Pinky House (James Oswald)
Music files
| ICON | SOURCE |
|---|---|
 |
Web Page |
 |
File details |
 |
Help |
- (Posted 2023-10-04) CPDL #76041:
- Editor: Christopher Shaw (submitted 2023-10-04). Score information: A4, 5 pages, 506 kB Copyright: CC BY SA
- Edition notes: Please click on the link for preview/playback/PDF download.
General Information
Title: Pinky House
Composer: James Oswald
Lyricist: David Malletcreate page
Number of voices: 1v Voicing: solo high
Genre: Secular, Aria
Language: English
Instruments: Basso continuo, violin
First published:
Description: Published in Oswald's "Collection of the best old Scotch and English songs...dedicated to Her Royal Highness the Princess Dowager of Wales by James Oswald, Chamber Composer to his Majesty". The song is the marriage of an old tune (usually titled Rothes's Lament, or, Pinkie House) with newly-coined lyrics by David Mallet. This combination was enshrined in Ramsay's Tea-Table miscellany, and became the standard version for the eighteenth century.
External websites:
Original text and translations
English text
As Sylvia in a forest lay,
To vent her woes alone,
Her swain Sylvander came that way,
And heard her dying moan.
"Ah! is my love", she said, "to you
So worthless and so vain?
Why is your wonted fondness now
Converted to disdain?"
"You vow'd the light should darkness turn
E'er you'd exchange your love:
In shades now let creation mourn;
Sylvander faithless prove.
Was it for this I credit gave
To ev'ry oath you swore?
But ah! I find they most deceive,
Who most our charms adore."
"'Tis plain your drift was all deceit,
The practice of mankind;
Alas, I see it, but too late!
My love has made me blind.
What cause, Sylvander, have I giv'n
For cruelty so great?
Yes, for your sake, neglected heav'n
And hugged you into hate."
"For you, delighted I could die,
But ah! with grief am fill'd
To think, poor cred'lous constant I
Should by your scorn be kill'd.
But what avails my sad complaint
While you my cause neglect;
My wailing inward sorrow vent,
Without the wish'd effect?"
This said, all breathless, sick and pale,
Her head upon her hand,
She found her vital spirits fail,
Her senses at a stand.
Sylvander now begins to melt
But, e'er the word was giv'n,
The heavy hand of death she felt,
And sigh'd her soul to heav'n.