O sweet woods, the delight of solitarienesse (John Dowland): Difference between revisions
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:'''Edition notes:''' Previously hosted on external site. Uploaded to CPDL server 2007-11-23. | :'''Edition notes:''' Previously hosted on external site. Uploaded to CPDL server 2007-11-23. | ||
Revision as of 15:10, 20 February 2015
Music files
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- CPDL #16800: NoteWorthy Composer
- Editor: Brian Russell (submitted 2008-05-06). Score information: A4, 5 pages, 36 kB Copyright: CPDL
- Edition notes:
- CPDL #11867: Finale 2006
- Editor: Daniel Harmer (submitted 2006-06-13). Score information: Letter, 3 pages, 115 kB Copyright: CPDL
- Edition notes:
- Editor: Rolf Maeder, http://corodiluna.comcreate page (submitted 2004-10-30). Score information: Letter, 3 pages, 48 kB Copyright: Personal
- Edition notes: Previously hosted on external site. Uploaded to CPDL server 2007-11-23.
- Editor: Laura Conrad (submitted 2001-01-11). Score information: A4, 8 pages, 104 kB Copyright: GnuGPL
- Edition notes: in partbook and score formats, with lute tablature, edited by Erik Koerner
General Information
Title: O sweet woods, the delight of solitarienesse
Composer: John Dowland
Lyricist: Philip Sidney (1554-1586)
Number of voices: 4vv Voicing: SATB
Genre: Secular, Madrigal
Language: English
Instruments: Lute
Published: 1600
Description: No X from Second Book of Songs or Ayres (1600)
External websites:
Original text and translations
English text
O sweet woods the delight of solitarinesse,
O how much do I love your solitarinesse.
From fames desire, from loves delight retir'd,
In these sad groves an Hermits life I led,
And those flase pleasures which once I admir'd,
With sad remembrance of my fall, I dread.
To birds to trees, to earth, impart I this,
For shee less secret, and as senceless is.
O sweet woods, etc.
O how much, etc.
Experience which repentance only brings,
Doth bid mee now my hart from love estrange,
Love is disdained when it doth looke at Kings,
And love loe placed, base and apt to change:
The power doth take from him his liberty,
His want of worth makes him in cradell die.
O sweet woods, etc.
O how much, etc.
You men that give false worship unto Love,
And seke that which you never shall obtaine,
The endlesse worke of Sisisphus you procure,
Whose end is this, to know you strive in vaine,
Hope and desire which now your Idols bee,
You needs must loose and feele dispaire with mee.
O sweet woods, etc.
O how much, etc.
You woods in you the fairest Nimphs have walked,
Nimphs at whose sight all harts did yeeld to Love.
You woods in whom deere lovers oft have talked,
How doe you now a place of mourning prove,
Wansted my Mistres saith this is the doome,
Thou art loves Childbed, Nursery, and Tombe.
O sweet woods, etc.
O how much, etc.