NICHOLAS PHAN & MYRA HUANG ŞAN – PİYANO RESİTALİ
Nicholas Phan- tenor
Myra Huang-piyano
Program:
F. SCHUBERT : Şarkılar
Frühlingsglaube, D 688
Der Musensohn D 764
Viola D 786
Frühlingssehnsucht D 957
Geheimnis D 491
Ganymed D 544
B. BRITTEN: Winter Words
B. BRITTEN: Halk Şarkıları
Yüzyılımızın en sevilen Britten yorumcularından Amerikalı tenor Nicholas Phan, Türkiye'deki ilk konserini CRR Konser Salonu'nda verecek. Lied (şarkı) alanında çok önemli eserlere imza atmış iki evrensel besteciden, Schubert ve Britten'dan seçkin bir repertuvarla dinleyici karşısına çıkacak sanatçıyla buluşmak için kaçırılmaz bir fırsat.
Müzik tarihinin en verimli lied bestecisi olan Franz Schubert kısacık hayatında altı yüzden fazla lied ve bunun yanı sıra ölümsüz şarkı dizileri besteledi. Bu lied ve lied dizilerinden pek çoğu günümüzde halen hayranlıkla dinlenmektedir. Nicholas Phan, Türkiye'deki konserinde Schubert'in ilkbahar mevsiminin güzelliğine övgüde bulunan ve baharın mutluluğunu yansıtan, atmosferini tılsımlı melodilerle kucaklayan ünlü lied'lerinin yanı sıra lirik ve melankolik ustalığını yansıtan lied'lerine de yer veriyor.
Ünlü İngiliz besteci, orkestra şefi ve piyanist Benjamin Britten'ın doğumunun 100. yılı bu sene tüm dünyada çeşitli etkinliklerle kutlanıyor. Bestecinin ses için yazdığı en güzel eserlerinden olan "Winter Words", 19. yüzyılın ünlü İngiliz şair ve romancısı Thomas Hardy'nin şiirleri üzerine bestelenmiş. Britten'ın yaşamında bestelediği en dokunaklı şarkılardan olan "Before Life and After", "Winter Words" şarkılar dizisinin son parçası olarak bu konserde dinleyiciyle buluşacak. Britten, aynı zamanda halk şarkıları düzenlemesi alanında müzik tarihinin en yetenekli ve üstün yaratıcıları arasındadır. Besteci 40'lı yılların başında memleketinden uzakta, Amerika'da yaşadığı senelerde ülkesine duyduğu özlemi dile getirmek üzere İngiliz halk şarkıları düzenlemelerine başlamış ve yaşamının sonuna kadar diğer bestecilik çalışmalarının yanı sıra halk şarkıları düzenlemeye devam etmiştir.
Frühlingsglaube
by Johann Ludwig Uhland (1787 - 1862)
Language: German
Die linden Lüfte sind erwacht,
Sie säuseln und wehen Tag und Nacht,
Sie schaffen an allen Enden.
O frischer Duft, o neuer Klang!
Nun, armes Herze, sei nicht bang!
Nun muß sich alles, alles wenden.
Die Welt wird schöner mit jedem Tag,
Man weiß nicht, was noch werden mag,
Das Blühen will nicht enden;
Es blüht das fernste, tiefste Tal:
Nun, armes Herz, vergiß der Qual!
Nun muß sich alles, alles wenden.
Translation from German to English copyright © by David Gordon Ramsaypring faith
Language: English
Balmy breezes are awakened,
They whisper and move day and night,
And everywhere creative.
O fresh scent, o new sound!
Now, poor heart, don't be afraid.
Now all, all must change.
With each day the world grows fairer,
One cannot know what is still to come,
The flowering refuses to cease.
Even the deepest, most distant valley is in flower.
Now, poor heart, forget your torment.
Now all, all must change.
Im Frühling
Language: German
Still sitz' ich an des Hügels Hang,
Der Himmel ist so klar,
Das Lüftchen spielt im grünen Tal,
Wo ich beim ersten Frühlingsstrahl
Einst, ach, so glücklich war;
Wo ich an ihrer Seite ging
So traulich und so nah,
Und tief im dunkeln Felsenquell
Den schönen Himmel blau und hell,
Und sie im Himmel sah.
Sieh, wie der bunte Frühling schon
Aus Knosp' und Blüte blickt!
Nicht alle Blüten sind mir gleich,
Am liebsten pflückt' ich von dem Zweig,
Von welchem sie gepflückt.
Denn Alles ist wie damals noch,
Die Blumen, das Gefild,
Die Sonne scheint nicht minder hell,
Nicht minder freundlich schwimmt im Quell
Das blaue Himmelsbild.
Es wandeln nur sich Will' und Wahn,
Es wechseln Lust und Streit,
Vorüber flieht der Liebe Glück,
Und nur die Liebe bleibt zurück,
Die Lieb' und ach, das Leid!
O wär' ich doch ein Vöglein nur
Dort an dem Wiesenhang!
Dann blieb' ich auf den Zweigen hier,
Und säng' ein süßes Lied von ihr,
Den ganzen Sommer lang.
Translation from German to English copyright © by Emily Ezust
In Spring
Language: English
Quietly I sit on the hill's slope.
The sky is so clear;
a breeze plays in the green valley
where I was at Spring's first sunbeam
once - ah, I was so happy;
Where I walked at her side,
So intimate and so close,
and deep in the dark rocky spring
was the beautiful sky, blue and bright;
and I saw her in the sky.
Look how colorful Spring already
looks out from bud and blossom!
Not every blossom is the same for me:
I like best to pick from the branch
from which she picked hers.
For all is as it was back then:
the flowers, the field;
the sun does not shine less brightly,
nor does the stream reflect any less charmingly
the blue image of the sky.
The only things that change are will and illusion:
Joys and quarrels alternate,
the happiness of love flies past
and only the love remains -
The love and, ah, the sorrow.
Oh, if only I were a little bird,
there on the meadow's slope --
then I would remain here on these branches
and sing a sweet song about her
the whole summer long.
Der Musensohn
Text by Goethe
Language: German
Durch Feld und Wald zu schweifen,
Mein Liedchen wegzupfeifen,
So geht's von Ort zu Ort!
Und nach dem Takte reget
Und nach dem Maß beweget
Sich alles an mir fort.
Ich kann sie kaum erwarten,
Die erste Blum' im Garten,
Die erste Blüt' am Baum.
Sie grüßen meine Lieder,
Und kommt der Winter wieder,
Sing ich noch jenen Traum.
Ich sing ihn in der Weite,
Auf Eises Läng' und Breite,
Da blüht der Winter schön!
Auch diese Blüte schwindet,
Und neue Freude findet
Sich auf bebauten Höhn.
Denn wie ich bei der Linde
Das junge Völkchen finde,
Sogleich erreg ich sie.
Der stumpfe Bursche bläht sich,
Das steife Mädchen dreht sich
Nach meiner Melodie.
Ihr gebt den Sohlen Flügel
Und treibt durch Tal und Hügel
Den Liebling weit von Haus.
Ihr lieben, holden Musen,
Wann ruh ich ihr am Busen
Auch endlich wieder aus?
Translation from German to English copyright © by Lawrence Governor Rick Julie Snyder - Page officiellehe son of the muses
Language: English
Roaming through field and wood,
Piping along my little song,
So I go from place to place!
And to my beat
And to my measure
Everything moves with me.
I can hardly wait for them,
The first bloom in the garden,
The first blossom on the tree.
My songs greet them,
And when winter returns
I still sing of that dream.
I sing them far and wide,
Through the ice's realm,
Then winter blossoms beautifully!
That bloom disappears too,
And new joy is found
In the hilltowns.
For when I, beside the linden,
Encounter young folks,
I rouse them at once.
The swaggering youth puffs up,
The naive maiden twirls
To my melody.
You give my feet wings
And drive through vale and hill
Your favorite, far from home.
You dear, kind muses,
When on her bosom
Will I finally again find rest?
Viola
Text by Franz Adolf Friedrich von Schober (1796 - 1882)
Language: German
Schneeglöcklein, o Schneeglöcklein,
In den Auen läutest du,
Läutest in dem stillen Hain,
Läute immer, läute zu, läute immer zu!
Denn du kündest frohe Zeit,
Frühling naht, der Bräutigam,
Kommt mit Sieg vom Winterstreit,
Dem er seine Eiswehr nahm.
Darum schwingt der goldne Stift,
Daß dein Silberhelm erschallt,
Und dein liebliches Gedüft
Leis' wie Schmeichelruf entwallt:
Daß die Blumen in der Erd'
Steigen aus dem düstern Nest,
Und des Bräutigams sich wert
Schmücken zu dem Hochzeitsfest.
Schneeglöcklein, o Schneeglöcklein,
In den Auen läutest du,
Läutest in dem stillen Hain,
Läut' die Blumen aus der Ruh'!
Du Viola, zartes Kind,
Hörst zuerst den Wonnelaut,
Und sie stehet auf geschwind,
Schmücket sorglich sich als Braut.
Hüllet sich in's grüne Kleid,
Nimmt den Mantel sammetblau,
Nimmt das güldene Geschmeid,
Und den Brilliantentau.
Eilt dann fort mit mächt'gem Schritt,
Nur den Freund im treuen Sinn,
Ganz von Liebesglut durchglüht,
Sieht nicht her und sieht nicht hin.
Doch ein ängstliches Gefühl
Ihre kleine Brust durchwallt,
Denn es ist noch rings so still,
Und die Lüfte weh'n so kalt.
Und sie hemmt den schnellen Lauf,
Schon bestrahlt von Sonnenschein,
Doch mit Schrecken blickt sie auf,
Denn sie stehet ganz allein.
Schwestern nicht, nicht Bräutigam,
Zugedrungen! und verschmäht!
Da durchschauert sie die Scham,
Fliehet wie vom Sturm geweht.
Fliehet an den fernsten Ort,
Wo sie Gras und Schatten deckt,
Späht und lauschet immerfort,
Ob was rauschet und sich regt.
Und gekränket und getäuscht
Sitzet sie und schluchzt und weint,
Von der tiefsten Angst zerfleischt,
Ob kein Nahender erscheint.
Schneeglöcklein, o Schneeglöcklein,
In den Auen läutest du,
Läutest in dem stillen Hain,
Läut die Schwestern ihr herzu!
Rose nahet, Lilie schwankt,
Tulp' und Hyazinthe schwellt,
Windling kommt daher gerankt,
Und Narciss' hat sich gesellt.
Da der Frühling nun erscheint,
Und das frohe Fest beginnt,
Sieht er alle, die vereint,
Und vermißt sein liebstes Kind.
Alle schickt er suchend fort,
Um die eine, die ihm wert,
Und sie kommen an den Ort,
Wo sie einsam sich verzehrt.
Doch es sitzt das liebe Herz
Stumm und bleich, das Haupt gebückt,
Ach! der Lieb' und Sehnsucht Schmerz
Hat die Zärtliche erdrückt.
Schneeglöcklein, o Schneeglöcklein,
In den Auen läutest du,
Läutest in dem stillen Hain,
Läut Viola sanfte Ruh'.
Translation from German to English copyright © 2012 by Sharon Markus Krebs - ComedyShortsGamer
iola
Language: English
Snowdrop, oh snowdrop,
In the meadows you ring,
You ring in the quiet grove,
Ring always, ring out, ring out always!
For you herald happy times,
Springtime nears, the bridegroom
Returns victorious from the battle with winter,
Whose icy weapons he confiscated.
Therefore the golden wand is waved,
So that your silvery casque rings out,
And your lovely scent
Quietly streams forth like a flattering cry:
That the flowers in the earth
Rise from their gloomy nest,
And to be worthy of the bridegroom
Adorn themselves for the wedding celebration.
Snowdrop, oh snowdrop
In the meadows you ring,
You ring in the quiet grove,
Ring the flowers out of their slumber!
You field pansy, delicate child,
Hear the lovely sound first,
And she gets up quickly,
And carefully adorns herself as a bride.
Wraps herself in a green dress,
Takes a velvet-blue cloak,
Takes her golden finery
And the diamond dew
Hurries off then with mighty step,
Only her friend in her faithful mind;
Completely ablaze with the glow of love,
She looks neither here nor there.
But an anxious feeling
Surges through her little breast,
For it is still so quiet all about,
And the breezes blow so coldly.
And she slows her rapid motion,
Already shone upon by the sun,
But with a shock she looks up,
For she is standing all alone.
No sisters, no bridegroom!
She has put herself forward! and been spurned!
Shame shudders through her,
She flees as if driven before a storm.
She flees to the most far-off place,
Where she is covered by grass and shadows,
Always looking and listening
If anything is rustling or moving.
And mortified and deceived
She sits and sobs and weeps,
Lacerated by the deepest trepidation
That some approaching person may appear.
Snowdrop, oh snowdrop
In the meadows you ring,
You ring in the quiet grove,
Ring that her sisters might come to her!
The rose nears, the lily sways,
Tulip and hyacinth swell,
The field bindweed comes creeping along,
And the narcissus joins them.
When Spring now arrives,
And the happy festival begins,
He sees them all, who are united,
And he misses his dearest child.
He sends everyone off to search
For the one who is dear to him,
And they come upon the place
Where she pines in solitude.
But the dear heart sits
Mute and pale, her head bowed,
Ah! the pain of love and longing
Has crushed the tender one.
Snowdrop, oh snowdrop
In the meadows you ring,
You ring in the quiet grove,
Toll sweet peace to the field pansy!
Frühlingssehnsucht
Text by Ludwig Rellstab (1799 - 1860)
Language: German
Säuselnde Lüfte wehend so mild
Blumiger Düfte atmend erfüllt!
Wie haucht ihr mich wonnig begrüßend an!
Wie habt ihr dem pochenden Herzen getan?
Es möchte euch folgen auf luftiger Bahn!
Wohin?
Bächlein, so munter rauschend zumal,
Wollen hinunter silbern ins Tal.
Die schwebende Welle, dort eilt sie dahin!
Tief spiegeln sich Fluren und Himmel darin.
Was ziehst du mich, sehnend verlangender Sinn,
Hinab?
Grüßender Sonne spielendes Gold,
Hoffende Wonne bringest du hold!
Wie labt mich dein selig begrüßendes Bild!
Es lächelt am tiefblauen Himmel so mild
Und hat mir das Auge mit Tränen gefüllt!
Warum?
Grünend umkränzet Wälder und Höh'!
Schimmernd erglänzet Blütenschnee!
So dränget sich alles zum bräutlichen Licht;
Es schwellen die Keime, die Knospe bricht;
Sie haben gefunden, was ihnen gebricht:
Und du?
Rastloses Sehnen! Wünschendes Herz,
Immer nur Tränen, Klage und Schmerz?
Auch ich bin mir schwellender Triebe bewußt!
Wer stillet mir endlich die drängende Lust?
Nur du befreist den Lenz in der Brust,
Nur du!
Translation from German to English copyright © by Michael P. Rosewall
Spring Longing
Language: English
Rustling winds blow so gently,
Their breath overflowing with flowers' perfume!
How lovely is the greeting you breathe to me!
What have you done to my pounding heart?
It wants to follow on the path you blow!
To where?
Little stream, your rushing always so lively,
Eagerly drop, shimmering, into the valley.
The smooth waves, they hurry along!
Meadows and sky are mirrored deeply within.
How do you draw me, longing, desirous spirit,
Away?
Playful gold of the beckoning sun,
You tenderly bring hopeful joy!
How the sight of your sacred greeting refreshes me!
It laughs lightly within the deep blue sky
And fills my eyes with tears,
Why?
The forests and hills are crowned with green!
The glint of snowy white blossoms shimmers!
All strain toward the bridal light;
Sprouts swell, buds open;
They have found what they desire:
And you?
Restless desire, longing heart,
Is it always to be only tears, complaint and pain?
I also know the swelling desire!
Who can finally still this burning longing?
Only you can set free the springtime in my breast,
Only you!
Geheimnis. An Franz Schubert
by Johann Baptist Mayrhofer (1787 - 1836)
Language: German
Sag an, wer lehrt dich Lieder,
So schmeichelnd und so zart?
Sie [rufen]1 einen Himmel
Aus trüber Gegenwart.
Erst lag das Land verschleiert
Im Nebel vor uns da -
Du singst, und Sonnen leuchten,
Und Frühling ist uns nah.
Den schilfbekränzten Alten,
Der seine Urne gießt,
Erblickst du nicht, nur Wasser,
Wie's durch die Wiesen fließt.
So geht es auch dem Sänger,
Er singt, er staunt in sich;
Was still ein Gott bereitet,
Befremdet ihn wie dich.
Translation from German to English copyright © by Emily Ezust
Ganymed
Text by Goethe (1749 - 1832)
Language: German
Wie im Morgenglanze
Du rings mich anglühst,
Frühling, Geliebter!
Mit tausendfacher Liebeswonne
Sich an mein Herze drängt
Deiner ewigen Wärme Heilig Gefühl,
Unendliche Schöne!
Daß ich dich fassen möcht'
In diesen Arm!
Ach, an deinem Busen
Lieg' ich, schmachte,
Und deine Blumen, dein Gras
Drängen sich an mein Herz.
Du kühlst den brennenden
Durst meines Busens,
Lieblicher Morgenwind!
Ruft drein die Nachtigall
Liebend nach mir aus dem Nebeltal.
Ich komm', ich komme!
Wohin? Ach, wohin?
Hinauf! Hinauf strebt's hinauf!
Es schweben die Wolken
Abwärts, die Wolken
Neigen sich der sehnenden Liebe.
Mir! Mir!
In eurem Schosse
Aufwärts!
Umfangend umfangen!
Aufwärts an deinen Busen,
Alliebender Vater!
Translation from German to English copyright © by Emily Ezust
Ganymede
Language: English
How in the morning light
you glow around me,
beloved Spring!
With love's thousand-fold bliss,
to my heart presses
the eternal warmth
of sacred feelings
and endless beauty!
Would that I could clasp
you in these arms!
Ah, at your breast
I lie and languish,
and your flowers and your grass
press themselves to my heart.
You cool the burning
thirst of my breast,
lovely morning wind!
The nightingale calls
lovingly to me from the misty vale.
I am coming, I am coming!
but whither? To where?
Upwards I strive, upwards!
The clouds float
downwards, the clouds
bow down to yearning love.
To me! To me!
In your lap
upwards!
Embracing, embraced!
Upwards to your bosom,
All-loving Father!
Winter Words Op. 52
Music by Benjamin Britten
Text by Thomas Hardy
At Day-close in November
The ten hours' light is abating,
And a late bird wings across,
Where the pines, like waltzers waiting,
Give their black heads a toss.
Beech leaves, that yellow the noon-time,
Float past like specks in the eye;
I set every tree in my June time,
And now they obscure the sky.
And the children who ramble through here
Conceive that there never has been
A time when no tall trees grew here,
A time when none will be seen.
Midnight on the Great Western (or 'Journeying Boy')
In the third-class seat sat the journeying boy,
And the roof-lamp's oily flame
Played down on his listless form and face,
Bewrapt past knowing to what he was going,
Or whence he came.
In the band of his hat the journeying boy
Had a ticket stuck; and a string
Around his neck bore the key of his box,
That twinkled gleams of the lamp's sad beams
Like a living thing.
What past can be yours, O journeying boy
Towards a world unknown,
Who calmly, as if incurious quite
On all at stake, can undertake
This plunge alone?
Knows your soul a sphere, O journeying boy,
Our rude realms far above,
Whence with spacious vision you mark and mete
This region of sin that you find you in,
But are not of?
Wagtail and the Baby (A Satire)
A baby watched a ford, whereto
A wagtail came for drinking;
A blaring bull went wading through,
The wagtail showed no shrinking.
A stallion splashed his way across,
The birdie nearly sinking;
He gave his plumes a twitch and toss,
And held his own unblinking.
Next saw the baby round the spot
A mongrel slowly slinking;
The wagtail gazed, but faltered not
In dip and sip and prinking.
A perfect gentleman then neared;
The wagtail, in a winking,
With terror rose and disappeared;
The baby fell a-thinking.
The Little Old Table
Creak, little wood thing, creak,
When I touch you with elbow or knee;
That is the way you speak
Of one who gave you to me!
You, little table, she brought –
Brought me with her own hand,
As she looked at me with a thought
That I did not understand.
– Whoever owns it anon,
And hears it, will never know
What a history hangs upon
This creak from long ago.
The Choirmaster's Burial (or 'The Tenor Man's Story')
He often would ask us
That, when he died,
After playing so many
To their last rest,
If out of us any
Should here abide,
And it would not task us,
We would with our lutes
Play over him
By his grave-brim
The psalm he liked best –
The one whose sense suits
'Mount Ephraim' –
And perhaps we should seem
To him, in Death's dream,
Like the seraphim.
As soon as I knew
That his spirit was gone
I thought this his due,
And spoke thereupon.
'I think,' said the vicar,
'A read service quicker
Than viols out-of-doors
In these frosts and hoars.
That old-fashioned way
Requires a fine day,
And it seems to me
It had better not be.'
Hence, that afternoon,
Though never knew he
That his wish could not be,
To get through it faster
They buried the master
Without any tune.
But 'twas said that, when
At the dead of next night
The vicar looked out,
There struck on his ken
Thronged roundabout,
Where the frost was graying
The headstoned grass,
A band all in white
Like the saints in church-glass,
Singing and playing
The ancient stave
By the choirmaster's grave.
Such the tenor man told
When he had grown old.
Proud Songsters (Thrushes, Finches, and Nightingales)
The thrushes sing as the sun is going,
And the finches whistle in ones and pairs,
And as it gets dark loud nightingales
In bushes
Pipe, as they can when April wears,
As if all Time were theirs.
These are brand-new birds of twelve-months' growing,
Which a year ago, or less than twain,
No finches were, nor nightingales,
Nor thrushes,
But only particles of grain,
And earth, and air, and rain.
At the Railway Station, Upway (or 'The Convict and Boy with the Violin')
'There is not much more that I can do,
For I've no money that's quite my own!'
Spoke up the pitying child –
A little boy with a violin
At the station before the train came in, –
'But I can play my fiddle to you,
And a nice one 'tis, and good in tone!'
The man in the handcuffs smiled;
The constable looked, and he smiled, too,
As the fiddle began to twang;
And the man in the handcuffs suddenly sang
With grimful glee:
'This life so free
Is the thing for me!'
And the constable smiled, and said no word,
As if unconscious of what he heard;
And so they went on till the train came in –
The convict, and boy with the violin.
Before Life and After
A time there was – as one may guess
And as, indeed, earth's testimonies tell –
Before the birth of consciousness,
When all went well.
None suffered sickness, love, or loss,
None knew regret, starved hope, or heart-burnings;
None cared whatever crash or cross
Brought wrack to things.
If something ceased, no tongue bewailed,
If something winced and waned, no heart was wrung;
If brightness dimmed, and dark prevailed,
No sense was stung.
But the disease of feeling germed,
And primal rightness took the tinct of wrong;
Ere nescience shall be reaffirmed
How long, how long?
Come You Not from Newcastle?
Music by Benjamin Britten
Text from Folk poetry or song tradition
Come you not from Newcastle?
Come you not there away?
Oh, met you not my true love,
Riding on a bonny bay?
Why should I not love my love?
Why should not my love love me?
Why should I not speed after him,
Since love to all is free?
Little Sir William
Music by Benjamin Britten
Text from Folk poetry or song tradition (Volkslieder)
Easter day was a holiday
Of all the days in the year,
And all the little schoolfellows
Went out to play
But Sir William was not there.
Mamma went to the School Wife House
And knocked at the ring,
Saying, "Little Sir William
if you are there,
Pray let your mother in."
The School Wife open'd the door
And said "He is not here today.
He is with the little schoolfellows
Out on the green
Playing some pretty play."
Mamma went to the Boyne water
That is so wide and deep, saying,
Little Sir William if you are there,
Oh pity your mother's weep."
"How can I pity your weep, mother
And I so long in pain?
For the little penknife
Sticks close to my heart
And the School Wife hath me slain.
Go home, go home my mother dear,
And prepare my winding sheet,
For tomorrow morning before eight o'clock,
You with my body shall meet.
And lay my prayer book at my head,
And my grammar at my feet,
That all the little schoolfellows as they pass by
May read them for my sake."
'Tis the last rose of summer
Music by Benjamin Britten
Text by Thomas Moore
'Tis the last rose of summer,
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone;
No flow'r of her kindred,
No rosebud is nigh
To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh.
I'll not leave thee, thou lone one,
To pine on the stem;
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go, sleep thou with them;
Thus kindly I scatter
Thy leaves o'er thy bed,
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.
So soon may I follow,
When friendships decay,
And from Love's shining circle
The gems drop away!
When true hearts lie wither'd.
And fond ones are flown,
Oh! who would inhabit
This bleak world alone?
Salley In Our Alley
Music by Benjamin Britten
Text by Henry Carey
Of all the girls that are so smart,
There's none like pretty Sally!
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley!
There's not a lady in the land
That's half so sweet as Sally,
She is the darling of my heart
And she lives in our alley.
Of all the days that's in the week,
I dearly love but one day,
And that's the day that comes between
The Saturday and Monday,
For then I'm dressed all in my best,
To walk abroad with Sally.
She is the darling of my heart
And she lives in our alley.
When she is by, I leave my work,
I love her so sincerely;
My master comes like any Turk,
And bangs me most severely:
But let him bang his bellyful,
I'll bear it all for Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
My master carries me to church,
And often am I blamed
Because I leave him in the lurch
As soon as text is named;
I leave the church in sermon-time
And slink away to Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
My master and the neighbours all
Make game of me and Sally,
And but for her I'd better be
A slave, and row a galley;
But when my seven long years are out,
Oh! Then I'll marry Sally;
She is the darling of my heart
And she lives in our alley.
The Ploughboy
Music by Benjamin Britten
Text from Folk poetry or song tradition
A flaxen-headed cowboy, as simple as may be,
And next a merry ploughboy, I whistled o'er the lea;
But now a saucy footman I strut in worsted lace,
And soon I'll be a butler, and whey my jolly face.
When steward I'm promoted, I'll snip the trademen's bill,
My master's coffers empty, my pockets for to fill;
When lolling in my chariot, so great a man I'll be!
You'll forget the little ploughboy, that whistled o'er the lea.
I'll buy votes at elections, but when I've made the pelf,
I'll stand poll for the parliament, and then vote in myself;
Whatever's good for me, sir, I never will oppose;
When all my ayes are sold off, why then I'll sell my noes.
I'll joke, harangue, and paragraph, with speeches charm the ear,
And when I'm tired on my legs, then I'll sit down a peer:
In court or city honour, so great a man I'll be!
You'll forget the little ploughboy, that whistled o'er the lea
