this dingdong of pleasure may satisfie you
Here's another Princely Delight for you guys (I should make a separate tag for these), and this one is especially delightful in that it's completely hilarious. Also, it's a duet, so if you want to sing it, you can recruit a friend of the opposite gender to do the other part (or, you know, the same gender, that's okay too). ;)
This one addresses the romantic tale of the marriage of Katherine de Valois, widow to Henry V, and Owen Tudor. We've previously seen Michael Drayton's take on this material in England's Heroicall Epistles (which I need to finish transcribing; there are two installments left), but this ballad is of course rather different in its handling of the material. In short, it is essentially an Elizabethan version of "Uptown Girl," crossed with "Come Live With Me and Be My Love": the historical background is here a vehicle for a somewhat standard debate about the relative merits of the court and the country, the country in this case being Wales, which in the ballad is Happy Pastoral Land where people morris-dance all the time and have big maypoles.
Yes, that innuendo was on purpose, thank you for asking.
Anyway, it's a weird blend of Standard Pastoral Boilerplate combined with history and nationalism and as such a complete scream. Also, while Owen in the ballad, unlike his counterpart in Drayton, does not talk about how much better in bed he is than Henry V (who is, in fact, not mentioned in the ballad at all), there is singing about pleasant dingdongs, and this is never not fun. Especially when it is a former queen of England and a Welsh nobleman doing the singing.
This ballad carries the tune direction "Light o' love," which is a fairly famous tune, much cited by Shakespeare and his contemporaries for bawdy jokes, and since I know it, it is provided here.
Also, I am dubious about the ballad's claim to be translated from a Welsh original, since Elizabethan/Jacobean producers of texts are not generally above making shit up in this regard, and I'm pretty sure the characterization of Wales as Happy Shiny Morris Land Full of Sheep is, um, not very authentically Welsh. Maybe the sheep. Doesn't Wales have a lot of sheep, or is that just that English people -- unlike Americans, who tell them about Scots mostly -- tell all those jokes about the Welsh being sheep-shaggers? I would hate to think my subconscious has been invaded by rude national stereotypes. Also, these are clearly Pastoral Poetry Sheep rather than Actual Sheep, and that makes a lot of difference.
There is, at any rate, no sheep-shagging in this ballad, which is for the best really.
A new Song of the wooing of Queene Katherine, by a gallant yong Gentleman of Wales named Owen Tudor: lately translated out of Welch into our English phrase.
To the tune of, Light in loue Ladies.
Owen Tudor.
I salute thee, sweet Princesse, with titles of grace,
For Cupid commands me in heart to embrace
Thy honours, thy vertues, thy fauour, and beauty,
With all my true seruice, my loue and my duty.
Queene Katherine.
Courteous kind gentleman, let me request,
How comes it that Cupid hath wounded thy brest,
And chaind thy hearts liking, my seruant to proue,
That am but a stranger in this thy kind loue.
Owen Tudor.
If but a stranger, yet loue hath such power,
To lead me heere kindly vnto a Queenes bower,
Then doe not (sweet Princesse) my good will forsake,
When nature commands thee a true loue to take.
Queene Katherine.
So royall of calling, and birth I am knowne,
That matching vnequall, my state is ore-throwne,
My titles of dignity thereby I loose,
To wed me and bed me, my equall Ile choose.
Owen Tudor.
No honours are lost, Queene, in chusing of me,
For I am a gentleman borne by degree,
And fauours of Princes my state may aduance,
In making me noble by fortunate chance.
Queene Katherine.
My robes of rich honours most braue to behold,
Are all ore imbossed with siluer and gold,
Not therewith adorned I loose my renowne,
With all the braue titles that waits on a Crowne.
Owen Tudor.
My Countrey sweet Princesse more pleasure affords
Then can be expressed heere by me in words:
Such kindly contentments by nature there springs
That hath beene well liked of Queenes & of Kings.
Queene Katherine.
My courtly attendants, are traines of delight,
Like stars of faire heauen all shining most bright:
And those that liue daily such pleasures to see,
Suppose no such comforts in countrey can be.
Owen Tudor.
In Wales we haue fountains no christal more cleare
Where murmuring musick we daily may heare:
With gardens of pleasure, and flowers so sweet,
Where true loue with true loue may merrily meet.
Queene Katherine.
But there is no tilting nor tornaments bold,
Which gallant yong Ladies desire to behold:
No maskes nor no reuels where fauors are worne
By Knights or by Barons without any scorne.
Owen Tudor.
Our May-poles at Whitsontide maketh good sport,
And moues as sweet pleasure as yours doe in court:
Where on the green dancing for garland and ring,
Maidens make pastime and sports for a King.
Queene Katherine.
But when your braue yong men & maidens do meet,
Your musicke is clownish and soundeth not sweet,
Whilest siluer-like melody murmuring keepes
And rocks vp our senses in heauenly sleepes.
Owen Tudor.
Our Harps & our Tabors & sweet humming drones,
For thee my sweet Princesse make musicall moanes:
Our Morris-Maid Marrians desire for to see
A True-loue-knot tyed betwixt thee and me.
Queene Katherine.
No pleasures in Countrey by me can be seene
That haue beene mainteined so long heere a Queene,
And fed on the blessings that dayly were giuen
Into my braue Pallace by Angels from heauen.
Owen Tudor.
Our greene leaued trees will dance with the winde,
Where birds sit reioycing according to kinde,
Our sheepe with their Lambes wil skip it ful round,
To see thee come tripping along on the ground.
Queene Katherine.
What if a kind Princesse should be content,
By meeknesse thus mooued to giue her consent:
And humble her honors, unbace her degree,
To tye her best fortunes braue Tudor to thee.
Owen Tudor.
If to a kingdome I borne were by birth,
And had at commandment all nations on earth,
Their crownes & their scepters should lie at thy feet
And thou be made Empresse, my darling so sweet.
Queene Katherine.
I feare yet to fancy thy loue tempting tongue,
For Cupid is cunning, his bow very strong,
Queen Venus once mistris of heart wishing pleasure
We ouer kind women repent vs at leasure.
Owen Tudor.
May neuer faire morning shew forth his bright beames,
But couer my falsehood with darkest extreames.
If not as the Turtle I liue with my Doue,
My gentle kind Princesse, my Lady, my Loue.
Queene Katherine.
Hye then into Wales and our wedding prouide,
For thou art my Bridegroome, & Ile be thy Bride,
Get gloues and fine ribbons with bridelaces faire,
Of silke and of siluer for Ladies to weare.
Owen Tudor.
With garlands of Roses, our huswifely wiues,
To haue thee adorned all louingly striues,
Their bride-cakes be ready, our bag-pipes do play,
Whilst I stand attending to lead thee the way.
Both together.
Then marke how the notes of our merry towne bels
Our dingdong of pleasure most cheerefully tels:
Then dingdong faire Ladies and louers all true,
This dingdong of pleasure may satisfie you.
FINIS.
Also, I hereby apologize to the entire population of Wales for the majority of this post. Because, unlike jennyo, I do care.
This one addresses the romantic tale of the marriage of Katherine de Valois, widow to Henry V, and Owen Tudor. We've previously seen Michael Drayton's take on this material in England's Heroicall Epistles (which I need to finish transcribing; there are two installments left), but this ballad is of course rather different in its handling of the material. In short, it is essentially an Elizabethan version of "Uptown Girl," crossed with "Come Live With Me and Be My Love": the historical background is here a vehicle for a somewhat standard debate about the relative merits of the court and the country, the country in this case being Wales, which in the ballad is Happy Pastoral Land where people morris-dance all the time and have big maypoles.
Yes, that innuendo was on purpose, thank you for asking.
Anyway, it's a weird blend of Standard Pastoral Boilerplate combined with history and nationalism and as such a complete scream. Also, while Owen in the ballad, unlike his counterpart in Drayton, does not talk about how much better in bed he is than Henry V (who is, in fact, not mentioned in the ballad at all), there is singing about pleasant dingdongs, and this is never not fun. Especially when it is a former queen of England and a Welsh nobleman doing the singing.
This ballad carries the tune direction "Light o' love," which is a fairly famous tune, much cited by Shakespeare and his contemporaries for bawdy jokes, and since I know it, it is provided here.
Also, I am dubious about the ballad's claim to be translated from a Welsh original, since Elizabethan/Jacobean producers of texts are not generally above making shit up in this regard, and I'm pretty sure the characterization of Wales as Happy Shiny Morris Land Full of Sheep is, um, not very authentically Welsh. Maybe the sheep. Doesn't Wales have a lot of sheep, or is that just that English people -- unlike Americans, who tell them about Scots mostly -- tell all those jokes about the Welsh being sheep-shaggers? I would hate to think my subconscious has been invaded by rude national stereotypes. Also, these are clearly Pastoral Poetry Sheep rather than Actual Sheep, and that makes a lot of difference.
There is, at any rate, no sheep-shagging in this ballad, which is for the best really.
A new Song of the wooing of Queene Katherine, by a gallant yong Gentleman of Wales named Owen Tudor: lately translated out of Welch into our English phrase.
To the tune of, Light in loue Ladies.
Owen Tudor.
I salute thee, sweet Princesse, with titles of grace,
For Cupid commands me in heart to embrace
Thy honours, thy vertues, thy fauour, and beauty,
With all my true seruice, my loue and my duty.
Queene Katherine.
Courteous kind gentleman, let me request,
How comes it that Cupid hath wounded thy brest,
And chaind thy hearts liking, my seruant to proue,
That am but a stranger in this thy kind loue.
Owen Tudor.
If but a stranger, yet loue hath such power,
To lead me heere kindly vnto a Queenes bower,
Then doe not (sweet Princesse) my good will forsake,
When nature commands thee a true loue to take.
Queene Katherine.
So royall of calling, and birth I am knowne,
That matching vnequall, my state is ore-throwne,
My titles of dignity thereby I loose,
To wed me and bed me, my equall Ile choose.
Owen Tudor.
No honours are lost, Queene, in chusing of me,
For I am a gentleman borne by degree,
And fauours of Princes my state may aduance,
In making me noble by fortunate chance.
Queene Katherine.
My robes of rich honours most braue to behold,
Are all ore imbossed with siluer and gold,
Not therewith adorned I loose my renowne,
With all the braue titles that waits on a Crowne.
Owen Tudor.
My Countrey sweet Princesse more pleasure affords
Then can be expressed heere by me in words:
Such kindly contentments by nature there springs
That hath beene well liked of Queenes & of Kings.
Queene Katherine.
My courtly attendants, are traines of delight,
Like stars of faire heauen all shining most bright:
And those that liue daily such pleasures to see,
Suppose no such comforts in countrey can be.
Owen Tudor.
In Wales we haue fountains no christal more cleare
Where murmuring musick we daily may heare:
With gardens of pleasure, and flowers so sweet,
Where true loue with true loue may merrily meet.
Queene Katherine.
But there is no tilting nor tornaments bold,
Which gallant yong Ladies desire to behold:
No maskes nor no reuels where fauors are worne
By Knights or by Barons without any scorne.
Owen Tudor.
Our May-poles at Whitsontide maketh good sport,
And moues as sweet pleasure as yours doe in court:
Where on the green dancing for garland and ring,
Maidens make pastime and sports for a King.
Queene Katherine.
But when your braue yong men & maidens do meet,
Your musicke is clownish and soundeth not sweet,
Whilest siluer-like melody murmuring keepes
And rocks vp our senses in heauenly sleepes.
Owen Tudor.
Our Harps & our Tabors & sweet humming drones,
For thee my sweet Princesse make musicall moanes:
Our Morris-Maid Marrians desire for to see
A True-loue-knot tyed betwixt thee and me.
Queene Katherine.
No pleasures in Countrey by me can be seene
That haue beene mainteined so long heere a Queene,
And fed on the blessings that dayly were giuen
Into my braue Pallace by Angels from heauen.
Owen Tudor.
Our greene leaued trees will dance with the winde,
Where birds sit reioycing according to kinde,
Our sheepe with their Lambes wil skip it ful round,
To see thee come tripping along on the ground.
Queene Katherine.
What if a kind Princesse should be content,
By meeknesse thus mooued to giue her consent:
And humble her honors, unbace her degree,
To tye her best fortunes braue Tudor to thee.
Owen Tudor.
If to a kingdome I borne were by birth,
And had at commandment all nations on earth,
Their crownes & their scepters should lie at thy feet
And thou be made Empresse, my darling so sweet.
Queene Katherine.
I feare yet to fancy thy loue tempting tongue,
For Cupid is cunning, his bow very strong,
Queen Venus once mistris of heart wishing pleasure
We ouer kind women repent vs at leasure.
Owen Tudor.
May neuer faire morning shew forth his bright beames,
But couer my falsehood with darkest extreames.
If not as the Turtle I liue with my Doue,
My gentle kind Princesse, my Lady, my Loue.
Queene Katherine.
Hye then into Wales and our wedding prouide,
For thou art my Bridegroome, & Ile be thy Bride,
Get gloues and fine ribbons with bridelaces faire,
Of silke and of siluer for Ladies to weare.
Owen Tudor.
With garlands of Roses, our huswifely wiues,
To haue thee adorned all louingly striues,
Their bride-cakes be ready, our bag-pipes do play,
Whilst I stand attending to lead thee the way.
Both together.
Then marke how the notes of our merry towne bels
Our dingdong of pleasure most cheerefully tels:
Then dingdong faire Ladies and louers all true,
This dingdong of pleasure may satisfie you.
FINIS.
Also, I hereby apologize to the entire population of Wales for the majority of this post. Because, unlike jennyo, I do care.