Friday, October 14, 2016

Sing, my tongue

I cannot claim the Troubador Knight's skills with the voice, nor even the Lute. I am not a musical man. But, as they say, "I knows wot I likes". And in my daily visits down into the cellars below the Tavern - to check the barrels and make sure no-one is pinching the wine bottles - it is my habit to make sure that everything is clean and tidy in the the Crypt, too.  And there, no-one can hear my croaking and wheezing as I let my tongue loose.

Hearing me at it can make a grown man weep, and I do ! The tears wet the floor for my mop.

It is not quite the same as when I mop the kitchen floor, as I was doing this evening in my cave below the mountain, in that I do not sing there, but I do my Gentleman's housekeeping to fine music.

The crypt singing is accompanied, of course, by a choir that one cannot see.

Pange Lingua Gloriosi
Sing, my tongue, the Saviour's glory.
This extraordinary Eucharistic hymn, by the great St. Thomas Aquinas, is a  favourite among the Latin Mass faithful. This version regrettably leaves out the second verse. The recording is from the CD illuminations, compiled by Dan Gibson. the Latin text and English translation follow: 

You are encouraged to sing along or at least hum.

Pange, lingua, gloriosi
Corporis mysterium,
Sanguinisque pretiosi,
quem in mundi pretium
fructus ventris generosi
Rex effudit Gentium.
(Sing, my tongue, the Savior's glory,
of His flesh the mystery sing;
of the Blood, all price exceeding,
shed by our immortal King,
destined, for the world's redemption,
from a noble womb to spring.)
Nobis datus, nobis natus
ex intacta Virgine,
et in mundo conversatus,
sparso verbi semine,
sui moras incolatus
miro clausit ordine.
(Of a pure and spotless Virgin
born for us on earth below,
He, as Man, with man conversing,
stayed, the seeds of truth to sow;
then He closed in solemn order
wondrously His life of woe.)

In supremae nocte coenae
recumbens cum fratribus
observata lege plene
cibis in legalibus,
cibum turbae duodenae
se dat suis manibus.
(On the night of that Last Supper,
seated with His chosen band,
He the Pascal victim eating,
first fulfills the Law's command;
then as Food to His Apostles
gives Himself with His own hand.)
Verbum caro, panem verum
verbo carnem efficit:
fitque sanguis Christi merum,
et si sensus deficit,
ad firmandum cor sincerum
sola fides sufficit.
(Word-made-Flesh, the bread of nature
by His word to Flesh He turns;
wine into His Blood He changes;
what though sense no change discerns?
Only be the heart in earnest,
faith her lesson quickly learns.)

Tantum ergo Sacramentum
veneremur cernui:
et antiquum documentum
novo cedat ritui:
praestet fides supplementum
sensuum defectui.
(Down in adoration falling,
This great Sacrament we hail,
Over ancient forms of worship
Newer rites of grace prevail;
Faith will tell us Christ is present,
When our human senses fail.)

Genitori, Genitoque
laus et jubilatio,
salus, honor, virtus quoque
sit et benedictio:
Procedenti ab utroque
compar sit laudatio.
(To the everlasting Father,
And the Son who made us free
And the Spirit, God proceeding
From them Each eternally,
Be salvation, honor, blessing,
Might and endless majesty.
Amen. )
My song is nowhere near as pleasant, but He seems to approve nontheless.



Ne meias in stragulo aut pueros circummittam.

Our Bouncer is a gentleman of muscle and guile. His patience has limits. He will check you at the door.

The Tavern gets rowdy visitors from time to time. Some are brain dead and some soul dead. They attack customers and the bar staff and piss on the carpets. Those people will not be allowed in anymore. So... Be Nice..