Greensleeves -- Anonymous

Guest poem sent in by Suresh Ramasubramanian

(Poem #1027) Greensleeves A new Courtly Sonet, of the Ladie Greensleeves. Chorus: Greensleeves was all my joy Greensleeves was my delight Greensleeves was my heart of gold And who but my Ladie Greensleeves Alas, my love, you do me wrong To cast me off discourteously And I have lov-ed you so long Delighting in your companie (Chorus) I have been ready at your hand To grant whatever you would crave, I have both waged life and land, Your love and good-will for to have. (Chorus) I bought thee kerchers to thy head, That were wrought fine and gallantly I kept thee both boord and bed Which cost my purse well favouredly (Chorus) I bought thee petticoats of the best, The cloth so fine as might be; I gave thee jewels for thy chest, And all this cost I spent on thee. (Chorus) Thy smock of silk, both fair and white, With gold embroidered gargeously; Thy petticoat of sendal right, And these I bought thee gladly (Chorus) Thy girdle of gold so red, With pearles bedecked sumptuously; The like no other lasses had, And yet thou wouldst not love me (Chorus) Thy purse and eke thy gay gilt knives, Thy pincase gallant to the eye; No better wore the Burgesse wives And yet thou wouldst not love me. (Chorus) Thy crimson stockings all of silk, With golde all wrought above the knee, Thy pumps as white as was the milk And yet thou wouldst not love me. (Chorus) Thy gown was of the grossie green, Thy sleeves of satten hanging by, Why made thee be our harvest Queen. And yet thou wouldst not love me. (Chorus) Thy garters fringed with the golde, And silver aglets hanging by, Which made thee blithe for to beholde And yet thou wouldst not love me. (Chorus) My gayest gelding I thee gave, To ride where ever liked thee, No Ladie ever was so brave And yet thou wouldst not love me. (Chorus) My men were clothed all in green, And they did ever wait on thee; All this was gallant to be seen And yet thou wouldst not love me. (Chorus) They set thee up, they took thee downe, They served thee with humilitie, Thy foote might not once touch the ground And yet thou wouldst not love me. (Chorus) For everie morning when thou rose, I sent thee dainties orderly; To cheare thy stomack from all woes And yet thou wouldst not love me. (Chorus) Thou couldst desire no earthly thing, But still thou hadst it readily; Thy musicke still to play and sing And yet thou wouldst not love me. (Chorus) And who did pay for all this geare, That thou didst spend when pleased thee, Even I that am rejected here And thou disdainst to love me. (Chorus) Well I will pray to God on high, That thou my constancy mayst see, And that yet once before I die Thou wilt vouchsafe to love me. (Chorus) Greensleeves, now farewell! adieu! God I pray to prosper thee, For I am still thy lover true, Come once again and love me. (Chorus) -- Anonymous

Note:
  sonet. Obs. rare. [a. OFr. sonet (sonnet), = Prov. sonet, f. son sound. ]
  Song, melody, music. -- OED

One of my favorite songs - a 16th century english ballad called
Greensleeves, by our old friend "Anon".  The song was first licensed
to a printer called Richard Jones, but several others have claimed
credit.

At least one version of this song's origin says that Henry VIII wrote
it about Anne Boleyn, but this is unlikely, as the style belongs to a
period after Henry's death, and the first printed version appeared
during the reign of Elizabeth I.

Since then, it became a popular ballad, carried over by the englishmen
to America, where it became one of the classic campfire ballads of the
old west.

The classic 1962 western "How the West Was Won" had a theme song set
to the "Greensleeves" tune - and "Ritchie Blackmore's Night" has a
beautiful cover of this old song (which I am listening to as I type
this).

Blackmore's brilliant guitaring adds to the magic of this old song
(and sounds far better than the ringtone in my colleague's cellphone -
again "Greensleeves" ;)

A beautiful, haunting melody - and words which show the deep grief of
a jilted man who has been rejected by a woman he has showered love
and squandered his fortune on.

Suresh

Martin adds:

  Greensleeves and Tolkien combine in the popular quote "Do not anger a bard,
  for thy name is silly, and scans to Greensleeves".

  And here's the hilarious Flanders and Swann sketch on the 'history' of
  Greensleeves:
    [broken link] http://timothyplatypus.tripod.com/FaS/hat_green.html

The Prodigal Son -- Rudyard Kipling

(Poem #1026) The Prodigal Son Here come I to my own again, Fed, forgiven and known again, Claimed by bone of my bone again And cheered by flesh of my flesh. The fatted calf is dressed for me, But the husks have greater zest for me, I think my pigs will be best for me, So I'm off to the Yards afresh. I never was very refined, you see, (And it weighs on my brother's mind, you see) But there's no reproach among swine, d'you see, For being a bit of a swine. So I'm off with wallet and staff to eat The bread that is three parts chaff to wheat, But glory be! - there's a laugh to it, Which isn't the case when we dine. My father glooms and advises me, My brother sulks and despises me, And Mother catechises me Till I want to go out and swear. And, in spite of the butler's gravity, I know that the servants have it I Am a monster of moral depravity, And I'm damned if I think it's fair! I wasted my substance, I know I did, On riotous living, so I did, But there's nothing on record to show I did Worse than my betters have done. They talk of the money I spent out there - They hint at the pace that I went out there - But they all forget I was sent out there Alone as a rich man's son. So I was a mark for plunder at once, And lost my cash (can you wonder?) at once, But I didn't give up and knock under at once, I worked in the Yards, for a spell, Where I spent my nights and my days with hogs. And shared their milk and maize with hogs, Till, I guess, I have learned what pays with hogs And - I have that knowledge to sell! So back I go to my job again, Not so easy to rob again, Or quite so ready to sob again On any neck that's around. I'm leaving, Pater. Good-bye to you! God bless you, Mater! I'll write to you! I wouldn't be impolite to you, But, Brother, you are a hound! -- Rudyard Kipling

Notes: Based on the New Testament parable of the prodigal son (see links)
       Expanded version of a chapter heading from Kim

A delightfully original take on the Prodigal Son story - what I like is how
consistent it is with the original parable. All it does is present matters
from the son's point of view - sure, he asked his father for his share of
his inheritance, and squandered it all, but this is *his* story, and
underscores, as the Biblical one doesn't, that

     ... I didn't give up and knock under at once,
     I worked in the Yards, for a spell

Indeed, the poem highlights both Kipling's talent for presenting the other
point of view, and the delightfully picaresque characters he creates. For
such a short poem, the prodigal son's character is developed with surprising
vividness, and he's definitely someone the reader can sympathise with and
cheer for.

Formwise, the poem presents yet another approach to the triple rhyme,
repeating entire words at the end of consecutive lines. While this may seem
vaguely like 'cheating', it is a perfectly valid form of rhyming (indeed,
a pure rhyme requires that all syllables after the rhyming one be identical,
and what better way to accomplish that?), and quite a bit harder than it
appears. There's also a lot of variation on the basic form, including a run
of *quadruple* rhymes at one point - not something I can remember seeing
attempted elsewhere, though I'd be delighted to be corrected on that score.
Unusual here is Kipling's use of the triple rhyme in an essentially serious
poem - he gets away with it, true, but the cleverness of the rhymes does
obtrude itself upon the foreground in a manner a purist might balk at. The
rest of us can, however, feel free to be entertained and charmed - I
certainly was.

Links:

  The original Prodigal Son parable (King James Version):
    [broken link] http://miraclevision.com/quakers/luke1511.html

  Biography of Kipling:
    See Poem #17

  Possibly my favourite example of today's sort of rhyme scheme is
  'Reviewing the Situation', from 'Oliver!':
    [broken link] http://users.bestweb.net/~foosie/oliver.htm
  (No internal links; you'll have to scroll down the page)

  And the theme so far:
    Poem #1023, W. S. Gilbert, 'The Soldiers of our Queen'
    Poem #1025, Newman Levy, 'Thais'

-martin

Thais -- Newman Levy

Carrying on with the triple rhyme theme...

(Poem #1025) Thais One time in Alexandria, in wicked Alexandria Where nights were wild with revelry and life was but a game, There lived, so the report is, an adventuress and courtesan The pride of Alexandria, and Thais was her name. Nearby, in peace and piety, avoiding all society There dwelt a band of holy men who'd made their refuge there, And in the desert's solitude, they spurned all earthly folly to Devote their lives to holy works, to fasting and to prayer. Now one monk whom I solely mention of this band of holy men Was known as Athaneal, he was famous near and far. At fasting bouts and prayer, with him, none other could compare with him, At plain and fancy praying he could do the course in par. One day while sleeping heavily, from wresting with the Devil he Had gone to bed exhausted, though the sun was shining still He had a vision Freudian, and though he was annoyed, he an- Alyzed it in the well-known style of Doctors Jung and Brill. He dreamed of Alexandria, of wicked Alexandria. A crowd of men was cheering in a manner rather rude. And Athaneal glancing there at THAIS, who was dancing there Observed her do the shimmy, in what artists call The Nude! Said he,"This dream fantastical disturbs my thoughts monastical, Some unsuppressed desire, I fear, has found my monkish cell. I blushed up to the hat o' me to view that girl's anatomy I'll go to Alexandria and save her soul from Hell!" So, pausing not to wonder where he'd put his winter underwear He quickly packed his evening clothes, a toothbrush and a vest To guard against exposure he threw in some woolen hosiery And bidding all the boys Adieu, he started on his quest. The monk, though warned and fortified was deeply shocked and mortified, To find, on his arrival, wild debauchery in sway. While some were in a stupor, sent by booze of more than two percent, The rest were all behaving in a most immoral way. Said he to Thais, "Pardon me. Although this job is hard on me, I've got to put you straight to what I came out here to tell: What's all this boozin' gettin' you? Cut out this pie-eyed retinue, Let's hit the road together, kid, and save your soul from Hell!" Although this bold admonishment caused Thais some astonishment, She quickly answered,"Say! You said a heaping mouthful, Bo! This burg's a frost, I'm telling you. The brand of hooch they're selling you Ain't like the stuff you used to get, so let's pack up and go!" So off from Alexandria, from wicked Alexandria Across the desert sands they go, beneath the burning sun. Till Thais, parched and sweltering, finds refuge in the sheltering Seclusion of a convent in the habit of a nun. And now the monk is terrified to find his fears are verified His holy vows of chastity have cracked beneath the strain! Like one who has a jag on, he cries out in grief and agony "I'd sell my soul to see her do the shimmy once again!" Alas! His pleadings amorous, though passionate and clamorous Have come too late. The courtesan has danced her final dance. Said he,"Now that's a joke on me, for that there dame to croak on me, I never should have passed her up the time I had a chance!" -- Newman Levy

    (in Opera Guyed, 1923)

Note: Baed on the Massenet opera of the same name (see links)

Newman Levy is definitely near the top of my list of poets that deserve to
be famous but aren't - his verse is seldom short of brilliant, and often
hilarious. More to the point, it is extremely *accessible* - lack of
familiarity with the original is no drawback to appreciating his sparkling
parodies, nor have the eighty or so years since their writing dated them
noticeably.

'Thais' is probably Levy's most famous work, having apparently had the
dubious honour of being labelled "Traditional" in a few old songbooks. (It's
hard to see how that happened, actually - the lyrics certainly don't have a
trad flavour to them.) It definitely illustrates all the aforementioned
qualities - the verse is smooth and clever, the showiness of the rhymes
adding to the enjoyment of the poem. The story is told in a manner that
requires no knowledge of Massenet to follow it; indeed, unlike say "The
Three Cherry Sisters Karamazov"[1] it doesn't even make explicit reference
to the original, choosing to simply retell the story in a somewhat lighter
style. And the language certainly doesn't appear out of date or old
fashioned (or, rather, any datedness appears deliberately humorous, a happy
byproduct of the poem's blatant anachronism).
  [1] which contains a pun so awful that it alone would be worth the price
  of admission <g>

And a very pleasing style it is, too - the playful rhymes, the deliberate
dissonance between the poem's setting and its slangy dialogue, and the
smoothly pattering metre make 'Thais' an excellent example of how to tell a
humorous story in verse.

As far as patter verse and complicated triple rhymes go, comparisons with
Gilbert are inevitable. Despite a few superficial similarities, though, I
think Levy's verse has a very different flavour from Gilbert's. The pacing
is different, for one - in his more complicated pieces, Gilbert frequently
had distinct primary and secondary stresses that made the verse almost
paeonic (that is, with four syllables to a foot rather than two); this
speeds up their reading even when decoupled from the music. Levy's verse is
a lot more pronouncedly duple (though he follows the 'Major General' pattern
of triple rhymes superposed on a duple metre), so that it is flowing but not
tumbling. Also, Levy occasionally splits a word across lines for the rhyme[2],
a technique that I can't remember Gilbert using, and one which is definitely
noticeable when employed. I won't claim that Levy was uninfluenced by
Gilbert, but his poetry is definitely not Gilbertesque.

  [2] and vice versa, as exemplified respectively by

    He had a vision Freudian, and though he was annoyed, he an-
    Alyzed it in the well-known style of Doctors Jung and Brill.

   and

    And in the desert's solitude, they spurned all earthly folly to
    Devote their lives to holy works, to fasting and to prayer.

Links:

  All about Massenet's "Thais":
    http://www.intac.com/~rfrone/massenet/operas/10Thais/10Thais.htm

  Several of Levy's poems, and a brief biography, are here:
    http://www.stolaf.edu/people/hend/songs/NewmanLevy.htm
  as are Stewart Hendrickson's musical settings to them.

  A hilarious series of instrumental breaks interspersed with the verses:
    [broken link] http://shorty.mudcat.org/!!-song99.cfm?stuff=fall99+D+12012143

  And a few more Levy poems in the Digital Tradition archive:
    [broken link] http://shorty.mudcat.org/!!-supersearch99.cfm?Command=Search&file=fall99&request=newman+levy&MaxHits=50&NumLines=1

  Another poet in much the same vein is Guy Wetmore Carryl; see, for
  example, the (triple rhymed, to boot)
    Poem #94, The Embarrassing Episode of Little Miss Muffet

  Randall Garrett was influenced by Levy to write a series of very Levyesque
  verse synopses of science fiction novels; these are currently being
  reprinted in the filk magazine Xenofilkia:
    http://thestarport.org/xeno/ix.auth.html#G
  (main page: http://thestarport.org/xeno/xeno.html)

  And the theme to date:
    Poem #1023, The Soldiers of our Queen

-martin

Faint Music -- Walter de la Mare

(Poem #1024) Faint Music The meteor's arc of quiet; a voiceless rain; The mist's mute communing with a stagnant moat; The sigh of a flower that has neglected lain; That bell's unuttered note; A hidden self rebels, its slumber broken; Love secret as crystal forms within the womb; The heart may as faithfully beat, the vow unspoken; All sounds to silence come. -- Walter de la Mare

All good poetry is magical in some way, but de la Mare's poems have a
_specific_ kind of magic, instantly recognizable, yet near impossible to
paraphrase or even parody. Certainly the precise blend of delicate phrasing
and carefully-chosen subject material that characterizes his art may strike
one as repetitive [1], but as long as it works (and work it does, most of
the time), who am I to cavil?

thomas.

[1] I'm not sure I could read an entire volume of de la Mare's poetry
uninterrupted, but I do enjoy dipping into his work every now and then.

[Minstrels Links]

Walter de la Mare:
Poem #2, The Listeners
Poem #272, Napoleon
Poem #483, Brueghel's Winter
Poem #725, Silver
Poem #1024, Faint Music

The Soldiers of our Queen -- W S Gilbert

This week's theme: the ever-popular triple rhyme. Contributions, as always,
welcome.

(Poem #1023) The Soldiers of our Queen DRAGOONS: The soldiers of our Queen Are linked in friendly tether; Upon the battle scene They fight the foe together. There ev'ry mother's son Prepared to fight and fall is; The enemy of one The enemy of all is! The enemy of one The enemy of all is! [On an order from the MAJOR they fall back.] [Enter the COLONEL. All salute.] COLONEL: If you want a receipt for that popular mystery, Known to the world as a Heavy Dragoon, DRAGOONS: [saluting] Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! COLONEL: Take all the remarkable people in history, Rattle them off to a popular tune. DRAGOONS: Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! COLONEL: The pluck of Lord Nelson on board of the Victory -- Genius of Bismarck devising a plan -- The humour of Fielding (which sounds contradictory) -- Coolness of Paget about to trepan -- The science of Jullien, the eminent musico -- Wit of Macaulay, who wrote of Queen Anne -- The pathos of Paddy, as rendered by Boucicault -- Style of the Bishop of Sodor and Man -- The dash of a D'Orsay, divested of quackery -- Narrative powers of Dickens and Thackeray -- Victor Emmanuel -- peak-haunting Peveril -- Thomas Aquinas, and Doctor Sacheverell -- Tupper and Tennyson -- Daniel Defoe -- Anthony Trollope and Mister Guizot! Ah! DRAGOONS: Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! COLONEL DRAGOONS Take of these elements all A Heavy Dragoon, that is fusible a Heavy Dragoon, Melt them all down in a A Heavy Dragoon, pipkin or crucible a Heavy Dragoon, Set them to simmer, A Heavy Dragoon and take off the scum, a Heavy Dragoon, And a Heavy Dragoon Is the residuum! is the residuum! COLONEL: If you want a receipt for this soldier-like paragon, Get at the wealth of the Czar (if you can) -- The family pride of a Spaniard from Aragon -- Force of Mephisto pronouncing a ban -- A smack of Lord Waterford, reckless and rollicky -- Swagger of Roderick, heading his clan -- The keen penetration of Paddington Pollaky -- Grace of an Odalisque on a divan -- The genius strategic of Caesar or Hannibal -- Skill of Sir Garnet in thrashing a cannibal -- Flavour of Hamlet -- the Stranger, a touch of him -- Little of Manfred (but not very much of him) -- Beadle of Burlington -- Richardson's show -- Mister Micawber and Madame Tussaud! Ah! DRAGOONS: Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! COLONEL DRAGOONS Take of these elements all A Heavy Dragoon, that is fusible a Heavy Dragoon, Melt them all down in a A Heavy Dragoon, pipkin or crucible a Heavy Dragoon, Set them to simmer, A Heavy Dragoon and take off the scum, a Heavy Dragoon, And a Heavy Dragoon Is the residuum! is the residuum! -- W S Gilbert

Note: receipt: recipe, formula

The triple rhyme, as I'll be the first to admit, is not the most serious of
poetic devices. Indeed, the effect is, if not precisely silly, definitely
lighthearted, and the focus is as often as not on the cleverness of the
rhyme rather than on what it is actually saying. This, combined with the
relative difficulty of sustaining a good set of perfect triple rhymes, makes
it a rather rarely encountered device; however, when well done the effect is
seldom less than delightful.

Given the lighthearted air, and the focus on form as much as content, it is
almost natural that the chief examples of triple rhymes are in humorous
verse and in musicals, both of which lay a greater than usual stress on the
sound of the verse. And the two genres combine brilliantly in the operettas
of Gilbert and Sullivan, making it not at all surprising that they contain
several excellent triple-rhymed sequences.

Gilbert, of course, not only dabbles freely in the form, but handles it with
his usual flair throughout. The most famous example is undoubtedly the Major
General's song (which achieves the additional feat of imposing triple rhymes
on a duple metre), but for the sheer playful pleasure of rhyming, and for
the deft way in which it mixes single and triple rhymes, today's song is
just as noteworthy.

Like 'Modern Major General', 'Soldiers of Our Queen' is really little more
than a list of loosely connected lines strung together by sheer force of
rhyme and metre - and like the former, it succeeds brilliantly. Especially
when combined with Sullivan's music, the song is a joy to read, to sing and
to parody.

Postscript: 'fusible' doesn't quite rhyme with 'crucible' - does anyone know
whether it did in Gilbert's day, or if he was just allowing himself a little
give in the rhyme?

Links:
  The Patience homepage at
  http://math.boisestate.edu/gas/patience/html/patience_home.html has links
  to MIDI and RealAudio files of the tune

  An interesting discussion on updating the references in the song:
    http://math.boisestate.edu/gas/patience/discussion/heavy.html

  And a slightly twisted take thereon by Tom Holt:
    http://groups.google.com/groups?selm=%40zetnet.co.uk

  My own sincere flattery of Gilbert:
    [broken link] http://groups.google.com/groups?selm=a45b01%241cmnij%241%40ID-121029.news.dfncis.de

  Nor has the introductory verse escaped its share of attention:
    http://members.aol.com/gsvloc/soldier.htm

  George Klawitter on the "scarce, and usually silly" triple rhyme:
    [broken link] http://www.stedwards.edu/hum/klawitter/poetics/devices.html#masc

  Some other triply-rhymed pieces of G&S:
    The Major General's Song: Poem #88
    The Sorcerer's Song: Poem #900

-martin