Agamemnon and Clytemnestra

from by David Avidor and Nicole V. Gagné

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Julius Eastman - Agamemnon
Charles K. Noyes - percussion
Vera Beren - Clytemnestra
David Avidor - Emax, trumpet, French horn, trombone, sousaphone
Nicole V. Gagné - sousaphone, trombone, French horn, trumpet

my deare loved lande and God
I gratefie

Gods courte ruled for our cause
bringing mee good successe in the revenge I exacted

ten yeares winding the lightnings flame about them

God tooke no thought of how they prayed in theyr misery
but forst ilfavourde Troy to reele and stagger

and a nimble beast sent it sprawling to the grounde

there is a pryce for those that wage
blacke cloudes over a dying people and theyr deade land
and for us the booty woon by warre

but this I know full well
a mans prosperity will cause
rusty rancours in peoples heartes

no men were with mee in this worke none
I had but one frend who did not fade
does hee yet live or is hee deade
I know not

this day will I undertake with all diligence
to hew out and burn away
whatever heere is cancred or misshapen

but now let us to th'alters worship gyve
the Gods tooke mee out to conquer Troy
and did bring mee backe to my native soyle

the remnaunt left of shamefastnes in mee
tyme hath worne away
in this publyque place I wil declare to all
how love as captive holdeth mee to my husband

hee and I this warre did plunge alike in payne

all the whyle hee was at Troy
I was layde in torments
a frantique raging wight

from every message I did heare every cryme
which the enemy could commit with desprat hand

agayne and agayne I was told
how lyfe thy lymmes hath left

even dreaming
I saw death gnawing thy guttes and gall away
I saw thy brest rent with hellish holes

there is no plague lyke unto this griefe

to cure the same I turned to fire and swoard
they did the place of salve supply

driven to utter pinch and furthest shift of all
in threatning fits I did try many tymes
to geve up the ghost
but prevented was by the earnest suite of others

doe not seeke about for thy sonne hee is gon

the people have skittish waiward wits
they are fierce in wrath
agaynst a fighter who is staggeryng

this longe warre did threat in thy affayres
therfore Orest his fatherlyke in face
was forst to flye the land
but our boy is some place safe

from thee I have no secrets

ten yeares have I bene desolate and led a widowes life
with howling crying wringing hands with sobs with sighes and teares

that weeping when it should it cannot now come out of mee

so shall I entertayne a new my husband as his wyfe

I hale this up ryght man
whose majesty doth thundring scepters shake
painted out in pompe of prayse his fame the sky doth beate

enduring many sturdy stormes with mighty toyle and payne
to day hee styll enjoys his health enhauncte in glory great

hee is the king of kinges
the sandy shore to men in theyr beaten barge
the vytall delyght of beyng freed from fatall destiny

I say what is deservde by him
though I offend some
the fault they wil it pardon graunt
in remembraunce of how I in woe hath lived longe

step downe to us victor over Troy

but doe not set thy foote
on the dampishe myry mud of our land

gyrls unfold

my maydes spread our sacred traynes
the fittest shift for thee
the best path to thy home
to the tryumph thou so longe wished to attayne
that it did become a dream past hoping for

fortune hath favored his successe and bryngs him to this day
the Gods our native destnies deale for ever
sharpe execution of theyr law I stubbernly crave

my wyfes welcome is like the warre
it tooke to longe a tyme

honour mee as a man not as a God
I am no prynce of Asia to bee worshipped

these gorgious gyftes layde on the grounde
I cannot stryd on them without feare

it be but a tryfle small

I will not yeelde on this

a great man what neede hee feare
a doubtful lot or how his lucke befall

that is so

would Pryam trudge on these sheetes

that barbarous prynce hee might do it

why faynt with feble feare
at the prating of others

there is strength in what the people say

the grudging mynd shews the wayt
with which thy majesty is consydered

why contend with mee

the victor if hee gently doth release his captives care
why may not I his lady spouse have hope as wel to fare

this victory is it so deare to thee

o yeld to mee
doe it of thyne owne free wil

let us graunt what is so wisht for
and may no mischiefe come of it

from that huge spoyle wee plucked up this flowre of Troy
heere shee submits her selfe to beare the yoake

sirs take her downe and bee good to her
the Gods savegarde is gyven victors who are milde

now bending our will for thee
wee shall goe into the royall courte our home

by fomy floods by the seas wee dwel
and they beat from banke to banke with surges hye
how ever much wee take from them

wee have tossed in theyr silver streames
all wee owne
and this noble courte never is without

all is boyled and brewed and dyed therin

I would have under troden these sacred traynes
had I an oracle to mee sware
that it would bryng thee backe agayne

from the seede to the tree with shading braunch
when what wee longe for comes how ever late
it is good

hee is retourned to us lyke the lyght of day
and goest about lyke God that doth direct the fates above the starry skye

and God all ways doth mee leade that way I meane to take


from AGAMEMNON, released September 26, 2012



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