TEXTS

 

Who is Silvia?

Text by William Shakespeare

From The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act IV, Scene 2

 

Who is Silvia? what is she?

   That all our swains commend her?

Holy, fair, and wise is she;

   The heaven such grace did lend her,

That she might admired be.

 

Is she kind as she is fair?

   For beauty lives with kindness:

Love doth to her eyes repair,

   To help him of his blindness;

And, being helped, inhabits there.

 

Then to Silvia let us sing,

   That Silvia is excelling;

She excels each mortal thing

   Upon the dull earth dwelling:

To her let us garlands bring.

 

 

The Floral Bandit

Text by Humbert Wolfe

From 12 Humbert Wolfe Songs, Opus 48

 

Beyond the town - oh far! beyond it

  she walks - that lady - have you seen her?

that thief of spring, that floral bandit

  who leaves the grass she walks on greener.

 

And she can sing - the blackbirds hear her -

  those little coals with throats of flame -

and they can find, alighting near her,

  no sweeter practice than her name.

 

What is her name? O ask the linnet,

  for human tongue would strive in vain

to speak the buds uncrumpling in it,

  and the small language of the rain.

 

Who is this lady? What is she?

  the Sylvia all our swains adore?

Yes, she is that unchangingly,

  but she is also something more.

 

For buds at best are little green

  keys on an old thin clavichord,

that only has the one high tune -

  that, since the first, all springs have heard.

 

And all first love with the same sighing

  tunes, though more sweetly touched, has lingered,

as though he were forever trying

  toccatas Purcell might have fingered.

 

But no one knows her range nor can

  guess half the phrases of her fiddle,

the lady who fore ev'ry man

  breaks off her music in the middle.

 

 

An Silvia

Text by William Shakespeare

From The Two Gentlemen of Verona (IV, 2)

Translation by Eduard von Bauernfeld

 

Was ist Silvia, saget an,

Daß sie die weite Flur preist?

Schön und zart seh ich sie nahn,

Auf Himmelsgunst und Spur weist,

Daß ihr alles untertan.

 

Ist sie schön und gut dazu?

Reiz labt wie milde Kindheit;

Ihrem Aug’ eilt Amor zu,

Dort heilt er seine Blindheit

Und verweilt in süßer Ruh.

 

Darum Silvia, tön, o Sang,

Der holden Silvia Ehren;

Jeden Reiz besiegt sie lang,

Den Erde kann gewähren:

Kränze ihr und Saitenklang!

 

 

Come Thou Monarch

of the Vine and Transcript

 

Composed by Franz Schubert, and — subsequently — Joseph Summer. Text by William Shakespeare (aka Edward DeVere) from Antony and Cleopatra (II, 7). German translation by Eduard von Bauernfeld. German text for the Schubert lied translated by Friedrich Reil. Additional text culled from the September 27th 2018 confirmation hearing concerning the nomination of Brett Kavanaugh to the Supreme Court of the United States, and excerpts from Georgetown Preparatory School’s 1983 yearbook.

 

Bachus, feister Fürst des Weins,

Komm mit Augen hellen Scheins,

Uns're Sorg' ersäuf' dein Faß,

Und dein Laub uns krönen laß.

 Füll' uns, bis die Welt sich dreht,

 Füll' uns, bis die Welt sich dreht!

 

Come thou Monarch of the Vine,

Plumpie Bacchus, with pinke eyne:

In thy Fattes our Cares be drown'd,

With thy Grapes out haires be Crown'd.

     Cup us till the world go round,

     Cup us till the world go round

 

Unser Sang erschalle hoch!

Wein mit Sang schmeckt besser noch.

So entfliehet froh die Zeit,

wem's nicht mundet, fliege weit.

 Hoch der edle Göttertrank!

 Hoch der edle Göttertrank!

 

Amy Klobuchar: Drinking is one thing, but the concern is about the truthfulness. In your written testimony you said sometimes you had too many drinks.

 

Brett Kavanaugh: I drank beer with my friends. Sometimes I had too many beers. I liked beer. I liked beer. I still like beer. Hanging out.

 

Amy Klobuchar: Was there ever a time you had so many drinks you couldn’t remember what happened or part of what happened the night before.?

 

Brett Kavanaugh: You’ve probably had beer, right? You’ve probably had beer, right senator? You’ve probably had beer, right senator?

 

Amy Klobuchar: Personally, do you think that’s the best thing to do?

 

Brett Kavanaugh: They don’t reach conclusions! They just provide the Three Oh Twos. Hanging out and having some beers with friends. Ralph Club’s biggest contributor.

 

 

Herzeleid (Heart suffering)

Text by Titus Ulrich (inspired by Hamlet)

Translation by Joseph Summer

 

Die Weiden lassen matt die Zweige hangen,

Und traurig zieh'n die Wasser hin:

Sie schaute starr hinab mit bleichen Wangen,

Die unglückselge Träumerin.

Und ihr entfiel ein Strauss von Immortellen,

Er war so schwer von Tränen ja,

Und leise warnend lispelten die Wellen:

Ophelia, Ophelia!

 

Descending the willow’s weak limbs,

Liquescent desolation flows

Down-stream. Pale cheeks and eyes

Down-cast; the hapless dreamer

From her hands lets drop a spray

Of immortelles, weighed down by heavy tears –

Softly, the waves whisper warning:

Ophelia, Ophelia!

 

 

Die Fenster klär' (Washing the Windows)

Text by Titus Ulrich

Translation by Joseph Summer

 

Die Fenster klär' ich zum Feiertag,

Daß sich die Sonn' drin spiegeln mag,

Und klär' und denke gar mancherlei.

Da geht er stolz vorbei!

 

So sehr muss ich da erschrocken sein,

Daß ich gleich brach in die Scheiben hinein,

Und gleich auch kam das Blut gerannt

Rot über meine Hand.

 

Und mag sie auch bluten, meine Hand,

Und mag mich auch schmerzen der böse Brand,

Hast einen Blick doch herauf geschickt,

Als laut das Glas geknickt.

 

Und in die Augen dir hab' ich gesehn;

Ach Gott, wie lang ist es nicht geschehn!

Hast mich ja nicht einmal angeblickt,

Als leis mein Herz geknickt!

 

Washing the windows for the holiday,

That the sun would see its own reflection,

Thinking of this and that, scrubbing the pane,

And at that instant he walks by, prideful, haughty.

 

So surprised by his sudden appearance,

I broke through the glass.

Blood poured out in crimson abundance.

Red hands; but what does that matter?

 

I don’t care about bleeding in his sight,

Nor do I regret the pain.

The sharp report of the cracking glass

Made you look up and take note.

 

I looked into your eyes, and you mine.

How long since my eyes reflected yours?

You didn’t even glance at me

When you softly broke my heart.

 

 

Der Gärtner (The Gardener)

Text by Eduard Mörike

Translation by Joseph Summer

 

Auf ihrem Leibrößlein

So weiß wie der Schnee,

Die schönste Prinzessin

Reit't durch die Allee.

 

Der Weg, den das Rößlein

Hintanzet so hold,

Der Sand, den ich streute,

Er blinket wie Gold!

 

Du rosenfarb's Hütlein

Wohl auf und wohl ab,

O wirf eine Feder,

Verstohlen herab!

 

Und willst du dagegen

Eine Blüte von mir,

Nimm tausend für eine,

Nimm alle dafür!

 

Astride her dearest pony

White as snow,

the prettiest princess

rides down the boulevard.

 

On the path upon which

Her mount primly prances,

Glistens the golden sand

I have strewn before her.

 

You rosy little cap,

Bobbing up and down.

Toss a feather down

To me surreptitiously!

 

And would you like me

To tender a flower?

Nay! take a thousand.

Take them all. All!

 

 

Auf dem Dorf in den Spinnstuben (In the village in the spinning rooms)

Text by Paul Heyse

Translation by Joseph Summer

 

Auf dem Dorf in den Spinnstuben

Sind lustig die Mädchen.

Hat jedes seinen Herzbuben,

Wie flink geht das Rädchen!

 

Spinnt jedes am Brautschatz,

Daß der Liebste sich freut.

Nicht lange, so gibt es

Ein Hochzeitsgeläut!

 

Kein' Seel', die mir gut ist,

Kommt mit mir zu plaudern;

Gar schwül mir zu Mut ist,

Und die Hände zaudern.

 

Und die Tränen mir rinnen

Leis übers Gesicht.

Wofür soll ich spinnen,

Ich weiß es ja nicht!

 

In the village, in the spinning rooms,

My girlfriends are joyous.

Each one has her special boy.

The wheels whir with celerity.

 

Each spins to fill her hope chest

So that her beloved boy will be gay.

Soon the streets will ring

With the sounds of wedding bells

 

Not a single soul finds me fair

Enough to chat me up; so I am

Downcast and forlorn.

My little hands fail the loom.

 

Tears spill down

My overlooked face.

Why am I spinning?

I really have no idea.

 

 

Ich zieh' so allein in den Wald hinein! (I go, so alone, into the woods!)

Text by (Karl) Wolfgang Müller von Königswinter

Translation by Tom Schnauber

 

Ich zieh' so allein in den Wald hinein!

O sieh zwei Falter fliegen!

Sie tummeln sich durch die Luft,

Und wenn sie ruh'n, so wiegen

Sie sich in der Blumen Duft,

Und ich bin so allein, voll Pein!

 

Ich zieh' so allein in den Wald hinein!

O sieh zwei Vöglein erschrocken

Entstieben dem warmen Nest!

Doch singen und suchen und locken

Sie hoch sich im Geäst,

Und ich bin so allein, voll Pein!

 

Ich zieh' so allein in den Wald hinein!

O sieh zwei Rehe zieh'n

An der grünen Halde zumal!

Und wie sie mich seh'n, entflieh'n

Sie fern in Berg und Tal,

Und ich bin so allein, voll Pein!

 

I go, so alone, into the woods!

Oh, see two butterflies flutter!

They scuffle through the air,

And when they rest, they sway

Themselves in the flowers’ scent,

And I am so alone, full of hurt!

 

I go, so alone, into the woods!

Oh, see two small birds, startled,

Flap away from their warm nest!

Yet still they sing and search and entice

Themselves high in the branches,

And I am so alone, full of hurt!

 

I go, so alone, into the woods!

Oh, see two deer wander

Along the green slope!

And when they see me, they flee

To distant hill and dale,

And I am so alone, full of hurt!

 

 

Es ist so still geworden (Evening Song)

Text by (Johann) Gottfried Kinkel

Translation by Joseph Summer

 

Es ist so still geworden,

Verrauscht des Abends Wehn,

Nun hört man aller Orten

Der Engel Füße gehn,

Rings in die Thale senket

Sich Finsterniß mit Macht --

Wirf ab, Herz, was dich kränket

Und was dir bange macht!

 

Es ruht die Welt im Schweigen,

Ihr Tosen ist vorbei,

Stumm ihrer Freude Reigen

Und stumm ihr Schmerzenschrei.

Hat Rosen sie geschenket,

Hat Dornen sie gebracht --

Wirf ab, Herz, was dich kränket

Und was dir bange macht!

 

Und hast du heut gefehlet,

O schaue nicht zurück;

Empfinde dich beseelet

Von freier Gnade Glück.

Auch des Verirrten denket

Der Hirt auf hoher Wacht --

Wirf ab, Herz, was dich kranket

Und was dir bange macht!

 

Nun stehn im Himmelskreise

Die Stern' in Majestät;

In gleichem festem Gleise

Der goldne Wagen geht.

Und gleich den Sternen lenket

Er deinen Weg durch Nacht --

Wirf ab, Herz, was dich kränket,

Und was dir bange macht!

 

It has grown still

Now that the zephyrs are departed.

No sound can be discerned except

The gentle tread of angels.

With might and majesty

Darkness descends into the valley -

Free yourself from ills, heart;

And do not dwell in worry!

 

In silence rests the world,

Its tumult is no more,

Mute is joy,

And mute is pain;

Be it roses,

Be it thorns -

Free yourself from ills, heart;

And do not dwell in worry!

 

And if today you mistook,

Don’t look back;

Let Fortune grace you

With freedom from care.

From high above, the shepherd

ponders the missing, the loss -

Free yourself from ills, heart;

And do not dwell in worry!

 

In the gyring firmament above

The majestic stars are fixed.

The glittery golden chariot

Travels its ancient track

Directing you, like the empyreal

Orbs through the night.

Free yourself from ills, heart;

And do not dwell in worry!

 

 

Arab Love Song

Text by Percy Bysshe Shelley

 

I.

My faint spirit was sitting in the light

Of thy looks, my love;

It panted for thee like the hind at noon

For the brooks, my love.

Thy barb whose hoofs outspeed the tempest's flight

Bore thee far from me;

My heart, for my weak feet were weary soon,

Did companion thee.

 

II.

Ah! fleeter far than fleetest storm or steed

Or the death they bear,

The heart which tender thought clothes like a dove

With the wings of care;

In the battle, in the darkness, in the need,

Shall mine cling to thee,

Nor claim one smile for all the comfort, love,

It may bring to thee.

 

 

O Mistress Mine

Text by William Shakespeare

From The Twelfth Night (II, 3)

 

The Clown, singing

 

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.

 

 

Fancy

Text by William Shakespeare

From The Merchant of Venice (III, 2)

 

Tell me where is fancy bred,

Or in the heart or in the head?

How begot, how nourished?

Reply, reply.

It is engender'd in the eyes,

With gazing fed; and fancy dies

In the cradle where it lies.

Let us all ring fancy's knell:

I'll begin it, - Ding, dong, bell.

 

 

The Quality of Mercy is Not Strained

Text by William Shakespeare

From The Merchant of Venice (IV, 1)

 

PORTIA    The quality of mercy is not strained.

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven

Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:

It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.

’Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes

The thronèd monarch better than his crown.

His scepter shows the force of temporal power,

The attribute to awe and majesty,

Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings.

But mercy is above this sceptered sway;

It is enthronèd in the hearts of kings;

It is an attribute to God himself;

And earthly power doth then show likest God’s

When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,

Though justice be thy plea, consider this,

That in the course of justice none of us

Should see salvation. We do pray for mercy,

And that same prayer doth teach us all to render

The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much

To mitigate the justice of thy plea,

Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice

Must needs give sentence ’gainst the merchant there.

 

 

Hath Not A Jew Eyes

Text by William Shakespeare

From The Merchant of Venice (III, 1)

 

SHYLOCK    I say, my daughter is my flesh and blood.

SALIERO  There is more difference between thy flesh and hers than between jet and ivory, more between your bloods than there is between red wine and Rhenish. But tell us, do you hear whether Antonio have had any loss at sea or no?

SHYLOCK  There I have another bad match! A bankrupt, a prodigal, who dare scarce show his head on the Rialto; a beggar, that was used to come so smug upon the mart! Let him look to his bond. He was wont to call me userer. Let him look to his bond. He was wont to lend money for a Christian courtesy. Let him look to his bond.

SALIERO    Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take his flesh.What’s that good for?

SHYLOCK    To bait fish withal. If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and hindered me half a million, laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine enemies; and what’s his reason? I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affec-tions, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we shall resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example? Why, revenge. The villainy you teach me I will execute, and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction.

 

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