Posts tagged ‘1598’

Saturday, 11 September 2021

Excerpt from ‘Satyra Sexta’ by Everard Guilpin

Oh that mens thoughts should so degenerate,
Being free borne, t’admit a slavish state:
They disclaime Natures manumission,
Making themselves bond to opinion:
Whose gally-slaves they are, tost on the sea
Of vulgar humors, which doth rage and play,
According as the various breath of change
Calmes or perturbs her smooth brow. Is’t not strang
That heav’n bred soules, discended from above
Should brooke such base subiection? Feare reproofe
from her cold northern gales, or els be merry
When her Fanonian praise breathes a sweet perry?

(Rason) thou art the soules bright Genius,
Sent downe from Joves throne to fate conduct us
In this lifes intricate Dædalian maze:
How art thou buffuld? how comes this disgrace,
That by opinion thou art bearded so,
Thy slave, thy shadow: nay, out-bearded too?
She earth-worme doth derive her pedegree
From bodies durt, and sensualitie,
And marshald in degree fitting her birth
Is but a dwarffe, or jester to make mirth.
Thou the soules bidies Queenes allie most neere,
The first Prince of her blood, and chiefest peere,
Nay, her protector in nonage, whilst she
Lives in this bodies weake minoritie,
Art yet kept under by that underling,
That dreame, that breath, nay that indeed Nothing.
The ale-house Ethicks, the worlds upside downe
Is verefied: the prince now serves the clowne.
If reason bandy with opinion,
Opinion winnes in the conclusion:
For if a man be once opinionate,
Millions of reasons nill extenuate
His fore-ceited mallice: conference
Cannot asswage opinions insolence.
But let opinion once lay battery
To reasons fort, she will turne heresie,
Or superstition, wily politist,
But she will winne those rampires which resist.
Then sith such innate discord is maintain’d
Twixt reason and opinion; what staid-brain’d,
True resolute, and philosophick head
Would by opinion be distempered?

Opinion is as various as light change,
Now speaking Court-like friendly, strait-wayes strange;
She’s any humours perfect parasite,
Displeas’d with her, and pleas’d with her delight,
She is the Eccho of inconstancie,
Soothing her no with nay, her I with yea.

From: Guilpin, Everard, Skialethia; or, A Shadowe of Truth, in certaine Epigrams and Satyres, 1598, I.R. for Nicholas Ling: London, pp. [unnumbered].

Date: 1598

By: Everard Guilpin (c1572-1607)

Sunday, 29 April 2018

To Everlasting Oblivion by John Marston

Thou mighty gulf, insatiate cormorant!
Deride me not, though I seem petulant
To fall into thy chops. Let others pray
For ever their fair poems flourish may,
But as for me, hungry Oblivion
Devour me quick. Accept my orison,
My earnest prayers, which do importune thee
With gloomy shade of thy still empery
To veil both me and my rude poesy.
Far worthier lines, in silence of thy state,
Do sleep securely, free from love or hate;
From which this living ne’er can be exempt,
But whilst it breathes, will hate and fury tempt.
Then close his eyes with thy all-dimming hand,
Which not right-glorious actions can withstand;
Peace, hateful tongues; I now in silence pace,
Unless some hound do wake me from my place.
I with this sharp, yet well-meant poesy
Will sleep secure, right free from injury
Of cankered hate, or rankest villany.


Date: 1598

By: John Marston (1576-1634)

Friday, 11 August 2017

Love’s Sustenance by Jorge de Montemor

With sorrow, tears, and discontent
Love his forces doth augment.
Water is to meads delight,
And the flax doth please the fire;
Oil in lamp agreeth right;
Green meads are all the flocks’ desire;
Ripening fruit and wheaty ears
With due heat are well content;
And with pains and many tears
Love his forces doth augment.

From: Bullen, A. H. (ed.), Poems, Chiefly Lyrical, from Romances and Prose-Tracts of the Elizabethan Age: with Chosen Poems of Nicholas Breton, 1890, John C. Nimmo: London, p. 52.

Date: c1559 (original in Spanish); 1598 (translation in English)

By: Jorge de Montemor (?1520-1561)

Translated by: Bartholomew Young (fl. 1577-1598)

Wednesday, 29 March 2017

Crossing Iron Mountain River by Kyun Hŏ

Sunset. I arrive
at an old ferry.
A west wind blows—
alone, I cross.
Dark waves rush south,
the north, plentiful
with new autumn colors.
The year goes—
I’ve already said it all.
How are the gardens at home?
In mid-flow, the sudden grief
of disappointment—
on the river, songs
of fishermen drift.


Date: 1598 (original in Korean); 2009 (translation in English)

By: Kyun Hŏ (1569-1618)

Translated by: Ian Haight (19??- ) and T’ae-Yong Ho (19??- )

Friday, 21 March 2014

Book 4: Epigram 7 by Thomas Bastard

Our fathers did but use the world before,
And having used did leave the same to us.
We spill whatever resteth to their store.
What can our heirs inherit but our curse?
For we have sucked the sweet and sap away,
And sowed consumption in the fruitful ground;
The woods and forests clad in rich array
With nakedness and baldness we confound.
We have defaced the lasting monuments,
And caused all honour to have end with us;
The holy temples feel our ravishments.
What can our heirs inherit but our curse?
The world must end, for men are so accurst;
Unless God end it sooner, they will first.


Date: 1598

By: Thomas Bastard (c1565-1618)

Wednesday, 24 July 2013

Song [from “Old Fortunatus”] by Thomas Dekker

Virtue’s branches wither, Virtue pines,
O pity, pity, and alack the time ;
Vice doth flourish, Vice in glory shines,
Her gilded boughs above the cedar climb.

Vice hath golden cheeks, O pity, pity,
She in every land doth monarchize ;
Virtue is exiled from every city,
Virtue is a fool, Vice only wise.

O pity, pity, Virtue weeping dies,
Vice laughs to see her faint, alack the time.
This sinks, with painted wings the other flies :
Alack that best should fall, and bad should climb.

O pity, pity, pity, mourn, not sing,
Vice doth flourish, Vice in glory shines,
Vice is a saint, Virtue an underling ;
Virtue’s branches wither, Virtue pines.


Date: ?1598

By: Thomas Dekker (?1570-1632)

Sunday, 24 February 2013

The Nightingale by Richard Barnefield

As it fell upon a day
In the merry month of May,
Sitting in a pleasant shade
Which a grove of myrtles made,
Beasts did leap and birds did sing,
Trees did grow and plants did spring;
Every thing did banish moan,
Save the nightingale alone.
She, poor bird, as all forlorn,
Lean’d her breast up-till a thorn
And there sung the doleful’st ditty,
That to hear it was great pity.
Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry,
Teru, teru, by and by;
That to hear her so complain,
Scarce I could from tears refrain;
For her griefs so lively shown
Made me think upon mine own.
Ah, thought I, thou mourn’st in vain;
None takes pity on thy pain;
Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee;
Ruthless bears, they will not cheer thee;
King Pandion, he is dead,
All thy friends are lapp’d in lead;
All thy fellow birds do sing,
Careless of thy sorrowing;
Whilst as fickle fortune smil’d,
Thou and I were both beguil’d.
Every one that flatters thee
Is no friend in misery:
Words are easy, like the wind,
Faithful friends are hard to find;
Every man will be thy friend
Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend,
But if store of crowns be scant,
No man will supply thy want.
If that one be prodigal,
Bountiful they will him call;
And with such-like flattering
Pity but he were a king.
If he be addict to vice,
Quickly him they will entice;
If to women he be bent,
They have at commandëment;
But if fortune once do frown,
Then farewell his great renown;
They that fawn’d on him before
Use his company no more.
He that is thy friend indeed
He will help thee in thy need:
If thou sorrow, he will weep;
If thou wake, he cannot sleep;
Thus of every grief, in heart,
He with thee doth bear a part.
These are certain signs to know
Faithful friend from flatt’ring foe.


Date: 1598

By: Richard Barnefield (1574-1620)

Alternative Titles: As It Fell Upon A Day