Elizabethan Poems (and one medieval one for comparison) Translations by Ken Eckert

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1 1 Elizabethan Poems (and one medieval one for comparison) Translations by Ken Eckert The Cuckoo Song Anonymous, 14 th century Sing, cuccu, nu. Sing, cuccu. Sing, cuccu. Sing, cuccu, nu. Sumer is i-cumin in Lhude sing, cuccu! Groweth sed and bloweth med And springth the wude nu. Sing, cuccu! Awe bleteth after lomb, Lhouth after calve cu, Bulluc sterteth, bucke verteth Murie sing, cuccu! Cuccu, cuccu, Wel singes thu, cuccu. Ne swik thu naver nu! The Cuckoo Song Anonymous Sing, cuckoo, now! Sing, cuckoo! Sing, cuckoo! Sing, cuckoo, now! Summer is coming in, Sing loudly, cuckoo! Plants are growing and the meadow is blooming, And the woods are springing new. Sing, cuckoo! Sheep call after lambs, Cows call after calves, Bulls jump, deer fart! Sing merrily, cuckoo! Cuckoo, cuckoo, You sing well, cuckoo. Never stop singing, cuckoo! O Mistress Mine Where are you Roaming? William Shakespeare, 1601 O Mistress mine where are you roaming? O stay and hear, your true love s coming, That can sing both high and low. Trip no further pretty sweeting. Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man s son doth know. What is love, tis not hereafter, Present mirth, hath present laughter: What s to come, is still unsure. In delay there lies no plenty, Then come kiss me sweet and twenty: Youth s a stuff will not endure. O Mistress Mine Where are you Roaming? William Shakespeare O lady of mine, where are you going? Stay and listen, your true love is coming, Who can sing both high and low. Don t journey longer, pretty sweetheart. Journeys end with lovers meeting, This is something every wise man s son knows. What is love? It s not in some distant future; Fun right now has laughter right now. No one knows what is to come. There s no reward in waiting, So come kiss me, sweet and twenty. Youth is something that won t last. Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer s Day? William Shakespeare, 1609 Shall I compare thee to a summer s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer s lease hath all too short a date; Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer s Day? William Shakespeare Should I compare you to a summer s day? You are prettier and more regular; Rough winds sometimes shake May s blossoms, And summer s time is too short. Sometimes the sunshine is too hot,

2 2 And often is his gold complexion dimm d; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature s changing course untrimm d; But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow st; Nor shall death brag thou wander st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow st: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. And every evening the sun s light fades. Everything good eventually leaves, By luck or by the force of nature. But your eternal summer will not end, Nor will you lose your good qualities, Nor will death brag that you re in his hands, When you journey towards eternal life. So long as men can breathe or see, This will be true, and that gives life to you. My Mistress Eyes are Nothing like the Sun William Shakespeare, 1609 My mistress eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red than her lips red; If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damasked, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound; I grant I never saw a goddess go; My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground. And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare. My Mistress Eyes are Nothing like the Sun William Shakespeare My lady s eyes are not at all like the sun, And coral rocks are redder than her lips. If snow is white, then her body is just grey! If hair is wire, black wire grows on her head. I have seen beautiful roses, red and white, But I don t see any roses in her cheeks. And there is more joy in perfume Than in the smell of my lady s breath. I love to hear her talk, yet I know very well That music has a much nicer sound. I admit I never saw a goddess walking; When my lady walks, it s just on the ground. And yet I think my love for her is just as great As any silly comparisons she might make. I Care Not for These Ladies Thomas Campion, 1601 I care not for these ladies, That must be wooed and prayed: Give me kind Amaryllis, The wanton country maid. Nature art disdaineth, Her beauty is her own. Here when we court and kiss, She cries, Forsooth, let go! But when we come where comfort is, She never will say no. If I love Amaryllis, She gives me fruit and flowers: But if we love these ladies, We must give golden showers. Give them gold, that sell love, Give me the nut-brown lass, I Care Not for These Ladies Thomas Campion I don t really like these ladies Who need to be fussed over and chased. Give me kind Amarylis, The fun-loving country girl! Nature has nothing to do with art; Her beauty is her own, not made. When I try to kiss her in public She cries, Stop it, really! But when we go where we can be comfortable She will never say no to me. If I show love to Amarylis, She gives me fruit and flowers. But if we want to show love to these ladies, We need to pour gold over them! Give gold to the women who sell their love! Give me the nut-brown girl,

3 3 Who, when we court and kiss, She cries, Forsooth, let go! But when we come where comfort is, She never will say no. These ladies must have pillows, And beds by strangers wrought; Give me a bower of willows, Of moss and leaves unbought, And fresh Amaryllis, With milk and honey fed; Who, when we court and kiss, She cries, Forsooth, let go! But when we come where comfort is, She never will say no. Who when I try to kiss her in public, She cries, Stop it, really! But when we go where we are comfortable, She will never say no. These ladies must have elegant pillows, And beautiful beds made my strangers! Give me a bed of tree branches, Made with moss and leaves, for nothing, And fresh Amarylis, A girl fed with milk and honey! A girl who when I try to kiss in public, She cries, Stop it, really! But when we go where we are comfortable, She will never say no. The Sun Rising John Donne, 1633 Busy old fool, unruly sun, Why dost thou thus, Through windows, and through curtains call on us? Must to thy motions lovers seasons run? Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide Late school boys and sour prentices, Go tell court huntsmen that the king will ride, Call country ants to harvest offices, Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime, Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time. Thy beams, so reverend and strong Why shouldst thou think? I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink, But that I would not lose her sight so long; If her eyes have not blinded thine, Look, and tomorrow late, tell me, Whether both th Indias of spice and mine Be where thou leftst them, or lie here with me. Ask for those kings whom thou saw st yesterday, And thou shalt hear, All here in one bed lay. She s all states, and all princes, I, Nothing else is. Princes do but play us; compared to this, All honor s mimic, all wealth alchemy. Thou, sun, art half as happy as we, In that the world s contracted thus. Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be To warm the world, that s done in warming us. The Sun Rising John Donne Busy old fool, naughty sun, Why do you act this way, Calling to us through windows and curtains? Why should lovers obey your schedule? Naughty scolding nuisance, go yell at boys Who are late for school, or office workers! Go tell soldiers that the king wants to go hunting, Call country laborers to do their work! Love doesn t obey schedules or seasons, or hours, Days, or months those are time s problem. Your sunbeams, so serious and strong, Who do you think you are? I can shut them off just by closing my eyes! But I don t want to, for I couldn t see her. If she hasn t closed her eyes to you, Look and tell me tomorrow night, Whether both the riches of India, and of mine, Aren t in the same place where you left them! Ask about the kings you saw yesterday, And you ll hear that they re here in the same bed. My lover is every country and every king, And there s nothing else! Princes just pretend to imitate us. Compared to us, all titles are fake and all money an illusion. But sun, you can be as happy as us, In that the world has given you an easy job. People are lazy nowadays and only ask that You warm the world, and you do it in warming us.

4 4 Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere; This bed thy center is, these walls, thy sphere. Shine on us and you ve done your job! This bed s your center, these walls your workplace. Holy Sonnets: Death, Be not Proud John Donne, 1633 Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; For those whom thou think st thou dost overthrow Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow, And soonest our best men with thee do go, Rest of their bones, and soul s delivery. Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well And better than thy stroke; why swell st thou then? One short sleep past, we wake eternally And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die. Holy Sonnets: Death, Be not Proud John Donne Death, don t be so proud, even if some have Called you mighty and dreadful, for you aren t. For the people you think you have conquered Don t really die, poor Death, including me. The feeling similar to you rest and sleep is Pleasurable, and so you will be pleasurable too, And soon the best people go with you To rest their bodies, and with their souls saved. You re just a slave to luck, kings, and desperate Men, and your friends are poison, war, and illness. Poison flowers and charms can do the same thing As you, and quicker, so why brag? And after one quick sleep, we ll be awake forever, And there will be no more death; Death, you ll die. To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time Robert Herrick, 1648 Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying; And this same flower that smiles today Tomorrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, The higher he s a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he s to setting. That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse, and worst Times still succeed the former. Then be not coy, but use your time, And while ye may, go marry; For having lost but once your prime, You may forever tarry. To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time Robert Herrick Gather the rosebuds up while you can, For Time is still moving on, And the same flower that looks nice today Will be dying tomorrow. The beautiful lamp of heaven, the sun The higher it gets in the sky, The sooner it s job for the day is done, And the near it is to setting. Young age is the best, When youth and blood are warm, But when it s gone, worse, and then the Worst times will follow. So don t be shy, but use your time well, And while you can, get married; For once you ve lost your best opportunity, You might wait forever. Upon Jack And Jill Robert Herrick, 1648 Upon Jack And Jill Robert Herrick

5 5 When Jill complains to Jack for want of meat, Jack kisses Jill and bids her freely eat: Jill says, Of what? says Jack, On that sweet kiss, Which full of nectar and ambrosia is, The food of poets. So I thought, says Jill, That makes them look so lank, so ghost-like still. Let poets feed on air, or what they will; Let me feed full, till that I fart, says Jill. When Jill complains to Jack that there s no food, Jack kisses Jill and tells her to go eat. Jill says, Eat what? Jack says, sweet kisses, Which are full of flower nectar and happiness, The food of poets. It seems to me, says Jill, That just makes poets look thin and like ghosts. Let the poets eat the air, or whatever they want. I d rather eat food until I fart, says Jill. Easter Wings George Herbert, 1633 Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store, Though foolishly he lost the same, Decaying more and more, Till he became Most poore: With thee O let me rise As larks, harmoniously, And sing this day thy victories: Then shall the fall further the flight in me. My tender age in sorrow did beginne And still with sicknesses and shame. Thou didst so punish sinne, That I became Most thinne. With thee Let me combine, And feel thy victorie: For, if I imp my wing on thine, Affliction shall advance the flight in me. Easter Wings George Herbert Lord, who created man in riches and plenty, Though man foolishly lost them, Becoming corrupt more and more, Until he became Completely poor; With you Let me rise up Like small birds in song, And sing about your victories this day, And my fall will make my rise all the greater. My young years began in sadness And with sickness and shame. You punished my sin So that I became Completely empty. With you Let me join myself to you And feel your victory. For if I join my wings to yours My troubles will cause me to fly stronger. To His Coy Mistress Andrew Marvell, 1681 Had we but world enough and time, This coyness, lady, were no crime. We would sit down, and think which way To walk, and pass our long love s day. Thou by the Indian Ganges side Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide Of Humber would complain. I would Love you ten years before the flood, And you should, if you please, refuse Till the conversion of the Jews. My vegetable love should grow To His Coy Mistress Andrew Marvell If we had all the world and all its time, Lady, your shyness wouldn t be a crime. We could sit down and think about Where we would walk the whole day. You could look for gems by the Ganges in India, And I could sit by the dirty river of the Humber And complain! I would Love you from ten years before Noah s flood, And if you wanted to, you could refuse me Until the end of the world. My love would have time to grow like vegetables,

6 6 Vaster than empires and more slow; An hundred years should go to praise Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze; Two hundred to adore each breast, But thirty thousand to the rest; An age at least to every part, And the last age should show your heart. For, lady, you deserve this state, Nor would I love at lower rate. But at my back I always hear Time s wingèd chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity. Thy beauty shall no more be found; Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound My echoing song; then worms shall try That long-preserved virginity, And your quaint honour turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust; The grave s a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace. Now therefore, while the youthful hue Sits on thy skin like morning dew, And while thy willing soul transpires At every pore with instant fires, Now let us sport us while we may, And now, like amorous birds of prey, Rather at once our time devour Than languish in his slow-chapped power. Let us roll all our strength and all Our sweetness up into one ball, And tear our pleasures with rough strife Thorough the iron gates of life: Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run. Larger than empires and even more slowly. I d have a hundred years to praise your eyes, And to look at your face; Two hundred years to love each breast, And thirty thousand years for the rest of you. An era, at least, for every part of you, And the last era to love your heart. Lady, you deserve this to happen, And I wouldn t want to love you more slowly. But behind my back I always hear Time s chariot hurrying toward us. And before us there is only Empty deserts of vast eternity. Your beauty will not be known any more, Nor will my singing be heard in your grave. And then worms will be the only creatures To take your long-guarded virginity, And your reputation turn to dust, And my desire will be only ashes. The grave is a nice and private place, But I don t think any lovers embrace there. And so, while the color of youth Sits on your skin like morning dew, And will your willing soul glows From every inch of your skin with fire, Let s have fun together while we can, And now, like vultures and birds of prey, Eat up all of our time at once, Rather than waste it in Time s will. Let s roll up our strength and everything that Is sweet into one cannonball And shoot our pleasures like a battle Through the iron gates of life! For we can t make the sun stand still, But we can make it run to catch us!

St Margaret s Church, Binsey Evensong on Sunday 6 th May 2018 [Easter 6] Revd. Professor Martin Henig

St Margaret s Church, Binsey Evensong on Sunday 6 th May 2018 [Easter 6] Revd. Professor Martin Henig Psalm 45; Song of Songs 4:16-5:2;8: 6-7; Revelation 3: 14-22 I slept, but my heart was awake. Listen: