The Primero of Lusitania (Remastered)

bardcore, medieval folk, Tudor ballad, acoustic lute, pipe and tabor, fiddle, tavern ambiance, stomping rhythm, call and response, driving iambic beat, female vocals, rowdy communal chorus

V5.5

[intro]
(lute, pipe and tabor, building stomp)

[verse 1]
There is a pestilence upon the wind, a foul Lusitanian chill,
Pour thee a cup of sack, and let the draught fulfill.
I mark thy heavy tread, thy spirit worn and spent—
Come, cross this threshold here, and let thy stiff knees relent.

[pre-chorus]
(fiddle rises, stomp builds)

[chorus]
This be no Primero, this be no hand of fate,
Cast down thy satchel, friend, before it grows too late!
Stall thy proud courser now, and yield the leather reins,
And tarry here awhile — forget thy worldly pains.
We seek a haven warm, a smoke-filled merry hall,
Where simple folk do gather when the evening shadows fall.
Huzza! Strike up the pipe, and let the tabor play —
There is a tempest brewing, but we shall dance the day!
[verse 2]
There is a drought upon the land, the cracked earth hard and dry,
The beadle rages in the street with fury in his eye.
But we have found an alehouse tucked and hidden from his reach,
With floorboards worn and sturdy, and fellowship in each.
Think not on tomorrow, nor on what the lords decree —
Just lift thy heavy boots, and stomp in time with me!
[chorus]
This be no Primero, this be no hand of fate,
Cast down thy satchel, friend, before it grows too late!
Stall thy proud courser now, and yield the leather reins,
And tarry here awhile — forget thy worldly pains.
We seek a haven warm, a smoke-filled merry hall,
Where simple folk do gather when the evening shadows fall.
Huzza! Strike up the pipe, and let the tabor play —
There is a tempest brewing, but we shall dance the day!
[bridge]
(stripped back, call and response, crowd joins)
O, step to the right, to the southern flank!
Turn to the left, where the pewter cups clank!
From the high stone towers to the valleys low,
Let the fiddle cry out and the wind steady blow.
Condemn me if I tread not slow pavane with thee,
Drizzle thy sweetness o'er me, set my poor heart free!
Take up thy partner, clasp her hand in thine —
We shall dance through the darkness till the morning shine!
[chorus]
(full ensemble, maximum stomp)
[outro]
(lute fades, solo voice)
Cast them down, down, down, down…
Stall thy proud courser…
And tarry awhile.
Aye, this be no Primero…
Play on, brave minstrel — play on!

2229/7500

[intro] (lute, pipe and tabor, building stomp) [verse 1] There is a pestilence upon the wind, a foul Lusitanian chill, Pour thee a cup of sack, and let the draught fulfill. I mark thy heavy tread, thy spirit worn and spent— Come, cross this threshold here, and let thy stiff knees relent. [pre-chorus] (fiddle rises, stomp builds) [chorus] This be no Primero, this be no hand of fate, Cast down thy satchel, friend, before it grows too late! Stall thy proud courser now, and yield the leather reins, And tarry here awhile — forget thy worldly pains. We seek a haven warm, a smoke-filled merry hall, Where simple folk do gather when the evening shadows fall. Huzza! Strike up the pipe, and let the tabor play — There is a tempest brewing, but we shall dance the day! [verse 2] There is a drought upon the land, the cracked earth hard and dry, The beadle rages in the street with fury in his eye. But we have found an alehouse tucked and hidden from his reach, With floorboards worn and sturdy, and fellowship in each. Think not on tomorrow, nor on what the lords decree — Just lift thy heavy boots, and stomp in time with me! [chorus] This be no Primero, this be no hand of fate, Cast down thy satchel, friend, before it grows too late! Stall thy proud courser now, and yield the leather reins, And tarry here awhile — forget thy worldly pains. We seek a haven warm, a smoke-filled merry hall, Where simple folk do gather when the evening shadows fall. Huzza! Strike up the pipe, and let the tabor play — There is a tempest brewing, but we shall dance the day! [bridge] (stripped back, call and response, crowd joins) O, step to the right, to the southern flank! Turn to the left, where the pewter cups clank! From the high stone towers to the valleys low, Let the fiddle cry out and the wind steady blow. Condemn me if I tread not slow pavane with thee, Drizzle thy sweetness o'er me, set my poor heart free! Take up thy partner, clasp her hand in thine — We shall dance through the darkness till the morning shine! [chorus] (full ensemble, maximum stomp) [outro] (lute fades, solo voice) Cast them down, down, down, down… Stall thy proud courser… And tarry awhile. Aye, this be no Primero… Play on, brave minstrel — play on!

0/500