Quoth dave:
> I assumed he'd carelessly reproduced a standardised version (be ok if he
> translated it into Scots though, that's a different matter).
Well, yeah, sorry 'n that, he said sheepishly, dave's right. Typically lazy
of me. Here's a transcription of the single original MS (Royal App. MS 58,
the time of Henry VIII) that it's contained in:
Westron wynde when wyll thou blow
The smalle raine down can rayne
Cryst yf my love were in my armys
And I yn my bedde agayne.
(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_western_wynde, text corrected from
Tydeman, _English Poetry 1400-1580_ [editorial punctuation removed], though
I wouldn't swear to the spelling of the transcription. I can't seem to find
a link to the MS.)
There seems to be a strong musical connection, particularly to some of
Tavener's Masses, though I'm sure Joanna would have more to say about this
than me.
> Let's see what Rob says ( I have a delightful vision of our hermetic
> pedant
> gnashing his teeth in his cave at all this, yeah, I know, teeth, it is an
> imaginary vision)
That's right, rub it in. So I screwed up, so what else is new? I look on
situations like this as a self-regulating function of this learned list --
why bother to be *absolutely* accurate before you have to, as someone is
sure to pull you up. Even one a miniscule and sarcastic as the Birk.
And I do so have some teeth, more than some I know, albeit only in my lower
jaw, which I'm grinding against my upper false plate as I type.
Off to return to what I should be doing, packing.
R.
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