A shepherd in a shade his plaining made (John Dowland): Difference between revisions
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'''Description:''' No. XVII from ''Second Book of Songs or Ayres'' (1600)<br> | '''Description:''' No. XVII from ''Second Book of Songs or Ayres'' (1600)<br> |
Revision as of 17:54, 28 August 2016
Music files
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- Editor: Brian Russell (submitted 2008-05-06). Score information: A4, 3 pages, 27 kB Copyright: CPDL
- Edition notes: NoteWorthy Composer file may be viewed and printed with NoteWorthy Composer Viewer.
- Editor: Daniel Harmer (submitted 2006-06-13). Score information: Letter, 4 pages, 89 kB Copyright: CPDL
- Edition notes:
- Editor: Eva Toller (submitted 2002-08-23). Score information: A4, 6 pages, 82 kB Copyright: Personal
- Edition notes: Arranged for TTBB. MIDI files available for each part.
- Editor: Laura Conrad (submitted 2000-06-21). Score information: A4, 5 pages, 90 kB Copyright: GnuGPL
- Edition notes: in partbook format
- Editor: Frank Nordberg (submitted 1999-10-14). Score information: A4, 5 pages, 144 kB Copyright: CPDL
- Edition notes:
General Information
Title: A Sheperd in a shade his plaining made
Composer: John Dowland
Number of voices: 4vv Voicings: SATB or TTBB
Genre: Secular, Madrigal
Language: English
Instruments: A cappella
{{Published}} is obsolete (code commented out), replaced with {{Pub}} for works and {{PubDatePlace}} for publications.
Description: No. XVII from Second Book of Songs or Ayres (1600)
External websites:
Original text and translations
English text
A shepherd in a shade,
his plaining made,
of love and lovers wrong,
Unto the fairest lasse,
that trode on grasse,
and thus began his song.
Refrain:
Restore, restore my hart againe,
Which love by thy sweet looks hath slaine,
Least that inforst by your distaine,
I sing, fie fie on love,
it is a foolish thing
Since love and fortune will,
I honour still,
your faire and lovely eye,
What conquest will it be,
Sweet nymph, for thee,
If I for sorrow dye.
Refrain
My hart where have you laid
O cruell maide,
To kill when you might save,
Why have yee cast it forth
as nothing worth,
Without a tombe or grave.
Refrain
O let it bee intombed and lye,
In your sweet minde and memorie,
Least I resound on every warbling string,
Fye fye on love
that is a foolish thing.