Merciless Beauty (John Stafford Smith)
Music files
ICON | SOURCE |
---|---|
Midi | |
MusicXML | |
Sibelius | |
File details | |
Help |
- Editor: Jonathan Goodliffe (submitted 2014-10-16). Score information: A4, 2 pages, 30 kB Copyright: CPDL
- Edition notes:
General Information
Title: Merciless Beauty
Composer: John Stafford Smith
Lyricist: Geoffrey Chaucer
Number of voices: 3vv Voicing: ATB
Genre: Secular, Partsong
Language: Middle English
Instruments: A cappella
First published:
Description: This work imitates the style of the 15th Century 3 part song by composers such as Fairfax, Turges and Cornish. Smith only set the first section of the poem.
External websites:
Original text and translations
Middle English text
Merciless beauty
1
Your eyen two wol slee me sodenly,
I may the beautè of hem not sustene,
So woundeth hit through-out my herte kene.
And but your word wol helen hastily
My hertes wounde, whyl that hit is grene,
Your eyen two wol slee me sodenly,
I may the beautè of hem not sustene.
Upon my trouthe I sey yow feithfully,
That ye ben of my lyf and deeth the quene;
For with my deeth the trouthe shal be sene.
Your eyen two wol slee me sodenly,
I may the beautè of hem not sustene,
So woundeth hit through-out my herte kene.
2
So hath your beautè fro your herte chaced
Pitee, that me ne availeth not to pleyne;
For Daunger halt your mercy in his cheyne.
Giltles my deeth thus han ye me purchaced;
I sey yow sooth, me nedeth not to feyne;
So hath your beautè fro your herte chaced
Pitee, that me ne availeth not to pleyne.
Allas! that nature hath in yow compassed
So greet beautè, that no man may atteyne
To mercy, though he sterve for the peyne.
So hath your beautè fro your herte chaced
Pitee, that me ne availeth not to pleyne;
For Daunger halt your mercy in his cheyne.
3
Sin I fro Love escaped am so fat,
I never thenk to ben in his prison lene;
Sin I am free, I counte him not a bene.
He may answere, and seye this or that;
I do no fors, I speke right as I mene.
Sin I fro Love escaped am so fat,
I never thenk to ben in his prison lene.
Love hath my name y-strike out of his sclat,
And he is strike out of my bokes clene
For ever-mo; ther is non other mene.
Sin I fro Love escaped am so fat,
I never thenk to ben in his prison lene
Sin I am free, I counte him not a bene.