Cupid and Rosalind (Charles Villiers Stanford)

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• (Posted 2024-03-12)  CPDL #79495:     

Editor: David Anderson (submitted 2024-03-12).   Score information: Letter, 12 pages, 669 kB   Copyright: Personal

Edition notes:

• (Posted 2021-10-07)  CPDL #66113:         

Editor: James Gibb (submitted 2021-10-07).   Score information: A4, 7 pages, 235 kB   Copyright: CPDL

Edition notes: Includes a keyboard reduction of the a cappella choral score.

• (Posted 2013-01-12)  CPDL #28021:        (Sibelius 7)

Editor: Ian Haslam (submitted 2013-01-12).   Score information: A4, 6 pages, 127 kB   Copyright: CPDL

Edition notes:

Possible error(s) identified. Error summary: A few minor typos. See the discussion page for full description.

General Information

Title: Cupid and Rosalind
Composer: Charles Villiers Stanford
Lyricist: Thomas Lodge

Number of voices: 4vv   Voicing: SATB
Genre: Secular, Partsong

Language: English
Instruments: A cappella

First published: 1894 Novello's Part-Song Book no.707
Description: Six Elizabethan Pastorals [set 2], Opus 53, No. 4.

(ROSALIND’S MADRIGAL)

Original text and translations

English text

Love in my bosom like a bee
Doth suck his sweet:
Now with his wings he plays with me,
Now with his feet.
Within mine eyes he makes his nest,
His bed amidst my tender breast;
My kisses are his daily feast,
And yet he robs me of my rest:
Ah! wanton, will ye?

And if I sleep, then percheth he
With pretty flight,
And makes his pillow of my knee
The livelong night.
Strike I my lute, he tunes the string;
He music plays if so I sing;
He lends me every lovely thing,
Yet cruel he my heart doth sting:
Whist, wanton, still ye!

Else I with roses every day
Will whip you hence,
And bind you, when you long to play
For your offence.
I'll shut mine eyes to keep you in;
I'll make you fast it for your sin;
I'll count your power not worth a pin.
Alas! what hereby shall I win
If he gainsay me?

What if I beat the wanton boy
With many a rod?
He will repay me with annoy,
Because a god.
Then sit thou safely on my knee;
Then let thy bower my bosom be;
Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee;
O Cupid, so thou pity me,
Spare not, but play thee!