The Yeomen of the Guard by W. S. Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan

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No. 7: DUET (Elsie & Point)

"I have a song to sing O!"

MIDI File [24KB, 3' 40"]

Point.

I have a song to sing, O!

Elsie.

Sing me your song, O!

Point.

It is sung to the moon
By a love-lorn loon,
Who fled from the mocking throng, O!
It's a song of a merryman, moping mum,
Whose soul was sad, and whose glance was glum,
Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb,
As he sighed for the love of a ladye.
Heighdy! heighdy!
Misery me — lack-a-day-dee!
He sipped no sup, and he craved no crumb,
As he sighed for the love of a ladye!

Click on picture to enlarge — Jack Point & Elsie Maynard

Elsie.

I have a song to sing, O!

Point.

Sing me your song, O!

Elsie.

It is sung with the ring
Of the songs maids sing
Who love with a love life-long, O!
It's the song of a merrymaid, peerly proud,
Who loved a lord, and who laughed aloud
At the moan of the merryman, moping mum,
Whose soul was sad, and whose glance was glum,
Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb,
As he sighed for the love of a ladye!
Heighdy! heighdy!
Misery me — lack-a-day-dee!
He sipped no sup, and he craved no crumb,
As he sighed for the love of a ladye!

Point.

I have a song to sing, O!

Elsie.

Sing me your song, O!

Point.

It is sung to the knell
Of a churchyard bell,
And a doleful dirge, ding dong, O!
It's a song of a popinjay, bravely born,
Who turned up his noble nose with scorn
At the humble merrymaid, peerly proud,
Who loved a lord, and who laughed aloud
At the moan of the merryman, moping mum,
Whose soul was sad, and whose glance was glum,
Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb,
As he sighed for the love of a ladye!
Heighdy! heighdy!
Misery me — lack-a-day-dee!
He sipped no sup, and he craved no crumb,
As he sighed for the love of a ladye!

Elsie.

I have a song to sing, O!

Point.

Sing me your song, O!

Elsie

It is sung with a sigh
And a tear in the eye,
For it tells of a righted wrong, O!
It's a song of the merrymaid, once so gay,
Who turned on her heel and tripped away
From the peacock popinjay, bravely born,
Who turned up his noble nose with scorn
At the humble heart that he did not prize:
So she begged on her knees, with downcast eyes,
For the love of the merryman, moping mum,
Whose soul was sad, and whose glance was glum,
Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb,
As he sighed for the love of a ladye!

Both.

Heighdy! heighdy!
Misery me — lack-a-day-dee!
His pains were o'er, and he sighed no more,
For he lived in the love of a ladye!
Heighdy! heighdy!
Misery me — lack-a-day-dee!
His pains were o'er, and he sighed no more,
For he lived in the love of a ladye!

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