The Penguin Book of English Song

by Richard Stokes

  That now she knows,

  When I resemble her to thee,

  How sweet and fair she seems to be.

  Tell her that’s Young,

  And shuns to have her Graces spy’d,

  That hadst thou sprung

  In Desarts, where no Men abide,

  Thou must have uncommended dy’d.

  Small is the worth

  Of Beauty from the Light retir’d;

  Bid her come forth,

  Suffer her self to be desir’d,

  And not blush so to be admir’d.

  Then Die, that she

  The common Fate of all things rare

  May read in thee:

  How small a part of time they share,

  That are so wondrous Sweet and Fair.

  (Holloway, White)

  JOHN MILTON

  (1608–74)

  My blindness, with which you reproach me, deprives things of their colour and surface, but it does not take away the mind’s contemplation of whatever is real and permanent in them. […] There is a way through weakness to strength. May I be of the weakest, provided only in my weakness that immortal and better vigour be put forth with greater effect […] thus through this infirmity I shall be consummated, perfected; and through this darkness I shall be enlightened.

  JOHN MILTON: Second Defence of the English People (1653) [translated from Milton’s Latin]

  Milton was born in Cheapside, the son of a scrivener and composer, whose compositions were printed together with those of Byrd and Orlando Gibbons. He took pains to give his son a musical education (Milton’s admiration of his father’s musical achievements is expressed in his poem ‘Ad Patrem’), and we read in Aubrey’s Brief Lives that Milton ‘had a delicate tuneable Voice, and had good skill. His father instructed him. He had an Organ in his howse; he played on that most. Of a very cheerfull humour. He would be chearfull even in his Gowte-fitts, and sing.’ While still at St Paul’s School, where he studied French, Italian, Hebrew, Latin and Greek, Milton wrote, aged fifteen, paraphrases of Psalms 114 and 136, which were first published in 1645 in Poems of Mr John Milton, Both English and Latin. Prodigiously gifted, he was a remarkable polymath, even by Renaissance standards. He wrote poems in Latin in the manner of Ovid and Horace, a Latin mock-epic on the Gunpowder Plot, and a number of Latin elegies that reveal much about his personal life. As a young man, he was equally at home in Latin and English verse. At the age of nineteen, he wrote ‘At a Vacation exercise in the Colledge, part LATIN, part ENGLISH’, in which he expressed his intention of becoming an English rather than Latin poet: ‘Hail native Language …’; and in the following year he wrote his first great English poem: ‘On the Morning of Christ’s Nativity’.

  His father intended him, after his studies at Christ’s College, Cambridge, to follow a career in the Church, but Milton’s religious views prevented him from taking Anglican orders. Having left Cambridge, where, because of his good looks, he was known as ‘The Lady’ of his college (see the Onslow portrait by an unknown artist in the National Portrait Gallery), he moved from Cheapside to Horton in Buckinghamshire, travelled extensively, and lived with his father till 1637, reading the classics and preparing himself for his vocation as a poet. He first came to prominence with L’Allegro and Il Penseroso (1632), Comus (1634) and Lycidas (1637). He married Mary Powell, sixteen years his junior, in June 1642, but after six weeks she returned to her own family – which triggered, the following year, his notorious pamphlet on The Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce, in which he argued that incompatibility of mind and spirit was even more valid as a reason for divorce than sexual incompatibility or adultery. In 1645 he published his Tractate of Education, in which he assigned a special place to music, and the Areopagitica on the liberty of the press. It was not long, however, before Milton himself was working as Censor of Publications for the Commonwealth. Following the execution of Charles I, he was appointed Latin Secretary to the Council of State, a post that he lost at the Restoration, when he was arrested and fined. After his release, he returned to poetry and resumed work on Paradise Lost that had been begun in 1658.

  Milton had lost the sight of his left eye by the beginning of 1650, and was warned by his physicians that if he continued to write (he was busy composing his ‘Defence of the English People’ in response to Salmasius’s attack on the English republicans), he ran the risk of losing the sight in his other eye. He ignored the advice, finished his ‘Defence’ and by 1652 was totally blind, able only to write in his head, dictating his words to an amanuensis. ‘On his blindness’ is the first time that his disability is mentioned in his poetry. Far from ‘standing and waiting’ (see Finzi’s ‘On his blindness’), Milton turned his blindness to intellectual and spiritual strength, as we see in the quotation at the head of this chapter.

  In the next twenty years until his death (the sonnet was written around 1654), Milton wrote some of his greatest works: Paradise Lost (1667), Paradise Regained (1671) and Samson Agonistes (1671). After the death of Mary Powell (who, after their reconciliation, bore Milton four children), he married Katherine Woodcock in 1656; when she died in childbirth, he married in 1663 Elizabeth Minshull, who survived him. Milton died in 1674 and was buried at St Giles Cripplegate. In 1737 the mural monument, carved by Michael Rysbrack, was erected in the south transept of Westminster Abbey, Poet’s Corner – a delay caused by Royalist feeling against such a prominent Puritan.

  Earlier works by Milton to attract composers include Arcades (c.1630) and Comus (1634), for which Henry Lawes, his close friend, wrote the songs; and L’Allegro and Il Penseroso (1631–8), settings of which were composed by Handel in 1740, to which at the composer’s request Charles Jennens, the librettist of Messiah, added a third part, entitled Il Moderato. Milton had written L’Allegro and Il Penseroso at Horton, and the moods expressed in the poems do not represent, as Dr Johnson and others have claimed, two different and incompatible attitudes towards life, but rather the two sides of Milton’s own character. A key to understanding the works is the meaning of ‘Melancholy’, which is used by Milton in the now obsolete sense of ‘serious or pensive mood’. The only time in the poems that ‘Melancholy’ is used in the modern sense is at the beginning of L’Allegro: ‘Hence, loathed Melancholy’.

  The authorship of the libretto has been much contested. Although Jennens helped to prepare it, recent research shows that it was the philosopher James Harris who drafted the initial version. In a letter to Harris, dated 29 December 1739, Jennens wrote:

  Having mention’d to Mr Handel your schemes of Allegro & Penseroso, I have made him impatient to see it in due Form & to set it immediately. I beg therefore that you will execute your Plan without delay and send it up; or if you don’t care to do that, send me your Instructions, & I will make the best use I am able of them: but by all means let me know your intentions by the next Post for he is so eager that I am afraid, if his demands are not answer’d very soon, He will be diverted to some less agreeable Design.

  It was Harris who not only had the idea of interweaving the lines from the two poems, but who also advised Handel (just like Baron van Swieten had advised Haydn in Die Jahreszeiten) on such matters as instrumentation and type of voice. We print here the full text of Milton’s poems, and not the libretto.

  J. B. WILKES1

  Psalm 136 (1824)

  Let us with a gladsom mind

  Praise the Lord, for he is kind,

  For his mercies ay endure,

  Ever faithfull, ever sure.

  Let us blaze his Name abroad,

  For of gods he is the God.

  For, &c.

  O let us his praises tell,

  That doth the wrathfull tyrants quell.

  For, &c.

  That with his miracles doth make

  Amazed Heav’n and Earth to shake;

  For, &c.

  That by his wisdom did create

  The painted Heav’ns so full of state.

  For, &c.

  That did the solid
Earth ordain

  To rise above the watry plain.

  For, &c.

  That by his all-commanding might,

  Did fill the new-made world with light.

  For, &c.

  And caus’d the Golden-tressed Sun,

  All the day long his cours to run.

  For, &c.

  The horned Moon to shine by night,

  Amongst her spangled sisters bright.

  For, &c.

  He with his thunder-clasping hand

  Smote the first-born of Egypt Land.

  For, &c.

  And in despight of Pharao fell2

  He brought from thence his Israel.

  For, &c.

  The ruddy waves he cleft in twain

  Of the Erythraen3 main.

  For, &c.

  The floods stood still like Walls of Glass,

  While the Hebrew Bands did pass.

  For, &c.

  But full soon they did devour

  The Tawny King with all his power.

  For, &c.

  His chosen people he did bless

  In the wastfull Wildernes.

  For, &c.

  In bloody battail he brought down

  Kings of prowess and renown.

  For, &c.

  He foil’d bold Seon and his host,

  That rul’d the Amorrean coast.

  For, &c.

  And large-lim’d Og he did subdue,4

  With all his over-hardy crew.

  For, &c.

  And to his servant Israel,

  He gave their Land, therin to dwell.

  For, &c.

  He hath with a piteous eye

  Beheld us in our misery.

  For, &c.

  And freed us from the slavery

  Of the invading enimy.

  For, &c.

  All living creatures he doth feed,

  And with full hand supplies their need.

  For, &c.

  Let us therfore warble forth

  His mighty Majesty and worth.

  For, &c.

  That his mansion hath on high

  Above the reach of mortall ey.

  For, &c.

  GEORGE FRIDERIC HANDEL: from L’Allegro, il Penseroso ed il Moderato (1740)

  L’Allegro1

  Hence loathed Melancholy

  Of Cerberus2 and blackest midnight born,

  In Stygian3 cave forlorn

  ’Mongst horrid shapes and shrieks, and sights unholy,

  Find out som uncouth4 cell,

  Wher brooding darknes spreads his jealous wings,

  And the night-Raven sings;

  There under Ebon5 shades, and low-brow’d6 Rocks,

  As ragged as thy Locks,

  In dark Cimmerian7 desert ever dwell.

  But com thou Goddes fair and free,

  In Heav’n ycleap’d Euphrosyne8

  And by men, heart-easing Mirth,

  Whom lovely Venus at a birth

  With two sister Graces more

  To Ivy-crowned Bacchus bore;

  Or whether (as som Sager sing)

  The frolick Wind that breathes the Spring,

  Zephir with Aurora9 playing

  As he met her once a Maying,10

  There on Beds of Violets blew,

  And fresh-blown Roses washt in dew,

  Fill’d her with thee a daughter fair,

  So bucksom, blith, and debonair.11

  Haste thee nymph, and bring with thee

  Jest and youthful Jollity,

  Quips and Cranks, and wanton Wiles12,

  Nods, and Becks13, and Wreathed Smiles,

  Such as hang on Hebe’s14 cheek

  And love to live in dimple sleek;

  Sport that wrincled Care derides,

  And Laughter holding both his sides.

  Com, and trip it as you go

  On the light fantastick toe15,

  And in thy right hand lead with thee

  The Mountain Nymph, sweet Liberty;

  And if I give thee honour due,

  Mirth, admit me of thy crue

  To live with her and live with thee

  In unreproved16 pleasures free;

  To hear the Lark begin his flight

  And singing startle the dull night

  From his watch-towre in the skies,

  Till the dappled dawn doth rise;

  Then to com in spight of17 sorrow

  And at my window bid good morrow,

  Through the Sweet-Briar, or the Vine,

  Or the twisted Eglantine.

  While the Cock with lively din,

  Scatters the rear of darknes thin,

  And to the stack, or the Barn dore

  Stoutly struts his Dames before,

  Oft list’ning how the Hounds and horn

  Chearly rouse the slumbring morn,

  From the side of som Hoar18 Hill,

  Through the high wood echoing shrill.

  Som time walking not unseen

  By Hedge-row Elms, on Hillocks green,

  Right against the Eastern gate,

  Wher the great Sun begins his state19,

  Rob’d in flames and Amber light,

  The clouds in thousand Liveries dight20,

  While the Plowman neer at hand

  Whistles ore the Furrow’d Land,

  And the Milkmaid singeth blithe,

  And the Mower whets his sithe,

  And every Shepherd tells his tale21

  Under the Hawthorn in the dale.

  Streit mine eye hath caught new pleasures

  Whilst the Lantskip22 round it measures,

  Russet Lawns and Fallows Gray

  Where the nibling flocks do stray,

  Mountains on whose barren brest

  The labouring clouds do often rest:

  Meadows trim with Daisies pide23,

  Shallow Brooks, and Rivers wide.

  Towers, and Battlements it sees

  Boosom’d high in tufted Trees,

  Where perhaps some beauty lies,

  The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes.

  Hard by, a Cottage chimney smokes

  From betwixt two aged Okes,

  Where Corydon and Thyrsis met24,

  Are at their savory dinner set

  Of Hearbs and other Country Messes25

  Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses;

  And then in haste her Bowre26 she leaves,

  With Thestylis to bind the Sheaves;

  Or if the earlier season lead

  To the tann’d Haycock in the Mead,

  Som times with secure27 delight

  The up-land Hamlets will invite,

  When the merry Bells ring round

  And the jocund rebecks28 sound

  To many a youth, and many a maid

  Dancing in the Chequer’d shade;

  And young and old com forth to play

  On a Sunshine Holyday,

  Till the live-long day-light fail,

  Then to the Spicy Nut-brown Ale,

  With stories told of many a feat,

  How Faery Mab29 the junkets eat,

  She was pincht, and pull’d, she sed,

  And he by Friars Lanthorn30 led

  Tells how the drudging Goblin31 swet

  To earn his Cream-bowle duly set,

  When in one night, ere glimps of morn,

  His shadowy Flale hath thresh’d the Corn

  That ten day-labourers could not end,

  Then lies him down the Lubbar Fend32.

  And stretch’d out all the Chimney’s33 length,

  Basks at the fire his hairy strength;

  And Crop-full out of dores he flings

  Ere the first Cock his Mattin rings.

  Thus don the Tales, to bed they creep,

  By whispering Windes soon lull’d asleep.

  Towred Cities please us then,

  And the busie humm of men,

  Where throngs of Knights and Barons bold,

  In weeds34 of Peac
e high triumphs35 hold,

  With store36 of Ladies, whose bright eies

  Rain influence, and judge the prise

  Of Wit, or Arms, while both contend

  To win her Grace, whom all commend.

  There let Hymen37 oft appear

  In Saffron robe, with Taper clear,

  And pomp, and feast, and revelry,

  With mask, and antique Pageantry,

  Such sights as youthfull Poets dream

  On Summer eeves by haunted stream.

  Then to the well-trod stage anon,

  If Jonsons learned Sock38 be on,

  Or sweetest Shakespear fancies childe,

  Warble his native Wood-notes wilde.

  And ever against eating Cares

  Lap me in soft Lydian39 Aires,

  Married to immortal verse

  Such as the meeting soul may pierce

  In notes, with many a winding bout40

  Of lincked sweetnes long drawn out,

  With wanton41 heed and giddy cunning42,

  The melting voice through mazes running;

  Untwisting all the chains that ty

  The hidden soul of harmony.

  That Orpheus self may heave his head

  From golden slumber on a bed

  Of heapt Elysian flowers, and hear

  Such streins as would have won the ear

  Of Pluto, to have quite set free

  His half regain’d Eurydice.43

  These delights, if thou canst give,

  Mirth with thee, I mean to live.

  Il Penseroso1

  Hence vain deluding joyes

  The brood of folly without father bred,

  How little you bested2,

  Or fill the fixed mind with all your toyes3;

  Dwell in som idle brain,

  And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess,

  As thick and numberless

  As the gay motes that people the Sun Beams,

  Or likest hovering dreams

  The fickle Pensioners4 of Morpheus5 train.

  But hail thou Goddes, sage and holy,

  Hail divinest Melancholy6,

  Whose saintly visage is too bright