Tre brani di Thomas Ravenscroft (c1582-c1633) eseguiti dall’ensemble Pro Cantione Antiqua.
Hey hoe, to the greene wood, round (canone) a 3 voci (da Pammelia, 1609).
Tomorrow the fox will come to town, partsong a 4 voci (da Deuteromelia, 1609).
Tomorrow the fox will come to town.
Keep, keep, keep, keep, keep.
Tomorrow the fox will come to town
To keep you all well there.
I must desire you neighbours all,
To holler the fox above them all,
And cry as loud as you can call,
Whoop, whoop, whoop, whoop, whoop.
O keep you all well there.
He’ll steal the cock out from the flock.
He’ll steal the hen out of the pen.
He’ll steal the duck out of the brook.
He’ll steal the lamb ev’n from his dam.
Yonder comes a courteous knight, partsong a 4 (da Deuteromelia). Notevoli il testo, che presenta alla fine una «morale» davvero curiosa 🙂 , e l’armonizzazione: Ravenscroft era assai stimato dai suoi colleghi di inizio Seicento, e se ne capisce il perché. A proposito, la scritta «Arr. Brown» leggibile nei video è del tutto fuorviante: Pro Cantione Antiqua ha dato una pregevole interpretazione delle composizioni di Ravenscroft senza «arrangiarle» affatto.
Yonder comes a courteous knight,
Lustely raking over the lay;
He was well ware of a bonny lasse,
As she came wand’ring over the way.
Then she sang downe a downe, hey downe derry.
Jove you speed, fayre ladye, he said,
Among the leaves that be so greene;
If I were a king, and wore a crowne,
Full soone, fair lady, shouldst thou be a queen.
Also Jove save you, faire lady,
Among the roses that be so red;
If I have not my will of you,
Full soone, faire lady, shall I be dead.
[Then he lookt east, then hee lookt west,
He lookt north, so did he south;
He could not finde a privy place,
For all lay in the divel’s mouth.]
If you will carry me, gentle sir,
A mayde unto my father’s hall,
Then shall you have your will of me,
Under purple and under paule.
[He set her up upon a steed,
And him selfe upon another,
And all the day he rode her by,
As though they had been sister and brother.]
When she came to her father’s hall,
It was well walled round about;
She rode in at the wicket-gate,
And shut the foure-ear’d foole without.
You had me, quoth she, abroad in the field,
Among the corne, amidst the hay,
Where you might had your will of mee,
For, in good faith, sir, I never said nay.
[Ye had me also amid the field,
Among the rushes that were so browne,
Where you might had your will of me,
But you had not the face to lay me downe.]
He pulled out his nut-browne sword,
And wipt the rust off with his sleeve,
And said: Jove’s curse come to his heart,
That any woman would beleeve!
When you have your owne true-love
A mile or twaine out of the towne,
Spare not for her gay clothing,
But lay her body flat on the ground.