
Title: Sorrow, Stay
Music: John Dowland (1563-1626)
Text: possibly John Dowland (1563-1626)

Free at Art Song Central:
- PDF file: Sorrow, Stay
- Key: G Minor
- Range: D4 – D5
- From: The Second Book of Ayres
- Source: Stainer & Bell edition, ed. Fellowes ©1922
- Note: This edition includes lute tabulature as well as a piano transcription.
Elsewhere on the Internet:

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Sorrow, stay! lend true repentant tears
To a woeful wretched wight.
Hence, Despair! with thy tormenting fears
O do not my poor heart affright.
Pity, help! now or never;
Mark me not to endless pain.
Alas, I am condemned ever,
No hope, no help there doth remain.
But down, down, down, down I fall,
And arise I never shall.


Title: Hey, ho, the wind and the rain
Music: Roger Quilter (1877-1953)
Text: William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

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When that I was and a little tiny boy,
[With]1 hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
A foolish thing was but a toy,
For the rain it raineth every day.
But when I came to man’s estate,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
‘Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate,
For the rain it raineth every day.
But when I came, alas! to wive,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
By swaggering could I never thrive,
For the rain it raineth every day.
A great while ago the world begun,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
But that’s all one, our play is done,
And we’ll strive to please you every day.


Title: Take, o take those lips away
Music: Roger Quilter (1877-1953)
Text: William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

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Take, O take those lips away,
That so sweetly were forsworn;
And those eyes, the break of day,
Lights that do mislead the morn:
But my kisses bring again,
Seals of love, but sealed,
But sealed in vain!


Title: It was a lover and his lass
Music: Roger Quilter (1877-1953)
Text: William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

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IT was a lover and his lass,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
That o’er the green corn-field did pass,
In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.
Between the acres of the rye,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
These pretty country folks would lie,
In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.
This carol they began that hour,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
How that life was but a flower
In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.
And, therefore, take the present time
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
For love is crown`d with the prime
In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.


Title: Under the Greenwood Tree
Music: Roger Quilter (1877-1953)
Text: William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

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Under the greenwood tree
Who loves to lie with me,
And turn his merry note
Unto the sweet bird’s throat,
Come hither, come hither, come hither:
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.
Who doth ambition shun,
And loves to live i’ the sun,
Seeking the food he eats,
And pleas’d with what he gets,
Come hither, come hither, come hither:
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.


Title: Fear no more the heat o’ the sun
Music: Roger Quilter (1877-1953)
Text: William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

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Fear no more the heat o’ the sun,
Nor the furious winter’s rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages;
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
Fear no more the frown o’ the great;
Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke:
Care no more to clothe and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.
Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Fear not slander, censure rash;
Thou hast finished joy and moan;
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.
No exorciser harm thee!
Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Nothing ill come near thee!
Quiet consummation have;
And renownéd be thy grave!


Title: Desperato’s Banquet (from The Floating Island)
Composer: Henry Lawes (1595-1662)
Author: William Strode (1600-1643)

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Come, heavy souls, oppressed with the weight
Of crimes, and pangs, or want of your delight;
Come, drown in Lethe’s sleeply Lake,
Whatever makes you ache;
Drink healths from poisoned bowls,
Breathe out your cares together with your souls;
Cool death’s a salve
That all may have,
There’s no distinction in the grave.
Lay down your loads before death’s iron door;
Sigh, and sigh out; groan once, and groan no more.


Title: On Liberty (How Happy Thou and I)
Composer: Henry Lawes (1595-1662)
Author: Unknown

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How happy thou and I that never knew how to love!
There’s no such blessing here beneath, whate’er there is above.
‘Tis Liberty, ’tis Liberty, that every wise man loves.
Out, out upon those Eyes, that think to murder me!
And he’s an Ass believes her fair that will not leave him free:
There’s nothing sweet, there’s nothing sweet to man but Liberty.
I’ll tie my heart to none nor yet confine mine eyes,
But I will rove at Liberty and be no woman’s prize:
‘Tis Liberty, ’tis Liberty, has made me now thus wise.

Posted on August 29, 2009, 1:25 pm, by David, under
IPA,
news.
I have finished transcribing (with the help of IPANow software) every song from the song index into IPA (except for English and Spanish, which IPANow does not handle.) I have saved a separate PDF file for the text and transcription of each song.
It will take some time to add links to each individual song post, so here are all the files currently available (as of 8/29/09), zipped by language.
Please note that with a few exceptions, these are unedited from the direct output of IPANow. The generally high quality of the transcriptions is a testament to this program, but there are bound to be mistakes, especially in the difficult and controversial world of French liason, or in words that don’t follow the “rules” of a language…
Please remember as you use these files that IPA cannot completely express the nuances of language. Use them as a basic guide, and make your own modifications as you see fit for more controversial elements (such as how to transcribe the final e in Italian.)
If you notice actual mistakes in a transcription, please leave a comment here, so it can be fixed. Thanks!

Title: Pietà Signore
Music: attributed to Alessandro Stradella (1639-1682)
Text: Authorship Unknown

Free at Art Song Central:
Elsewhere on the Internet:
- Transcribed at CPDL
- PDF available in A Minor or B Minor
- Range: A3-D5 or B3-E5
- Sibelius source file available to edit or transpose
- Transcribed at NWC Scriptorium
- No PDF available
- Range: A3-D5
- NWC source file available to edit or transpose
- Scanned as part of a collection at Internet Archive
- PDF available in A minor (page 92)
- Range: A3-D5
- Note: Some of the music in this book may not be public domain in the US

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Pietà, Signore,
di me dolente!
Signor, pietà,
se a te giunge
il mio pregar;
non mi punisca
il tuo rigor,
meno severi,
clementi ognora,
volgi i tuoi sguardi
sopra di me.
Non fia mai
che nell’inferno
sia dannato
nel fuoco eterno
dal tuo rigor.
Gran Dio, giammai
sia dannato
nel fuoco eterno
dal tuo rigor.
Pietà, Signore,
Signor, pietà
di me dolente,
se a te giunge
il mio pregare.
Meno severi,
clementi ognora,
volgi i tuoi sguardi,
deh! volgi sguardi
su me, Signor.
Pietà, Signore,
di me dolente.


Title: If Music be the Food of Love
Composer: Henry Purcell (1659-1695)
Author: Colonel Henry Heveningham (1651-1700)
- First seven words are part of a well known quote from Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night

Free at Art Song Central (PDF files):
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If music be the food of love,
Sing on till I am fill’d with joy;
For then my list’ning soul you move
To pleasures that can never cloy.
Your eyes, your mien, your tongue declare
That you are music ev’rywhere.
Pleasures invade both eye and ear,
So fierce the transports are, they wound,
And all my senses feasted are,
Tho’ yet the treat is only sound,
Sure I must perish by your charms,
Unless you save me in your arms.


Title: Stript of their Green
Composer: Henry Purcell (1659-1695)
Author: Peter Anthony Motteux (1663-1718)

Free at Art Song Central (PDF files):
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Stript of their green our Groves appear,
Our vales lie buried deep in snow;
The blowing north controls the dire,
A nipping cold chills all below.
The frost has glaz’d our deepest streams,
Phoebus withdraws his kindly beams.
Yet winter blest be thy return,
Thou’st brought the swain
For whom I us’d to mourn;
And in thy ice with pleasing flames we burn.
Too soon the sun’s reviving heat,
Will thaw thy ice and melt thy snow,
Trumpets will sound, and drums will beat,
And tell me the dear, dear youth must go;
Then must my weak unwilling arms,
Resign him up to stronger charms;
What flowers, what sweets, what beauteous thing,
When Damon’s gone, can ease or pleasure bring?
Winter brings Damon, winter is my spring.

- Recmusic.org has the text.
- Here is a pdf of the song for voice and figured bass as it appeared in “Orpheus Brittanicus” published after Purcell’s death: Stript of their Green

Title: My love’s an arbutus
Music: Traditional, arranged by Charles Villiers Stanford (1852-1924)
Text: Alfred Perceval Graves (1846-1931)

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My love’s an arbutus
By the borders of Lene,
So slender and shapely
In her girdle of green.
And I measure the pleasure
Of her eye’s sapphire sheen
By the blue skies that sparkle
Through the soft branching screen.
But though ruddy the berry
And snowy the flower
That brighten together
The arbutus bower,
Perfuming and blooming
Through sunshine and shower,
Give me her bright lips
And her laugh’s pearly dower.
Alas, fruit and blossom
Shall lie dead on the lea,
And Time’s jealous fingers
Dim your young charms, Machree.
But unranging, unchanging,
You’ll still cling to me,
Like the evergreen leaf
To the arbutus tree.


Title: Musica Proibita
Music: Stanislao Gastaldon (1861-1939)
Words:
- Attributed to the obviously fictitious “Flick-Flock”
- The lyrics are apparently by Gastaldon himself.

Note: Much has been made of the similarity between this song and De Koven’s O Promise Me. However, beyond the opening melodic notes and sentimental spirit, the two songs share little in common.
Free at Art Song Central:
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Ogni sera di sotto al mio balcone
Sento cantar una canzone d’amore,
Più volte la ripete un bel garzone
E battere mi sento forte il core.
Oh quanto è dolce quella melodia!
Oh com’ è bella, quanto m’ è gradita!
Ch’io la canti non vuol la mamma mia
Vorrei saper perché me l’ha proibita?
Ella non c’è ed io la vo’ cantare
La frase che m’ha fatto palpitare:
“Vorrei baciare i toui capelli neri
Le labbra tue e gli occhi tuoi severi;
Vorrei morir con te angel di Dio,
O bella innamorata, tesor mio.”
Quí sotto il vidi ieri a passeggiare
E lo sentiva al solito cantar:
“Vorrei baciare i toui capelli neri
Le labbra tue e gli occhi tuoi severi;
Stringimi, o cara, stringimi al tuo core
Fammi provar l’ebbrezza dell’amor.”


Title: Ghosts
Music: Margaret Ruthven Lang (1867-1972)
Text: Richard Kendall Munkittrick (1853-1911)
Note: this song is very short, but was much praised by Lang’s contemporaries.

Free at Art Song Central:
- PDF: Ghosts
- Key: A♭ Major
- Range: F4 – F5
Elsewhere on the Internet:

Mp3:
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- Available here thanks to Project Gutenberg: Ghosts

Out in the misty moonlight, the first snow flakes I see,
As they frolic among the leafless boughs of the appletree.
Faintly they seem to whisper, as round the boughs they wing;
“We are the ghosts of the flowers who died in the early spring.”


Title: Irish Love Song (Op. 22)
Music: Margaret Ruthven Lang (1867-1972)
Text: Margaret Ruthven Lang (1867-1972)?

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O the time is long, Mavourneen,
Till I come again, O Mavourneen;
An’ the months are slow to pass, Mavourneen,
Till I hold thee in my arms, O Mavourneen!
Shall I see thine eyes, Mavourneen,
Like the hazel buds, O Mavournen;
Shall I touch thy dusky hair, Mavourneen,
With its shim’rin glint o’ gold, O Mavourneen?
O my love for thee, Mavourneen,
Is a bitter pain, O Mavourneen;
Keep thy heart aye true to me, Mavourneen,
I should die but for thy love, O Mavourneen!


Title: The Answer
Music: Roger Quilter (1877-1953)
Text: Laurence Binyon (1869-1943)

Free at Art Song Central (PDF files):
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Ask me not, dear, what thing it is
That makes me love you so;
What graces, what sweet qualities,
That from your spirit flow:
For I have but this old reply,
That you are you, that I am I.
My heart leaps when you look on me,
And thrills to hear your voice;
Lies, then, in these the mystery
That makes my soul rejoice?
I only know I love you true,
Since I am I, and you are you.


Title: Slumber Song (from “Where the Rainbow Ends”)
Music: Roger Quilter (1877-1953)
Text: Clifford Mills

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Rock-a-bye slumber comes soft from the West,
Mother is calling her babes to their nest,
Far flying birdies sail home on tired wing,
When all the world’s mothers their cradle song sing.-
Rock-a-bye, rock-a-bye, shoo!
Rock-a-bye slumber brings dreams from afar,
Woven for Earth in the first evening star;
Down through a cloudway of sunset she flies,
And with her soft kisses gives sleep to tired eyes.-
Rock-a-bye, rock-a-bye, shoo!


Title: Psyché
Music: Émile Paladilhe (1844-1926)
Text: Pierre Corneille (1606-1684)

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Je suis jaloux, Psyché, de toute la nature!
Les rayons du soleil vous baisent troup souvent,
Vos cheveux souffrent trop les caresses du vent.
Quand il les flatte, j’en murmure!
L’air même que vous respirez
Avec trop de plaisir passe sur votre bouche.
Votre habit de trop près vous touche!
Et sitôt que vous soupirez
Je ne sais quoi qui m’effarouche
Craint, parmi vos soupirs, des soupirs égarés!


Title: With Violets
Music: Amy Marcy Cheney Beach (1867-1944)
Text: Letitia Katherine “Kate” Vannah (1855–1933)

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The violets that I send to you
Will close their blue eyes on your breast.
I shall not be there, Sweet, to see,
Yet do I know my flowers will rest
Within that chaste, white nest.
O little flowers, she’ll welcome you
So tenderly, so warmly! Go:
I know where you will die to-night,
But you can never, never know
The bliss of dying so!
If you could speak! Yet she will know
What made your faces wet, although
I fain would follow you and tell her.
There, go, and die, yet never know
To what a heaven you go!
