Lyrics

Gramercy
(Words: Thomas Mace "Musick's Monument", Music: Olive Mess)

The Second, and CIVIL Part:
Or,
The LUTE made Eafie.

A Recreative Praeludium to This Work
of the LUTE - PART.
BEING

A Dialogue between the AUTHOR and
His LUTE: The Lute complaining
sadly of its Great Wrongs and Injuries.
With something Remarkable adjoying, in Reference
to the Language of MUSICK.

Author. What makes Thee sit so sad, my Noble Friend,
As if Thou wert (with Sorrows) near Thy End?
What is the Cause, my Dear-Renowned-Lute,
Thou art of late so Silent, and so Mute?
So seldom dost in Publick now appear;
Thou art so Melancholly grown I fear.

Lute. What need you ask These Questians why'tis so?
Since'tis too obvious far All men to know.
The World is grown so Slight; full of New Fangles,
And takes their Chief Delight in Jingle-Jangles;
With Fiddle-Noises; Pipes of Bartholmew,
Like those which Country-Wives buy, Gay and New,
To please their little Children when they Cry:
This makes me sit and Sigh thus Mournnfully…

Lute. Despair I do:
Old Dowland he is Dead; R. Johnson too;
Two Famous Men; Great Masters in My Art;
In each of Them I had more then One Part,
Or Two, or Three; They were not Single-Soul'd,
As most our * Upstarts are, and too too Bold.
Soon after Them, that Famous man Gotiere
Did make me Gratefull in each noble Ear;
He's likewife gone: I fear me much that I
Am not Long-liv'd, but shortly too shall Dye…

* Some Pitifull Thin Composers Of This Age.


The Holly and Ivy Girl
(Words: Henner Diederich, Music: Olive Mess)

Come buy my nice fresh ivy,
And my holly boughts so green,
I have the fairest branches,
That ever yet were seen.

Come buy from me good Christians,
And let me home I pray,
And I'll wish you a merry Christmas time,
And a happy New Year's Day.

Ah! won't you take my ivy?
The lovliest ever seen,
Ah! won't you have my holly boughts?
All you that love the Green.

Do! takea little bunch of each
And on my knees I'll pray,
That God may bless your Christmas
And be with you New Year's Day.


Stefan, the Shepherd Boy (The Innocents Oddyssey)
(Words: Jonathan Tully, Music: Olive Mess)

O blessed citadel, Jerusalem,
Most royal House of our God and King:
To thee we raise our mourhful voice
That God and Heaven may hear us sing.

Good friends and honoured gentlefolk,
Such times as these are dark indeed.
At Satan's call, Jerusalem -
Our saviour's stead - cannot be freed.

Though Cristian king of pow'r and might
With strength in valour those walls assail,
The moslem throngs with force repel
'Til stones do weep and walls do wail.

Chivalrous flowers, the knights of Christendom
Lead squires of silk and peasants, earthly - spun,
To battle in vain at God's ransom's field;
'Gainst dauntless foe that scorns to yield.

A generation spent in fruitless toil,
Their bones and flesh now parch with soil.
'O, what, our God, has been our sin
So great that battle we cannot win?'

Dread news of life so ungainly spent
Searched through our lands, and hearts it rent -
Save for one child, a shepherd-boy
To whom this news brought tears of joy:

'If beared men, in sin arrayed
Their evil deeds good plans betrayed,
Then to the innocents must fall
The task of siege 'gainst holy wall.'

This thought - conceived by French lad, Stefan -
His parents thought inspired by Heaven:
'So amaizing in its simplicity
The source must be the Trinity!'

Throughout all France, thought swiftly spread:
'Send children in our army's stead!'
So gathered the troops - scarce-bearded at chin,
Plaited girls with flow'rs too drawn in.
From field and beds - where e'er they slumbered,
'Til thrice ten thousand these heroes numbered.

Food and money from proud parents poured
To carts wherein gruesome weapons were stor'd.
Of how to wield an axe or sword
No-one knew - 'Have Faith. Trust the Lord!'

One doubting voice alone was raised
From Philip August, who stood amazed.
'Such desperate, sinful naivete
Will not the Holy lands set free.
You fools and brigands, this monstrous crusade
Will bring us naught - save innocents slayed !'

Alas! wise words 'pon deaf ears fell,
They sallied, went forth; sent Augustus to hell!

To the coastal town of Marseilles they bent
And sought good ships from merchants to rent.
Seven ships were chartered - all bound for Syria
New cargoes of children, not gold or porphyria.

At length they set sail, 'neath skies of azure
Bidding tearful farewells to loved-ones ashore.

That night, the sky from blue turned black,
Winds billowed their sides, and not their back.
Through torrents of rain, God's infants poured through.
Was this the end? - In truth, no-one knew.

Yet 'bove storm's fury a sound was heard,
The voice of Stefan, beseeching the Lord.
'Great God, 'til at thy behest we sail
Our vessels are weak, our company frail.
As children of thine, we claim our right:
Deliver us, Father, through this turbulant night!'

Dawn came, with rosey fingers out outsplayed.
At the sight they saw, all were dismayed.
From the seven sound ships their monies had gained,
Two had sunk - only five remained!

Their souls lamenting, their spirits broke,
The children flocked to Stefan, who spoke:
'Brothers and sisters be of good cheer,
For the destined land, Syria, is near.
Look upon yonder horizon with awe!
There, honour and glory from God is in store.'

But the land he thus sighted, was not what he thought:
'Twas not where the knight of Christendom fought.
The hook-nosed merchants, in whose boats they set sail
Slave-traders were! Oh, malicious betrayal!

Ne'er to Syria was their intent:
It was to Egypt they steered and went.
In the land of pharons they were sold as slaves,
Proud sons of gaul, and daughters so brave.

So, good friends and honoured gentlefolk,
From doleful words deftly spoke
A moral surely this tale must bear,
That slavery your children need not beware.

Guard innocence 'gainst war's shallow gain
That peace and harmony on Earth shall reign.