Posts tagged ‘1598’

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.
(https://archive.org/details/cu31924013294305)

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

By: Jorge de Montemor (?1520-1561)

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

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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.

From: http://www.ashevillepoetryreview.com/2010/issue-19/crossing-iron-mountain-river

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.

From: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/242382

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.

From: http://www.luminarium.org/sevenlit/dekker/virtuesbranches.htm

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.

From: http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-nightingale-14/

Date: 1598

By: Richard Barnefield (1574-1620)

Alternative Titles: As It Fell Upon A Day