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Click here"My Lady Carey's Dump" (Anon. reign of Henry VIII, possibly written for Mary Boleyn).
A dump was a mournful piece of music, remembered in our expression "down in the dumps"
My Lady Carey won't be cheered nor
humoured by her Fool's feeble follies; her
taste is not tempted by her Cook's
herbs, spices, syllabubs; her fingers
freeze mid-stitch when at her sewing;
she has not been abroad since April and now
November numbs the gardens;
even the House feels barred and barren; and she
will not dance to my
gaillards, courantes, almains,
insisting always on the dump I wrote to
explain my silence at her sorrow, which I
regret now as I look at her
etched, averted face seeking
something lost in the
cold dawn of another long day.
I wish I had written something else since this is
all I now play, though at least it
makes her speak, if only to say
"Slower, sir, if you please—
slower."