Shakespeare and Music | Page 8

repeat ad infinitum till the four who sing the Round are tired. This refrain is called Pes (or 'foot'), and this is the kind of thing which Lucrece means by 'burden.' The word 'hum' may be considered technical, see the Introduction, where 'buzzing bass' is referred to. The tune, 'Light o' love' [see Appendix], as we know from Much Ado III, iv, 41, used to go without a burden, and was considered a 'light' tune on that account, see Two Gent. I, ii, 80.
'Descant,' in l. 1134, wants explaining. To 'descant' meant to sing or play an extempore second 'part' to a written melody. The point was that it should be extempore; if written down it ceased to be true descant, and was then called 'prick-song.' A rough example may be had in the extempore bass or alto which some people still sing in church instead of the melody. A more accurate example of descant would be this--let A sing a hymn tune, say the Old 100th, and let B accompany him extempore with a separate melody within the bounds of harmony. B is 'descanting' on the melody that A sings.[5]
[Footnote 5: Appendix, Ex. 1.]
The art of descant in Elizabeth's time corresponded closely with what we call 'Strict Counterpoint' (contra, punctus, hence 'prick-song,' or 'written' descant).
The modern equivalent for 'bear a part' (l. 1135) is 'sing a part.' [See also Sonnet VIII.] Any person of decent education could 'bear a part' in those days, i.e., read at sight the treble, alto, tenor, or bass 'part' of the work presented by the host for the diversion of his guests. [See Introduction.]
L. 1140. 'Frets upon an instrument' can still be seen on the modern mandoline, guitar, and banjo. In Shakespeare days, the viol, lute, and cittern all had frets on the fingerboard, but they were then simply bits of string tied round at the right places for the fingers, and made fast with glue. Their use is referred to in the next line, to 'tune' the strings, i.e., to 'stop' the string accurately at each semitone.
There is a quaint illustration of ll. 1135-6, about the nightingale singing 'against a thorn' to keep her awake, in the words of a favourite old part song of King Henry VIII., 'By a bank as I lay,' where the poem has these lines on the nightingale--
'She syngeth in the thyke; and under her brest A pricke, to kepe hur fro sleepe.'
In close connection with this is the conversation between Julia and her maid Lucetta, in Two Gent. I, ii, 76-93, about the letter from Proteus.
Jul. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme.
Luc. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune: Give me a note: your ladyship can set.
Jul. As little by such toys as may be possible: Best sing it to the tune of "Light o' love."
Luc. It is too heavy for so light a tune.
Jul. Heavy? belike, it hath some burden then.
Luc. Ay, and melodious were it, would you sing it.
Jul. And why not you?
Luc. I cannot reach so high.
Jul. Let's see your song.--How now, minion!
Luc. Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out; And yet, methinks, I do not like this tune.
Jul. You do not?
Luc. No, madam, it is too sharp.
Jul. You, minion, are too saucy.
Luc. Nay, now you are too flat, And mar the concord with too harsh a descant: There wanteth but a mean to fill your song.
Jul. The mean is drown'd with your unruly base.
Luc. Indeed, I bid the base for Proteus.
Perhaps it is sufficient to remark that many of the italicized words above are still in ordinary use by musicians--e.g., to 'give the note' in order to 'set' the pitch for singing; to 'keep in tune,' to 'sing out'; or one voice is 'drowned' by another, as the 'mean' (alto) by the 'bass.' Once more we have quibbles on musical terms--Lucetta says the 'tune,' i.e., Julia's testiness about Proteus' letter, is 'too sharp,' and that her chiding of herself is 'too flat,' meaning, that neither is in 'concord' with the spirit of the love-letter. Lucetta recommends the middle course, or 'mean' (alto voice, midway between treble and bass), 'to fill the song,' i.e., to perfect the harmony. Finally, there is a punning reference (somewhat prophetic) by Lucetta, to the 'base' conduct of Proteus, in forsaking Julia for Silvia. Another play upon words should not be missed, viz., in ll. 78 and 79, where 'set' does double duty.
Rom. III, v, 25. Romeo and Juliet's parting at daybreak. The lark's song suggests musical metaphors in Juliet's speech.
Romeo. How is't, my soul? let's talk, it is not day.
Jul. It is, it is; hie hence, be gone, away! It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords, and unpleasing sharps. Some say, the lark