On a recent thread that died a natural death at about the right time, the Weekenders and Wombat went off at a tangeant—and not for the first time. But nobody followed up on our challenge to solve an important scholarly problem. Fortunately some new evidence is in which gives me a pretext for issuing the challenge again.
This is serious stuff folks. If we work at it we might start something that will keep worthy scholars in productive work for centuries. This is what happened with the question of who Shakespeare’s Dark Lady was. Perhaps the jury is still out on that one?
Well we have our very own ‘dark lady’ identity crisis in the Dublin song ‘Spanish Lady’. And we really do want to know exactly who she is and what she’s up to. The version we worked on was by Maighread Ni Domhnaill on the Donal Lunny retrospective ‘Journey’. We didn’t get very far. The Weekenders went for his usual crowdpleasing adventurous attacking game while Wombat sat back, soaked up the pressure and counterattacked on the break. Quickly we settled for a two-all draw and had to admit that we really don’t know what it’s about at all.
Draws don’t really appeal to Americans do they—games have to go into overtime. So here goes. With Marcel Duchamps long gone and Yoko Ono otherwise engaged at the moment when Wombat called, I quickly realised that this is a job Chiff and Fipplers are going to have to do all by themselves. Desparately searching the burrow for evidence, I came up with what looks like a slightly different version of the same song in Frank Harte’s collection, ‘Songs of Dublin’ (Ossian). I’ll give you just one verse to get you started—not the first verse by the way. ('enders will send you the recorded version if you don’t have it but would like to play.)
Now she’s no mot for a puddle swaddy
With her ivory comb and her mantle so fine.
But she’d make a wife for the Provost Marshall
Drunk on brandy and claret wine.
I got a look from the Spanish Lady
Hot as a fire of ambry coals.
In all my life I never did meet
With a maid so neat about the soles
So off you go Fipplers—one verse at a time or all at once depending on what takes your fancy. Just one word of warning though. I have a Generation Bb sitting fipple-first in the ambry coals. If anyone dares try to tell me that the Spanish Lady is really the Earl of Southampton they get a molten fipple up the fong and no mistake.
[ This Message was edited by: Wombat on 2002-10-01 14:46 ]
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow’d to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair’d the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
Thanks Gary. That’s a good start. Doesn’t sound like the spanish lady I know, though. And 'enders might have trouble reconciling this with some of his ideas. Apparently Dubliners just add new verses when they feel like it. Are you a Dubliner who just felt like it?
On 2002-10-01 15:44, The Weekenders wrote:
The Earl of Southhampton??
Bwahahahahahh!!!
Who can be found in the streets of Dublin “about the hour of half past ten” and likes to “share her love?”
But, dang, Gary’s poetry is nice!!
Yeah 'enders, that one was a bit lateral even by Wombat standards. But C&F-ers are just so darned … knowledgeable about obscure things. To cut a long academic debate short, one theory about the identity of Shakespeare’s Dark Lady is that ‘she’ was the Earl of Southampton. On this view Shakespeare was a bit bi, the Earl was more than just a patron and, well … need I say more. Now, on this board some wag was bound to say … I’m glad you avoided the Generation though … ouch!!! But really, mightn’t the ambery coals treatment be a fairly mild tweak for a Generation Bb and could a Generation sound any worse played at that end than played in the more orthodox manner.
From what I know about the Earl of Southampton, more likely an Ale house than the Streets at half past ten. But he wouldn’t have had a problem with Dublin, or Derry or .. anywhere. As for his love, I have no idea how much he liked to share and how much he preferred to keep for himself. But those remarks were really for Gary, weren’t they …?
As I went out of Dublin city
Pissed at the hour of twelve at night
I caught sight of a Spanish lady
Washing her feet by candlelight
She,d stepped into a `stayming poe´:x
She washed and dried them with her dress
In all my life I never did whiff
A maid so rank about the toe! Mike
[ This Message was edited by: mike.r on 2002-10-02 04:10 ]
On 2002-10-02 03:33, mike.r wrote:
As I went out of Dublin city
Pissed at the hour of twelve at night
I caught sight of a Spanish lady
Washing her feet by candlelight
She,d stepped into a `stayming poe´:x
She washed and dried them with her dress
In all my life I never did whiff
A maid so rank about the toe! > > Mike
Nice one Mike. So now you see folks, this isn’t just about scholarship, it’s the living tradition at work. But seriously Mike, did you really get close enough to be sure that the stench came from the toes? Hmmmm.
Now for today’s verse from the Frank Harte version (this should enlighten anyone who wondered what 'enders was on about):
As I walked back through Dublin City,
As the dawn of day was o’er
Who should I see but the Spanish lady
When I was weary and footsore.
She had a heart so filled with loving
And her love she longed to share
In all my life I never did meet
With a maid who had so much to spare.
Do you think she washed his feet? Was he neat about the soles afterwards too? And whatever happened to the stuff that wasn’t to spare?
Two important clues:
This verse immediately precedes yesterday’s.
In the version you’re getting, the chorus goes:
Whack fol the toor a loor a laddy
Whack fol the toor a loor a lay.
Whack fol the toor a loor a laddy
Whack fol the toor a loor a lay.
Now you don’t have to be Freud to see that there’s a lot going on here.
[ This Message was edited by: Wombat on 2002-10-02 05:21 ]
[ This Message was edited by: Wombat on 2002-10-02 05:22 ]
On 2002-10-02 03:33, mike.r wrote:
As I went out of Dublin city
Pissed at the hour of twelve at night
I caught sight of a Spanish lady
Washing her feet by candlelight
She,d stepped into a `stayming poe´:x
She washed and dried them with her dress
In all my life I never did whiff
A maid so rank about the toe! > > Mike
Nice one Mike. So now you see folks, this isn’t just about scholarship, it’s the living tradition at work. But seriously Mike, did you really get close enough to be sure that the stench came from the toes? Hmmmm.
Wombat,It was so overpowering I couldnt get close enough to be absolutely sure but the evidence was all around and I awoke in a pile of it meself the next morning. Mike
[ This Message was edited by: mike.r on 2002-10-02 08:33 ]
[/quote]
Wombat,It was so overpowering I couldnt get close to be absolutely sure but the evidence was all around and I awoke in a pile of it meself the next morning. Mike
[/quote]
Oh Mike, I know. Oh don’t I know. Dublin’s like that. But so’s Derry. Well, so’s … never mind.
On 2002-10-01 15:16, Wombat wrote:
Thanks Gary. That’s a good start. Doesn’t sound like the spanish lady I know, though. And 'enders might have trouble reconciling this with some of his ideas. Apparently Dubliners just add new verses when they feel like it. Are you a Dubliner who just felt like it?
No, just a muse who felt like it. I cannot take credit for it. It is “She Walks In Beauty” by Lord Byron. When I read your post, it reminded me of the woman in SWIB and I wanted to share the poem.
I’m a songwriter and these words by Lord Byron inspired me to compose my first (and only) fully orchestrated classical piece.
On 2002-10-01 15:16, Wombat wrote:
Thanks Gary. That’s a good start. Doesn’t sound like the spanish lady I know, though. And 'enders might have trouble reconciling this with some of his ideas. Apparently Dubliners just add new verses when they feel like it. Are you a Dubliner who just felt like it?
No, just a muse who felt like it. I cannot take credit for it. It is “She Walks In Beauty” by Lord Byron. When I read your post, it reminded me of the woman in SWIB and I wanted to share the poem.
I’m a songwriter and these words by Lord Byron inspired me to compose my first (and only) fully orchestrated classical piece.
Cheers!
Gary
Thanks for sharing that with us Gary; that’s really nice. Actually, I think the Dublin habit of adding verses doesn’t really require originality but I’m not sure about that.
Mike
Mike