Come, Sorrow come (Thomas Morley): Difference between revisions

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*{{NewWork|2008-02-19}} '''CPDL #16206:''' [{{website|brianrussell}} {{net}}] {{BR_links_to_update}}MIDI and NoteWorthy Composer files.
*'''CPDL #16206:''' [{{website|brianrussell}} {{net}}] {{BR_links_to_update}}MIDI and NoteWorthy Composer files.
{{Editor|Brian Russell|2008-02-19}}{{Copy|CPDL}}
{{Editor|Brian Russell|2008-02-19}}{{Copy|CPDL}}
:'''Edition notes:''' Files listed alphabetically by nationality and composer. Some composers have separate pages available from their country of origin page.
:'''Edition notes:''' Files listed alphabetically by nationality and composer. Some composers have separate pages available from their country of origin page.

Revision as of 11:34, 6 February 2011

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  • CPDL #16206: Network.pngMIDI and NoteWorthy Composer files.
Editor: Brian Russell (submitted 2008-02-19).   Copyright: CPDL
Edition notes: Files listed alphabetically by nationality and composer. Some composers have separate pages available from their country of origin page.

General Information

Title: Come, Sorrow come
Composer: Thomas Morley

Number of voices: 1v Voicing: T
Genre: Secular, Partsong

Language: English
Instruments: Lute
Published: 1600

Description: #12 from Morley's First Book of Ayres.

External websites:

Original text and translations

English.png English text

Come, Sorrow, come; sit down and mourn with me;
Hang down thy head upon thy baleful breast,
That God and man and all the world may see
Our heavy hearts do live in quiet rest.
Enfold thine arms and wring,
and wring thy wretched hands,
to show the state where in poor Sorrow stands.

Cry not outright, for that were children's guise,
But let thy tears fall trickling down thy face;
And weep so long until thy blubber'd eyes
May see, may see the depth of thy disgrace.
O shake thy head, but not, but not a word but mum;
The heart once dead, the tongue is stroken dumb.

And let our fare be dishes of despite
To break our hearts and not our fasts withal;
Then let us sup with sorrow sops at night
And bitter sauce, all of a broken gall.
Thus let us, let us live till heav'n's may rue to see
The doleful doom ordain'd for thee and me.