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To Shorten Winter's Sadness

by Passamezzo

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Farewell, sweet woods and mountains, green boughs and silver fountains, Roses and cherries, grapes and strawberries, Nymphs and shepherdesses, your garlands and your tresses, Farewell, for Winter now returning turns all your sweets to black sad mourning.
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Come, bring with a noise, My merry, merry boys, The Christmas Log to the firing; While my good Dame, she Bids ye all be free; And drink to your heart's desiring. With the last year's brand Light the new block, and For good success in his spending, On your Psaltries play, That sweet luck may Come while the log is a-tinding. Drink now the strong beer, Cut the white loaf here, The while the meat is a-shredding; For the rare mince-pie And the plums stand by To fill the paste that's a-kneading.
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As on the night before this happy morn, a blessèd angel unto shepherds told, Where in a stable He was poorly born, whom nor the earth nor Heav’n of Heav’ns can hold. Thro’ Bethlem rang this news at their return; Yea, angels sang that God with us was born; And they made mirth because we should not mourn. His love therefore, oh let us all confess: and to the sons of men his works express. This favour Christ vouchsafed for our sake: To buy us thrones he in a manger lay; Our weakness took, that we his strength might take, and was disrob’d, that he might us array: Our flesh he wore, our sin to wear away: Our curse he bore, that we escape it may: And wept for us, that we might sing for aye. His love therefore, oh let us all confess: and to the sons of men his works express.
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A Dialogue between the Angel and shepherds proper for Christmas Day SHEPHERD Look, shepherds, look! SHEPHERD Why where? SHEPHERD See ye not yonder, there? Methinks it doth appear like glory coming near! ANGEL Listen, shepherds, listen round SHEPERD Hark, hark, hear ye not a sound? Lord, what a heavenly noise beats through the air! Ne'er was there sweeter voice, nor note so clear! CHORUS Heavenly musick, Glorious light! Yet more fearful than the night! ANGEL Fear not shepherds, for behold. Better tidings ne'er was told. News I bring you this same tide, this blessed morn: To you and all mankind beside, A Saviour's born! Haste to Bethlehem, haste about Haste to find the infant out. With this sign you shall begin, in a stable, in an inn. You shall find his mother Maid, poorly friended And the babe in manger laid, worse attended. When you find him, loudly cry “Glory be to God on high.” CHORUS Glory be to God on high, peace on Earth, amongst men Love. Death and Hell are now beguil'd, God and man are Reconcil'd
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Come follow, follow me, those that good fellows be, Into the battery our manhood for to try; The master keeps a bounteous house, and gives leave freely to carouse. When we have done this fray, then we will go to play At cards or else at dice, and be rich in a trice; Then let the knaves go round apace, I hope each time to have an ace. And when that’s spent the day, we'll Christmas gambols play, At hot cockles beside, and then go to all-hide, With many other pretty toys, men, women, youths, maids, girls and boys. Come, let's dance round the hall, and let's for liquor call; Put apples in the fire, sweet maids, I you desire; And let a bowl be spiced well, of happy stuff that doth excel. Now of my master kind, good welcome I did find, And of my loving mistress, this merry time of Christmas; For which to them great thanks I give, God grant they long together live.
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Tis Christmas now, 'tis Christmas now, When Cato's self could laugh, And smoothing forth his wrinkled brow, Gives liberty to quaff. To dance, to sing, to sport and play; For ev'ry hour's a holiday. And for the Twelve days, let them pass In mirth and jollity! The time doth call each lad and lass That will be blythe and merry. Then dance, to sing, to sport and play; For ev'ry hour's a holiday. And from the rising of the sun To the setting cast off cares; 'Tis time enough when twelve is done To think of our affairs. Then dance, to sing, to sport and play; For ev'ry hour's a holiday.
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Lully Lulla, thou little tiny child, By by lully lullay. O sisters too, how may we do, for to preserve this day, This poor youngling for whom we do sing, by by lully lullay. Herod the king in his raging, charged he hath this day, His men of might in his own sight, all young children to slay. That woe is me poor child for thee, and ever morn and say, for thy parting, neither say nor sing, by by lully lullay.
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To shorten winter's sadness See where the nymphs with gladness Disguised all are coming, Right wantonly a mumming. Fa la. Whilst youthful sports are lasting, To feasting turn our fasting; With revels and with wassails Make grief and care our vassals. Fa la.
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Beat up a Drum for Christmas reignes, And from the Plaines he drives the Swaines And still maintaines the title of a King Christmas is come a Champion bold Though very cold, that vowes to hold His Honour old, in spight of youthfull Spring. Fire your Beacons, whet your Weapons, kill your Capons and fall on; As it fitts use your Spitts, Winter lyes a bleeding, When he findes you feeding, all his force is gone. Christmas early, sounds a Parley, juice of Barley, crownes the Bowle: Make him cough, cut him off, that derides a Drinker, When so brave a Skinker, rules without controwl. Arme, Arm, Arme, behold thy foe, From top to toe in Ice and Snow, Doth puff and blow, his fury to provoke: Dreadless of harme, draw Hogsheads dry, Let Flagons fly, make fires nose-hye, Alarum cry, twill make his army smoake. Soundly warme him, that will charme him; Then disarme him, he’ll give way: Now he flyes, now he dyes, the Retreat is sounded, Winter is confounded, Christmas hath the day: All renown him, that have known him, Conquest crowne him, ‘tis his due: Bid this Chear, once a year; for his sake amend it’ When this old year’s ended, frolick for a New
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The New Year is begun, good morrow, my masters all! The cheerful rising sun now shining in this hall Brings mirth and joy to man and boy With all that here doth dwell Whom Jesus bless with loves increase , so things prosper well. A New Year's gift I bring unto my master here, Which is a welcome thing of mirth and merry cheer A New Year's lamb come from thy dam an hour before daybreak, Your noted ewe doth this bestow, Good master, for thy sake. And to my dame so kind this New Year's gift I bring; I'll bear an honest mind unto her whilst I live, Your white-wooled sheep I'll safely keep from harm of bush or brier, That garments gay for your array may clothe you the next New Year. And to your children all these New Year's gifts I bring; And though the price be small, they’re fit for queen or king; Fair pippins red kept in my bed a-mellowing since last year, Whose beauty bright so clear of sight their hearts will glad and cheer. And to your maids and men I bring both points and pins; Come bid me welcome then, the good New Year begins: Thy office show before I go, my bottle and bag come fill, And for thy sake I'll merry make upon the next green hill.
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A jolly wassel-bowl, a wassel of good ale, Well fare the butler's soul, that setteth this to sale; Our wassel we do fill with apples and with spice, Then grant us your good will to taste here once or twice Of our good wassel. But here they let us stand all freezing in the cold: Good master, give command to enter and be bold, Much joy into this hall with us is entered in; Our master, first of all, we hope will now begin Of our wassel. And after his good wife our spiced bowl will try; The Lord prolong your life, good fortune we espy Some bounty from your hands, our wassel to maintain: We’ll buy no house nor lands with that which we do gain With our wassel. This is our merry night Of choosing king and queen, Then be it your delight That something may be seen And now we must be gone to seek out more good cheer, Where bounty will be shown as we have found it here, With our wassel.
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Vidimus stellam eius in Oriente, et venimus cum muneribus adorare Dominum. We have seen his star in the East and come with gifts to adore the Lord.
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Christmas hath made an end, Well-a-day! well-a-day! Which was my dearest friend, more is the pity! For with an heavy heart must I from thee depart, To follow plough and cart all the year after. Lent is fast coming on, Well-a-day! well-a-day! That loves not anyone, more is the pity! For I doubt both my cheeks will look thin from eating leeks; Wise is he then that seeks for a friend in a corner. And our good cheer is gone, Well-a-day! well-a-day! And turned to a bone, more is the pity! In my good master's house I shall eat no more souse, Then give me one carouse, Gentle kind butler!
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The Thames uncased, or the Watermen's song upon the Thaw. To the tune of “hey, boys, up go we” Come ye merry men all of Watermen’s Hall Let’s hoist our boats and careen; The Thames it does melt, and the colde is scarce felt, Not an icicle's now to be seen Let's pull down each scull that hung up in hall, Like weapon so rusty, and row; Let's cheerly fall to 't if we have not forgot; For the frost is over now. Let's set up our masts that stood like posts, As props to our tents on the Thames; Or signe-posts made with an ancient display'd, While our oars were the great cross-beams. Let's hoist up our sail that was a side wall, To hide Doll when with brandy she 'd glow ; Or a roof compos'd, you might else have been froz'd, Though the frost be over now. The town too's gone that they waited on, And the people flock'd to see, It fled in one night quite out of our sight, As the castles enchanted that be; While country squire, whom journey might tire, With wat'ry eyes cannot view The street, a long way that he came to survey ; For the frost is over now. Not a horn can he buy, nor an earthenware toy, His wife or his children to cheer; Since Isis does turn her watery urn, All the pitchers are march'd off here ; Nay, on the Thames wide, there remains not a slide On which he may whisk to and fro ; He returns as he came, to his country dame; For the frost is over now. Let's tune our throats to our usual notes, Of Twickenham, Richmond, hey ! Sir, sculler, sir? Oars, sir? Loudly roar, sir; Here's Dick, sir, you won't pass him by. Instead of good ale, and brandy wine stale, Let's cry out, Westward, hoe! Shall we Mortlake make, or for Brainford tack? For the frost is over now

about

Tudor and Stuart music for Christmas and Winter
A selection of carols, ballads, rounds, madrigals, dance melodies and consort songs, and follows the religious calendar from Advent through the twelve days of Christmas to Candlemas. It also describes many of the festive customs of the time, with feasts and revels through the cold of winter, and fairs upon the frozen river.

credits

released November 17, 2020

Eleanor Cramer: Bass viol/Soprano
Christopher Goodwin: Lute/guitar
Alison Kinder: Viols, recorders
Tamsin Lewis: Renaissance violin/viols/alto
Jack Merivale: Actor/Baritone

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Passamezzo London, UK

London based early music ensemble specialising in English 16th and 17th repertoire.

Early modern music, song, ballads, theatre & dance. Viols, lute, voices, violin, recorders, harp. Christmas, Elizabethan, Tudors, Stuarts

Part of the intercultural project 'Shore to Shore', working with Moroccan Sufi musicians, Ensemble Mogador.
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