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Verse 1
(D major) (Dsus4) (D major) (A flatdim) (A major)
(D minor) Sorry, (D major) her Lord,
who loves too (D minor) well,
Heavy the (D major) heart that hopes but (G minor) vainly,
(Edim) Sad are the sighs that (A major) warn the spell,
Attert by (Edim) eyes that speak to (A major) blame me.
(F major) Sorry the (C major) love who (F major) loves to (C major) fail,
(F major) Heavy (E major) the heart that helps
but vainly. (A major) (D minor)
(D major) Heavy the (Dsus4) sorrow (D major) that bows (B minor) the (A major) head,
When (D major) love (B minor) is alive (F sharp major) and hope is dead,
(B minor) When love (G major) is alive (A major) (D major) an (A major) (E major) d (A flatdim) hope
(A major) is (D major) dead. (Dsus4) (D major)
(A flatdim) (A major)
(D minor) Sad is the hour (D major) when (D minor) sets the sun,
(D major) Dark is the night to hearth's
poor (G major) daughter (G minor) s,
(Edim) When to the oak (A major) the wearied one
Flies from (Edim) the empty waste of (A major) waters.
(F major) Sad is the hour (C major) (F major) when sets the sun (C major) ,
(F major) Dark is the (Edim) night to (E major) which
good (A major) -bye turns. (E major)
(D major) Heavy the sor (Dsus4) row (D major) that bows the (B minor) head
(A major) When love (D major) is alive (B minor) (F sharp major) and hope is dead.
(B minor) When (G major) love is alive (A major) (F sharp major) (B minor) (E major)
(A flatdim) (A major) Allein ist (D major) er.
My child, I grieve to see you are a prey
to melancholy.
You should look your best today,
for Sir Joseph Porter, K .C .B.,
will be here this afternoon
to claim your promised hand.
Ah, father,
your words cut me to the quick.
I can esteem,
reverence, venerate Sir Joseph,
for he is a great and good man,
but, oh, I cannot love him.
My heart is already given.
It is then as I feared. Given?
And to whom?
Not to some gilded lordling?
No, father,
the object of my love is no lordling.
O pity me, for he is but a common
sailor
on board your own ship. Impossible!
Yes, it is true, too true.
A common sail (A major) or?
Oh, my!
I blush at the weakness
that allows me to cherish such a passion.
I hate myself when I think of the depth
to which I have stooped
in permitting myself to think tenderly
of one so ignobly born.
But I love him! I love him! I love him!
Come, my child, let us talk this over.
In a matter of the heart,
I would not coerce my daughter.
I attach but little value to rank or wealth,
but the line must (D major) be drawn somewhere.
A man in that station
may be brave and worthy,
but at every step he would commit
solicisms
that society would never
pardon.
I have thought of this night
and day.
But fear not, father, I have a heart,
and therefore I love.
But I am your daughter,
and therefore I am proud.
Though I carry my love with me to the tomb,
he shall never, never know it.
You are my daughter after all.
But see, Sir Joseph Sparge approaches,
manned by twelve trusty oarsmen
and accompanied by
the admiring crowd
of sisters, cousins and aunts
that attend him wherever he goes.
Retire, my daughter, to your cabin.
Take this, his photograph, with you.
It may help to bring you
to a more reasonable frame of mind.
My own thoughtful father!
H.M.S. Pinafore: Sorry Her Lot
Gilbert, Sullivan
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