VocalEssence Ensemble Singers, Anthony Ross, cello

I. The helmet now an hive for bees becomes,
And hilts of swords may serve for spiders’ looms;
Sharp pikes may make
Teeth for a rake;
And the keen blade, the arch enemy of life,
Shall be degraded to a pruning knife.
The rustic spade
Which first was made
For honest agriculture, shall retake
Its primitive employment, and forsake
The rampires steep
And trenches deep.
Tame conies in our brazen guns shall breed,
Or gentle doves their young ones there shall feed.
In musket barrels
Mice shall raise quarrels
For their quarters. The ventriloquious drum
Like lawyers in vacations, shall be dumb.
Now all recruits
But those of fruits
Shall be forgot; and th’ unarmed soldier
Shall only boast of what he did whilere,
In chimneys’ ends
Among his friends.
—Ralph Knevet (1600-1671)

Cello Interlude

II. His golden locks time hath to silver turned.

O time too swift, o swiftness never ceasing!
His youth ‘gainst time and age hath ever spurned,
But spurned in vain, youth waneth by increasing.

Beauty, strength, youth are flow’rs but fading seen;
Duty, faith, love are roots and ever green.

His helmet now shall make a hive for bees,
And lovers’ sonnets turn to holy psalms.
A man-at-arms must now serve on his knees,
And feed on prayers which are age’s alms.

But though from Court to cottage he depart,
His Saint is sure of his unspotted heart.

And when he saddest sits in homely cell,
He’ll teach his swains this carol for a song,
Blest be the hearts that wish my Sovereign well,
Curst be the soul that thinks her any wrong.

Goddess, allow this aged man his right,
To be your beadsman now that was your knight.
—George Peele (1556-1596)