by Anonymous / Unidentified Author
Urge me no more
Language: English
Urge me no more, this airy mirth belongs To better times, these times are not for songs. The sprightly twang of the melodious lute Agrees not with my voice, and both unsuit My untun'd fortunes. Th'affected measure Of strains that are constrained afford no pleasure. Music's the child of mirth, where griefs assail The troubled soul, both voice and fingers fail; My grief's too great for smiling eyes To cure or counter charms to exorcise. The raven's dismal croaks, the midnight howls Of empty wolves mix'd with the screech of owls, The nine sad knolls of a dull passing bell, With the loud language of a nightly knell, And horrid outcries of revenged crimes, Join'd in a medley, is music for these times. These are no times to touch the merry strings Of Orpheus, no, Ah! no, these are no times to sing. How can my music relish in your ears, That cannot speak for sobs nor sing for tears?
Authorship:
- by Anonymous / Unidentified Author, written c1600, probably from a choirboy play [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Henry Purcell (1658/9 - 1695), "Urge me no more", Z. 426, published 1682. [text verified 1 time]
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 20
Word count: 160