WILDE ROSES

Anna Tam Emily Alice Ovenden EDI BEO THU HEVENE QUEENE And to thee is al mi draucht. Mother, full of noble virtues “Oh no! We won’t lower our lofty topsail,Nor bow Thu me schildghe from the feonde, Maid patient and well taught ourselves under your lee, Edi beo thu, hevene queene, As thu ert free, and wilt and maucht; I am in your love bond And you shan’t take from us our rich merchant goods Folkes froovre and engles blis, Help me to mi lives ende, And you are all I desire; Nor point our bold guns to the sea.” Moder unwemmed and maiden cleene, And make me with thi sone saught. You are my shield from the fiend; Swich in world non other nis. Blessed be you, heaven’s queen; As you are noble, willing and able With broadside and broadside and at it they went On thee hit is weleth seene, Help me to my life’s end For fully two hours or three, Of alle wimmen thu hast the pris; Folks’ comfort and angels’ bliss Mother unblemished and maiden pure And make me with your son reconciled. Till Henry Martyn gave to her the death shot Mi sweete levdi, heer mi been And straight to the bottom went she. And rew of me yif thi will is. Such in this world no other is In you it is easily seen HENRY MARTYN Thu asteye so dai rewe Of all women you have the prize Bad news, bad news to old England came, Deleth from the deorke nicht; My sweet lady, hear my prayer There were three brothers in merry Scotland, Bad news to fair London Town, Of thee sprong a leeme newe And have pity on me if your will it is In merry Scotland there were three, There’s been a rich vessel and she’s cast away Al this world hit haveth ilight. And they did cast lots which of them should go, And all of her merry men drown’d. Nis no maide of thine hewe You ascend like the ray of dawn; And turn robber all on the salt sea. So fair, so scheene, so rudi, so bricht; Which separates from the dark night WILL YOW WALKE THE WOODS SOE WYLDE From you sprang a new light The lot it fell first upon Henry Martyn, Mi levdi swete, of me thu rew The youngest of all the three; And have merci of thi knicht. That all this world it has lit Shall I go walk the woods so wild? There is no maid of your complexion That he should turn robber all on the salt sea, Wand’ring, wand’ring here and there. Sprunge blostme of one rote, So fair, so beautiful, so fresh, so bright For to maintain his two brothers and he. As I was once full sore beguil’d, Th’oli Gost thee rest upon; My lady sweet, on me have compassion He had not been sailing but a long winter’s night Alas! For love I die with woe. Thet wes for monkunnes bote And have pity on your knight And a part of a short winter’s day, And heore soule alesen for on. Wearily blows the winter wind, Blossom sprung from a single root; When he espied a stout lofty ship Levedi milde, softe and swote, Come bibbing down on him straight way. Wand’ring, wand’ring here and there. Ich crie merci, ich am thi mon, The Holy Ghost rested upon you My heart is like a stricken hind, To honde bothen and to fot, That was for humankind’s benefit “Hullo, hullo,” cried Henry Martyn, Alas! For love I die with woe. On alle wise that ich kon. And their soul to redeem; “What makes you sail so nigh?” Lady mild, soft and sweet “I’m a rich merchant ship bound for fair London Town, Thu ert eorthe to gode sede; DOU WAY, ROBIN, THE CHILD WILE WEEPE, I cry to you pity, I am your servant Will you please for to let me pass by?” DOU WAY ROBIN On thee lighte the heven dew, Both hand and foot Of thee sprong thet edi blede “Oh no, oh no,” cried Henry Martyn, In all ways that I know Sancta mater graciae, Th’oli Gost hir on thee sew. “That thing it never could be; Thu bring us ut of kare of drede You are earth to good seed; For I have turn’d robber all on the salt sea stella claritatis, That Eve bitterliche us brew. On you alighted the heavenly dew; For to maintain my two brothers and me. visita nos hodie, From you sprang the blessed fruit plena pietatis. Thu schalt us into hevne lede; Come lower your topsail and brail up your mizz’n Wel sweet is us the ilke deugh. The holy ghost here in you sowed You bring us out of care, of dread And bring your ship under my lee, Veni, vena veniae, That Eve bitterly for us brewed Or I will give you a full flowing ball mox incarceratis, Moder, ful of thewes hende, And your dear bodies drown in the salt sea.” Maide dreigh and wel itaucht, You shall us into heaven lead solamen angustiae, Ich em in thine love bende, Well sweet it is for us this same dew ons suavitatis.

Recordare, mater Christi, sighing at the sad sight. What ys scharpper than ys the thorne? Grass ys grenner than ys the wode. What is swifter than the wind? COLD AND RAW quam amare tu flevisti; O Maria, royal flower, What ys loder than ys the horne? Loue ys swetter than ys the notte. What is richer than a King? juxta crucem tu stetisti of all, there is nothing so special Cold and Raw the North did blow, suspirando viso tristi. as your son’s birth, What longger than ys the way? Thowt ys swifter than ys the wynde, What is yellower than wax? Bleak in the Morning early; have mercy on sins of our flesh. What is rader than ys the day? Ihesus ys recher than ys the kynge. What is softer than flax? All the Trees were hid in Snow, O Maria, flos regalis, Dagl’d by Winter yearly: Oh to what a heart Inter omnes nulla talis, you spoke What ys bether than ys the bred? Safer is yeluer than ys the wexs, But now answer me, When come Riding over a Knough, tuo nato specialis, Gabriel announcing What ys strenger than ys the dede? Selke ys softer than ys the flex. In truth you shall be my beloved.” I met with a Farmer’s Daughter; nostrae carnis parce malis. the words had begun. Rosie Cheeks and bonny Brow, What ys grenner than ys the wode? Now, thu fende, style thu be; “Jesus, with your gentle might, Good faith made my Mouth to water. O quam corde supplici ‘Behold the maid of God’ What ys sweetter than ys the note? Nelle ich speke no more with the! as you are king and knight, locuta fuisti thou quickly said; Down I vail’d my Bonnet low, Gabrielis nuncio thou bore the springtime What ys swifter than ys the wynd? Will you hear a wondrous thing Lend me wisdom to answer here right, Meaning to shew my breeding; verba cum cepisti. of living joy. What ys recher than ys the kynge? Between a maid and the foul fiend? And shield me from the foul witch! I return’d a graceful bow, A visage far exceeding: ‘En ancilla Domini’ Rejoice, worthy, What ys yeluer than ys the wex? Thus spoke the fiend to the maid: Heaven is higher than a tree, I ask’d her where she went so soon, propere dixisti; and gracious lady What softer than ys he flex? “Believe in me, maid, today. Hell is deeper than the sea. And long’d to begin a Parly; vernum vivi gaudii in the heavenly throne; I told him unto the next Market Town, post hoc peperisti. your children are saddled by disease But thou now answery me, Maid, I would be your lover, Hunger is sharper than a thorn, A purpose to sell my Barly. bring us back to the son. Stop it, Robin, Thu schalt for sothe my leman be I will teach you wisdom; Thunder is louder than a horn. Gaude, digna, the child will weep; . In this purse, sweet Soul, said I, tam benigna, stop it, Robin. Ihesu, for thy myld mygth, All the wisdom of the world, Looking is longer than the way, Twenty pounds lie fairly; caeli solio; As thu art kynge and knygt, If you will be true and steady. The sun is brighter than the day. Seek no farther one to buy, tuos natos, RIDDLES WISELY EXPOUNDED For I’se take all thy Barly: morbo stratos, (INTER DIABOLUS ET VIRGO) Lene me wisdome to answere here rygth, What is higher than a tree? God’s flesh is better than bread, Twenty more shall buy Delight, redde filio. And schylde me fram the fovle wygth! What is deeper than the sea? Pain is stronger than the deed. Thy Person I Love so dearly; Wol ye here a wonder thynge If thou wouldst stay with me all Night, Holy mother of grace, Betwyxt a mayd and the fovle fende? Wewene ys heyer than ys the tre, What is sharper than a thorn? Grass is greener than woad, And go home in the Morning early. star of clarity, Helle ys dypper than ys the see. What is louder than a horn? Love is sweeter than a nut. visit us today Thys spake the fend to the mayd: If Twenty pound could buy the Globe, full of pity. Beleue on me, mayd, to day. Hongyr ys scharpper than the thorne, What is longer than the way? Thought is swifter than the wind, Said I, this I’d not do, Sir; Thonder ys lodder than ys the horne. What is brighter than the day? Jesus is richer than a king. Or were my kin as poor as Job, Come, channel of mercy, Mayd, mote y thi leman be, I wo’d not raise ‘em so, Sir: to those imprisoned, Wyssedom y wolle teche the: Loukynge us longer than ys the way, What is better than bread? Saffron is yellower than wax, For should I be to Night your friend, as a solace of misery, All the wyssedom off the world, Syn is rader than ys the day. What is stronger than the deed? Silk is softer than flax. We’st get a young Kid together; a source of sweetness. Hyf thou wolt be true and forward holde And you’d be gone ere the nine Months end, Godys flesse ys betur than ys the brede, What is greener than woad? Now, devil, be still – And where should I find a Father? Remember, mother of Christ, What ys hyer than ys tre? Payne ys strenger than ys the dede. What is sweeter than a nut? I will speak no more with you!” in love you wept What ys dypper than ys the see? as you stood by the cross I told her I had Wedded been, No condemnation now I dread; Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c. I am stag of seven fights Fourteen years and longer; Jesus, and all in Him, is mine! Wel, I wil pray to God on hie, I am hawk on cliff Or else I’d choose her for my Queen, Alive in Him, my living Head, that thou my constancie maist see: I am tear-drop of the sun And tie the Knot much stronger: And clothed in righteousness Divine, And that yet once before I die, I am fairest of plants I bid him then no farther rome, Bold I approach the eternal throne, thou wilt vouchsafe to loue me. I am boar for valour But manage thy Wedlock fairly; And claim the crown, through Christ my own. Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c. I am salmon in pool And keep Purse for poor Spouse at home, I am lake on plain For some other shall have my Barly. MY LADY GREENSLEEVES Greensleeues now farewel adue, I am strength of art God I pray to prosper thee: I am excellence of the arts AND CAN IT BE THAT I SHOULD GAIN Alas my loue, ye do me wrong, For I am stil thy louer true, I am spear point in battle to cast me off discurteously: come once againe and loue me. I am a god who forms subjects for a ruler And can it be that I should gain And I haue loued you so long Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c. Who explains the stones of the mountain? An int’rest in the Savior’s blood? Delighting in your companie. Who invokes the ages of the Moon? Died He for me, who caused His pain? Greensleeues was all my ioy, SONG OF AMHAIRGHIN GLÚNGHEAL Where lies the setting of the Sun? For me, who Him to death pursued? Greensleeues was my delight: Who bears the cattle from the house of Tethra? Amazing love! How can it be Greensleeues was my heart of gold, Am gaeth i mmuir Who are the laughing cattle of Tethra? That Thou, my God, shouldst die for me? And who but Ladie Greensleeues. Am tonn trethain What man, what god, forms weapons? Am fuaimm i mmuir Then indeed: I invoked a satirist, a satirist of wind ’Tis mystery all! The Immortal dies! I haue been readie at your hand, Am dam sethair Who can explore His strange design? to grant what euer you would craue. Am séig for aill ALAS DEPARTYNGE IS GROUND OF WOO In vain the firstborn seraph tries I haue both waged life and land, Am dér gréne To sound the depths of love Divine! your loue and good will for to haue. Am cain lubai Alas departynge is ground of woo, ’Tis mercy all! Let earth adore, Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c. Am torc ar gail Othyr songe can I not synge, Let angel minds inquire no more. Am hé i llimd But why part I my lady fro, He left His Father’s throne above, Thy gown was of the grossie green, Am loch i mmaig Syth love was caus of our metynge. So free, so infinite His grace; thy sleeues of Satten hanging by: Am brí a ndai Emptied Himself of all but love, Which made thee be our haruest Queen, Am brí dánae The bitter teris of her wepyng And bled for Adam’s helpless race: and yet thou wouldst not loue me. Am gae la fodb feras fechtu Myn hert hath perished so mortaly ’Tis mercy all, immense and free; Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c. Am dé delbas do chind codnu That to the deth hit wil me brynge, For, O my God, it found out me. Cóich é nod gleith clochar slébe? But yf I se hire hastily. My gayest gelding I thee gaue, Cia ón cota-gair aesa éscai? Long my imprisoned spirit lay To ride where euer liked thee, Cia dú i llaig fuiniud gréne? Alas, departing is grounds for woe, Fast bound in sin and nature’s night; No Ladie euer was so braue, Cia beir buar ó thig Thethrach? No other song can I sing, Thine eye diffused a quickening ray, And yet thou wouldst not loue me. Cia buar Tethrach tibite? But why part I from my lady, I woke, the dungeon flamed with light; Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c. Cia doen, cia dé delbas faebru? Since love was the cause of our meeting? My chains fell off, my heart was free, Amin ám: Áilsiu cáinte, cáinte gaíthe I rose, went forth, and followed Thee. Thou couldst desire no earthly thing. The bitter tears of her weeping! But stil thou hadst it readily: I am wind on sea My heart has perished so mortally Thy musicke still to play and sing, I am wave upon land That it will bring me to death And yet thou wouldst not loue me. I am ocean roar Unless I see her hastily. AN AWHESYTH When his day’s work is over that he hath to do, Long lif and blissen undervoo, All he destroys in his strength, O’ then to a fair or a wake he will go, Theer death luteth in thi ssoo For crafty and sudden is his twist. Del en-vy ow kerdhes un myttyn yn mys me, And there he will whistle and there he will sing, To thee vordo. No human can prevail against that, Y clewys moren yowynk, neb geryow yn-meth hy; And then to his fair love a ribbon will bring. Alas, nor threat nor entreaty, ‘A bup galwas yn bys kekemmys may vo, Man, hwi neltu thee bicnowe? Bribery nor cunning nor physician’s potion. A’n araderor nyns yu par yn mys me ytho.’ Good luck to the ploughboys wherever they be, Man, hwi neltu thee bisi? Human, leave sin and lust’s stench; An awhesyth a dhyfun a’y nythva y’n myttyn, They will take a sweet maid to sit on the knee; Of velthe thu art erst isowe; Well do, well think. Y bron gans gluthennow war ayr gwyn del yskyn; They’ll drink the brown beer, they will whistle and sing, Wermes mete thu sselt bi. An awhesyth ha’n maw aradar kescana ‘yllons y, O the ploughboy’s more happy than a noble or a king. Heer nafstu blisse daies thri; Take Solomon’s advice, Dh’y nythva yn gorthewer mos wardhelergh a-wra hy. Al thi lif thu drihst in wowe. Human, and so you shall well do; MAN MAI LONGE LIVES WEENE Weilawei! death thee ssel throwe Do exactly as he you taught, and heed Yth yskynnys un myttyn mar ughel, ogh mar ughel, Dun, theer thu weendest heeghe sti; What thy ending brings to thee, Y vyrys orth an le adro hag orth an ebren tewl; Man mai longe lives weene In wo ssel thi wele ti, Never shall you afterwards do ill. Yth esa hy ow cana yn myttyn oll adro, Ac him lighet oft the wrench; In woop thi gli. Sorely you might dread for yourself. Nyns yu bewnans avel araderor un mys me ytho. Vair weder oft went into reene Alas, such as might expect to lead well Veerlich maket hit his blench. Werld and wele thee biswiket; A long life and enjoy pleasures, Pan yu dewedhys oll whel a’n jeth yma dhodho, Thervore, man, thu thee bithench; mid iwis hi byeth thi vo. There death lurks in thy shoe Dhe fer po encledhyans martesen yth ello; Al ssel valewi thi greene. If thine werld mid wele sliket, To you destroy. Y’n keth le y whra cana hag ena y whyban, Weilawei! nis king ne queene Thet is vor to do thee wo. Wosa henna dh’y gares whek a-dhre ef ryban. Thet ne ssel drink of deathes drench. Thervore let lust overgo, Human, wilt thou recognise thyself? Man, er thu vall of thi bench, Man, and eft hit wel thee liket. Human, wilt thou consider thyself? Sowyn dhe maw aradar pypynak may vons-y ‘ Thi senn aquench. Weilawei! hu sore him wiket Of filth you were first sown; War’n glyn, neb mowes whek kemeres a whrons-y; No mai strong ne starc ne keene Thet in o stunde, other two, Worms meat you shall be. Whybana a wrons ha cana, owth eva coref gell, Ayee deathes wither clench, Wercth him pine evermo! Here thou hast not joy for three days; Moy lowen yu’n tus ma es myghtern po’n gos ughel. Ne yung ne ald, ne briht and sseene; Ne do, man, swo! All your life you endures in woe. Al he rivet an his strength, Alas! Death shall throw you As I was a walking one morning in May, Vor vox and veerlich is his wrench. Humans may a long life expect Down, there you expect to ascend high; I heard a young damsel these words did say; No mai no man theertoyeernes, But one is deceived often by the trick; In misery shall your prosperity go, “Of all the calling whatever they may be, Weilawei, ne threat ne beene, Fair weather often went to rain Into weeping, your glee. No life is like the ploughboy’s in the month of May.” Suddenly makes it its trick Meede ne list ne leeches drench. Therefore, human, you think on this; Worldliness and prosperity deceive you; Man, let senn and lustes stench; All shall wither from their youth. With certainty they are your foes. The Lark in the morning awakes from her nest, Wel do, wel thench. And mounts the white air with the dew on her breast; Alas! There is not king nor queen If your world with riches flatters you O the lark and the ploughboy together can sing, Do bi Salomones reede, That shall not drink of death That is for to do you woe. And return to her nest in the evening. Man, and so thu sselt wel do; Human, before you fall for this trick, Therefore let desire pass, Do also he thee taht, and heede Quench your sins. Human, afterwards it will be pleasing to you. One morning she mounted so high oh so high, Hwet thin ending thee bringth to, Alas! What a sore service one does oneself And looked around her, and at the dark sky; Ne sseltu never eft misdo. Never can the strong, nor mighty nor bold That in one hour or two, In the morning she was singing and thus was her lay, Sore thu miht thee adreede, against Death’s grip prevail, Earns himself pain forever! There’s no life like the ploughboys in the month of May. Weilawei, swich weenst wel leede Not young, nor old, nor bright and beautiful; Don’t do this, human, swear EDI BEO THU HEVENE QUEENE DOU WAY ROBIN Playford’s 1651 The English Dancing Master entitled the Gaels, coming to Ireland to conquer and settle. Stingo and the words printed in Thomas D’Urfey’s The Tuatha Dé Danann, who ruled there, prevented Natural imagery pervades this thirteenth century This motet from the second half of the thirteenth 1719 collection of songs and ballads Pills to Purge their ships landing by conjuring a storm until the religious love song to the virgin Mary as the poet century weaves Latin Marian lyrics around a repeated Melancholy. bard Amhairghin calmed the winds with these words. employs the language and ideas of courtly love, fragment of a popular song in middle English. vocals, nyckelharpa – Anna Tam Eventually it was decided that the Gaels would rule the describing himself as her knight who will wait land above and the Tuatha Dé Danann the underworld. hand and foot on her. The manuscript was found at vocals – Anna Tam and Emily Alice Ovenden vocals, drum – Emily Alice Ovenden Llanthony Priory, Gloucestershire. vocals, drum – Anna Tam CAUDA AND CAN IT BE THAT I SHOULD GAIN? vocals, descant and tenor recorder, drum – ALAS DEPARTYNGE IS GROUND OF WOO Emily Alice Ovenden An instrumental cauda (or tail) from a conductus in CharlesWesley, a leader of the Methodist movement vocals, nyckelharpa – Anna Tam the Wolfenbüttel Manuscript c.1250 at St Andrews, and composer of over 6000 hymns, wrote the lyrics An anonymous fifteenth century love song of parting Scotland. Its original purpose may have been as to this hymn in 1738 after a profound religious recorded in the Mellon Chansonnier. HENRY MARTYN processional music. experience. vocals – Emily Alice Ovenden and Anna Tam A popular ballad, long in the folk tradition, and with descant recorder – Emily Alice Ovenden vocals – Emily Alice Ovenden many variations. The original protagonist of the story nyckelharpa – Anna Tam viola da gamba – Anna Tam AN AWHESYTH was the Scottish privateer Sir Andrew Barton who operated from the 1490s until 1511 when he died RIDDLES WISELY EXPOUNDED (INTER MY LADY GREENSLEEVES Sabine Baring-Gould, folk song collector, recorded on his ship, the Unicorn, in battle against ships sent DIABOLUS ET VIRGO) this song in 1891 from Samuel Gilbert, the 81-year-old by Henry VIII. The tune was sung by Lucy White of A broadside ballad “A Newe Northen Dittye of ye landlord of the Falcon Inn at St Mawgan in Pydar, Hambridge on April 19th 1905, to folk-song collector Variations of this riddle song, the lyrics of which Ladye Greene Sleves” was registered at the London Cornwall. The charm of the sweet story of The Lark, or Cecil Sharp. are recorded in a manuscript from 1444, have been Stationer’s Company on 3rd September 1580 and The Pretty Ploughboy, has ensured its wide distribution vocals, hurdy gurdy – Anna Tam handed down to people throughout Britain and the within a year six more versions followed. The throughout England in many versions. vocals, drum – Emily Alice Ovenden Appalachian mountains of America. The girl, or often popularity of this lover’s complaint is attested by sisters, are requested to answer questions to obtain Shakespeare’s mention in the Merry Wives of Windsor vocals, drum – Emily Alice Ovenden WILL YOW WALKE THE WOODS SOE WYLDE or avoid a lover, sometimes the devil. The melody where Falstaff cries “Let the sky rain potatoes! Let it vocals, hurdy gurdy – Anna Tam comes from Thomas D’Urfey’s 1719 Pills to Purge thunder to the tune of ‘Greensleeves!’” Seven verses vocals – Petroc the lark A Tudor folk song reported to be a favourite of Henry Melancholy but seems, through its mode and stepwise have been chosen from the 19 presented in the 1584 VIII. Its playful Lydian-mode melody inspired several movement, to be much older. The refrain, “Lay the songbook A Handful of Pleasant Delights. MAN MAI LONGE LIVES WEENE composers of the day – including William Byrd and Bent to the Bonny Broom”, has long been associated Orlando Gibbons – to write variations on it. The lyrics with the ballad and seems appropriate, as one of the vocals, descant and tenor recorder, tambourine – The appeal of this gentle melody from c.1250, to the second verse were written by Helena Bantock for interpretations of its meaning is that to form a cross of Emily Alice Ovenden influenced by trouvère song and plainchant, is the 1914 One Hundred Songs of England. the plants bent and broom would ward off the devil. vocals, viola da gamba – Anna Tam immediate, but perhaps the words take a little longer to appreciate? My favourite line reads in present day vocals, nyckelharpa – Anna Tam vocals, viola da gamba – Anna Tam SONG OF AMHAIRGHIN GLÚNGHEAL vocals – Emily Alice Ovenden English as “Death lurks in your shoe!” The words are vocals, tenor recorder, drum – Emily Alice Ovenden recorded in four manuscripts but the music in just one, The lyrics, in Old/Middle Irish, are from the Book currently in Maidstone Museum, Kent. COLD AND RAW of Leinster c.1160, although they may have been in An enduring favourite of the folk tradition since oral and/or written transmission for centuries before. vocals, nyckelharpa – Anna Tam at least the 17th century. The tune is found in John Early Irish myths tell of Amhairghin and his people, vocals, treble recorder, drum – Emily Alice Ovenden All songs written/arranged by Anna Tam except ‘And Can It Be That I Should Gain’, written by Emily Alice Ovenden and Anna Tam Engineered and produced by Are Kolltveit and mastered by Jacob Ware, Right Sound Mastering

Photographs by Chris Brody and additional artwork by Annie Ovenden

Thanks to: Chris Brody, Are Kolltveit, Annie Ovenden, Pam and Roy Chilton, Bob Askew, Francine Brody, James Brown, Steve Penhaligon, Dee Harris, Gemma Black, Janice Issitt, Gurdish Haugsdal