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letra de ballad the tunning of elinor - ralph vaughan williams

rumming
tell you i will
if that ye will
a-while be still
of a comely jill
that dwelt on a hill:
she is somewhat sage
and well worn in age:
for her visage
it would assuage
a man’s courage
droopy and drowsy
scurvy and lowsy
her face all bowsy
comely crinkled
wondrously wrinkled
like a roast pig’s ear
bristled with hair
her nose some deal hookéd
and camously-crookéd
never stopping
but ever dropping;
her skin loose and slack
grained like a sack;
with a crooked back
jawed like a jetty;
a man would have pity
to see how she is gumméd
fingerеd and thumbéd
gently jointed
greasеd and anointed
up to the knuckles;
like as they were with buckles
together made fast
her youth is far past!
and yet she will jet
like a jollivet
in her furréd flocket
and gray russet rocket
with simper and c-cket
her hood of lincoln green
it has been hers, i ween
more than forty year;
and so doth it appear
for the green bare threadés
look like sere weedés
withered like hay
the wool worn away
and yet, i dare say
she thinketh herself g-y
upon the holiday
when she doth her array
and girdeth on her geets
stitched and pranked with pleats;
her kirtle, bristol-red
with clothes upon her head
that weigh a sow of lead
writhen in wondrous wise
after the saracen’s guise
with a whim-wham
knit with a trim-tram
upon her brain-pan;
like an egyptian
cappéd about
when she goeth out
and this comely dame
i understand, her name
is elinor rumming
at home in her wonning;
and as men say
she dwelt in surrey
in a certain stead
beside leatherhead
she is a tonnish gib
the devil and she be sib
but to make up my tale
she breweth nappy ale
and maketh thereof pot-sale
to travellers, to tinkers
to sweaters, to swinkers
and all good ale-drinkers
that will nothing spare
but drink till they stare
and bring themselves bare
with ‘now away the mare!
and let us slay care’
as wise as an hare!
come who so will
to elinor on the hill
with ‘fill the cup, fill!’
and sit there by still
early and late
thither cometh kate
cisly, and sare
with their legs bare
they run in all haste
unbraced and unlaced;
with their heelés daggéd
their kirtles all jaggéd
their smocks all to-raggéd
with titters and tatters
bring dishes and platters
with all their might running
to elinor rumming
to have of her tunning
she lendeth them on the same
and thus beginneth the game
some wenches come unlaced
some housewives come unbraced
some be flybitten
some skewed as a kitten;
some have no hair-lace
their locks about their face
such a rude sort
to elinor resort
from tide to tide
abide, abide!
and to you shall be told
how her ale is sold
to maud and to mold
some have no money
that thither comé
for their ale to pay
that is a shrewd array!
elinor sweared, ‘nay
ye shall not bear away
mine ale for nought
by him that me bought! ‘
with ‘hey, dog, hey!
have these hogs away! ‘
with ‘get me a staffé
the swine eat my draffé!
strike the hogs with a club
they have drunk up my swilling-tub!’

then thither came drunken alice
and she was full of talés
of tidings in walés
and of saint james in galés
and of the portingalés
with ‘lo, gossip, i wis
thus and thus it is:
there hath been great war
between temple bar
and the cross in cheap
and there came an heap
of mill-stones in a rout ‘
she speaketh thus in her snout
snivelling in her nose
as though she had the pose

‘lo, here is an old tippet
an ye will give me a sippet
of your stale ale
god send you good sale! ‘
‘this ale’, said she, ‘is noppy;
let us suppé and soppy
and not spill a droppy
for, so may i hoppy
it cooleth well my croppy
then began she to weep
and forthwith fell asleep
(‘with hey! and with ho!
sit we down a-row
and drink till we blow.’)
now in cometh another rabble:
and there began a fabble
a clattering and babble
they hold the highway
they care not what men say
some, loth to be espied
start in at the back-side
over the hedge and pale
and all for the good ale

(with hey! and with ho!
sit we down a-row
and drink till we blow.)

their thirst was so great
they asked never for meat
but drink, still drink
and ‘let the cat wink
let us wash our gummés
from the dry crummés!’
some brought a wimble
some brought a thimble
some brought this and that
some brought i wot ne’er what
and all this shift they make
for the good ale sake
‘with hey! and with ho!
sit we down a-row
and drink till we blow
and pipe “tirly tirlow!”
– – –
but my fingers itch
i have written too much
of this mad mumming
of elinor rumming!
thus endeth the geste
of this worthy feast

- ralph vaughan williams

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