In fields abroad (William Byrd): Difference between revisions
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*'''CPDL #8723:''' [ | *'''CPDL #8723:''' [{{SERVER}}/wiki/images/3/3e/BYRD-IN1.pdf {{pdf}}] [{{SERVER}}/wiki/images/a/ad/BYRD-IN1.mid {{mid}}]<br> | ||
:'''Editor:''' [[User:David Fraser|David Fraser]] ''(added 2004-12-13)''. '''Score information:''' A4, 4 pages, 102 kbytes {{Copy|CPDL}} | :'''Editor:''' [[User:David Fraser|David Fraser]] ''(added 2004-12-13)''. '''Score information:''' A4, 4 pages, 102 kbytes {{Copy|CPDL}} | ||
:'''Edition notes:''' Revised August 08 | :'''Edition notes:''' Revised August 08 | ||
Revision as of 03:05, 13 November 2008
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- CPDL #8723:
- Editor: David Fraser (added 2004-12-13). Score information: A4, 4 pages, 102 kbytes Copyright: CPDL
- Edition notes: Revised August 08
General Information
Title: In fields abroad
Composer: William Byrd
Number of voices: 5vv Voicing: SATTB
Genre: Secular, Partsong
Language: English
Instruments: a cappella
Published: Psalmes, sonets, & songs... (1588), no.22
Description:
External websites:
Original text and translations
English text
In fields abroad, wher Trumpets shrill do sound,
wher glaves & shields, do give & take the knocks,
wher bodies dead, doe overspred the ground:
& friends to foes, are common butchers blocks,
A gallant shot well managing his peece
in my conceit deserves a golden fleece.
Amid the seas, a gallant ship set out,
where in nor men nor yet munitions lacks,
in greatest winds that spareth not a clout,
but cuts the waves in spight of wethers wracks,
would force a swain that comes of cowards kinde,
to change him selfe and be of noble minde.
Who makes his seat a stately stamping stead,
whose neighes & playes are princely to behold,
whose courage stout, whose eyes are fiery red,
whose joints well knit, whose harnes all of gold,
doth well deserve to be no meaner thing
then Percian knight whose horse made him a king.
By that beside where sits a gallant Dame,
who casteth of her brave and rich attire,
whose petecote sets forth as faire a frame,
as mortall men or gods can well desire,
who sits and sees her petecote unlast,
I say no more, the rest are all disgrast.