Merciless Beauty - Smith, John Stafford

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"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."

⌛ Epoche → Renaissance ◈ Genre → Partsongs

♯ Tonart A minor

⁄ Taktart 2/2

♬ Besetzung → ATB

◆ Difficulty

Unterstufe

↕ Tonumfang G – a'

¶ Sprache → Middle English

Takte 40

Textur mixed texture

Stimmen 3

Instrumente A cappella

Seiten 2

CPDL Nr. 33157

Bearbeiter Jonathan Goodliffe

Veröffentlicht 2014-10-16

Lizenz CPDL-Lizenz

♫Tonumfänge

Alto

f# – a'

Tenor

c# – f'

Bass

G – d'

Schlagwörter

Pages_using_DynamicPageList3_parser_function Posted_in_October_2014 More_than_90_days_old More_than_30_days_old CPDL_331xy

¶Liedtext

'''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.