(parfois connu sous le titre ) est une ballade cavalière écrite par Martin Parker pendant la guerre civile anglaise et publiée pour la première fois en 1643. Il a été adopté plus tard par les Jacobites. Selon l'historien Dr Bernard Capp, cette chanson était peut-être la chanson la plus populaire au milieu du XVIIe siècle en AngleterreBernard Capp, Astrology and the Popular Press: English Almanacs 1500-1800 (Faber and Faber, 2008), p. 23.. Le critique du XVIIIe siècle Joseph Ritson l'a qualifié de « l'air le plus célèbre et le plus populaire jamais entendu dans ce pays »Joseph Ritson, Ancient Songs and Ballads (1790; 3rd ed. 1877), p. 367, quoted in Victor E. Neuburg, Popular Literature: A History and Guide (Routledge, 1977), p. 57..
Paroles Let rogues and cheats prognosticate Concerning king's or kingdom's fate I think myself to be as wise As he that gazeth on the skies My sight goes beyond The depth of a pond Or rivers in the greatest rain Whereby I can tell That all will be well When the King enjoys his own again Yes, this I can tell That all will be well When the King enjoys his own again
There's neither Swallow, Dove, or Dade Can soar more high or deeper wade Nor show a reason from the stars What causeth peace or civil wars The man in the moon May wear out his shoon By running after Charles his wain But all's to no end, For the times will not mend Till the King enjoys his own again Yes, this I can tell That all will be well When the King enjoys his own again
Full forty years this royal crown Hath been his father's and his own And is there anyone but he That in the same should sharer be? For who better may The sceptre sway Than he that hath such right to reign? Then let's hope for a peace, For the wars will not cease Till the king enjoys his own again Yes, this I can tell That all will be well When the King enjoys his own againThough for a time we see Whitehall With cobwebs hanging on the wall Instead of gold and silver brave Which formerly he was wont to have With rich perfume In every room, Delightful to that princely train Yet the old again shall be When the time you see That the King enjoys his own again Yes, this I can tell That all will be well When the King enjoys his own again
Then fears avaunt, upon the hill My hope shall cast her anchor still Until I see some peaceful dove Bring home the branch I dearly love Then will I wait Till the waters abate Which now disturb my troubled brain Then for ever rejoice, When I've heard the voice That the King enjoys his own again Yes, this I can tell That all will be well When the King enjoys his own again
Paroles alternatives What Booker doth prognosticate Concerning kings' or kingdoms' fate? I think myself to be as wise As he that gazeth on the skies; My skill goes beyond the depth of a pond, Or rivers in the greatest rain, Thereby I can tell all things will be well When the King enjoys his own again.
There's neither swallow, dove, nor dade, Can soar more high, or deeper wade, Nor show a reason from the stars What causeth peace or civil wars; The Man in the Moon may wear out his shoon By running after Charles his wain: But all's to no end, for the times will not mend Till the King enjoys his own again.
Though for a time we see Whitehall With cobwebs hanging on the wall Instead of silk and silver brave, Which formerly it used to have, With rich perfume in every room, Delightful to that princely train, Which again you shall see, when the time it shall be, That the King enjoys his own again.
Full forty years the royal crown Hath been his father's and his own; And is there any one but he That in the same should sharer be? For who better may the sceptre sway Than he that hath such right to reign? Then let's hope for a peace, for the wars will not cease Till the King enjoys his own again.
Did Walker no predictions lack In Hammond's bloody almanack? Foretelling things that would ensue, That all proves right, if lies be true; But why should not he the pillory foresee, Wherein poor Toby once was ta'en? And also foreknow to the gallows he must go When the King enjoys his own again? (1)
Till then upon Ararat's hill My hope shall cast her anchor still, Until I see some peaceful dove Bring home the branch I dearly love; Then will I wait till the waters abate Which now disturb my troubled brain, Else never rejoice till I hear the voice That the King enjoys his own again.
Notes et références
Liens externes
Catégorie:Chanson du XVIIe siècle