked 1 time]
Hoyda, Jolly Rutterkin, hoyda! Like a rutter hoyda. Rutterkin is come unto our town In a cloak without coat or gown, Save a ragged hood to cover his crown, Like a rutter hoyda. Rutterkin can speak no English, His tongue runneth all on buttered fish, Besmeared with grease about his dish, Like a rutter hoyda. 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 rutter hoyda. What now, let see, Who looketh on me Well round about, How gay and how stout That I can wear Courtly my gear. My hair brusheth So pleasantly, My robe rusheth So ruttingly, Meseem I fly, I am so light To dance delight. Properly dressed, All point devise, My person pressed Beyond all size Of the new guise, To rush it out In every rout. Beyond measure My sleeve is wide, All of pleasure My hose strait tied, My buskin wide Rich to behold, Glittering in gold. Rutterkin is come, etc.
Authorship:
- by John Skelton (1460 - 1529)
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Glossary
pluck -- gulp
rutter -- dashing young fellow
ruttingly -- dashingly
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]