Joseph Corfe (arr.)
(1740 - 1820)

Kate of Aberdeen
(S.A.T.B. + reduction)
Full score (PDF), €0.20 for a single copy   Buy this item
Choir offer (PDF), €1.00 for 12 copies   Buy this item
Printable cover page (PDF), €0.00 for unlimited copies   Download this item

If you have any problem obtaining a PDF, please see our help page. If that does not resolve the issue, please click here.
Page 1 of 3
For licensing/copyright information please click here
Corfe, organist of Salisbury Cathedral, 1792 - 1804, issued two sets of "Twelve glees.... composed from ancient Scotch melodies" in the early 1790s, to satisfy two contemporary enthusiasms: that for mixed sex social music, and that for all things North-British. The current arrangement comes from the second set.

These glees were selected from a repertoire of well-known Scottish songs that had been anthologised in the previous seventy years. Corfe appears to have been particularly indebted for source material to James Johnson's "Scots Musical Museum", Edinburgh 1787, which included texts edited and improved by Robert Burns. Verses that are not underlaid were not included by Corfe, and have been imported from external sources (most especially the aforementioned "Scots Musical Museum").
Lyrics: John Cunningham

The silver moon's enamoured beam
Steals softly through the night,
To wanton in the winding stream,
And kiss reflected light.
To courts begone, heart-soothing sleep,
Where you've so seldom been;
Whilst I my wakeful vigils keep
With Kate of Aberdeen.

The nymphs and swains expectant wait
In primrose chaplets gay,
Till morn unbars her golden gate
And gives the promised May.
The nymphs and swains shall all declare
The promised May, when seen,
Not half so fragrant, half so fair,
As Kate of Aberdeen.

I'll tune my pipe to playful notes
And rouse yon nodding grove,
Till new-waked birds distend their throats
And hail the maid I love.
At her approach, the lark mistakes
And quits the new-dressed green:
Fond bird! 'tis not the morning breaks:
'Tis Kate of Aberdeen.

Now blithesome o'er the dewy mead,
Where elves disportive play,
The festal dance young shepherds lead,
Or sing their love-tuned lay
Till May, in morning robe, draws nigh,
And claims a virgin queen:
The nymphs and swains, exulting, cry
Here's Kate of Aberdeen!