Posts tagged ‘1604’

Thursday, 6 July 2017

Sister, Awake! Close Not Your Eyes by Thomas Bateson

Sister, awake! close not your eyes,
The day her light discloses;
And the bright morning doth arise
Out of her bed of roses.

See the clear sun, the world’s bright eye,
In at our window peeping;
Lo, how he blusheth to espy
Us idle wenches sleeping!

Therefore awake, make haste I say,
And let us without staying
All in our gowns of green so gay
Into the park a maying.


Date: 1604

By: Thomas Bateson (c1570-1630)

Friday, 21 April 2017

To Detraction by Thomas Andrewe

Ill tongu’d Detraction, that upon my Booke
Doest cast a hatefull vituperious looke,
Read and deride, deprave and carpe thy fill,
Say that my Verse is harsh, my lynes are ill:
I passe not for thy censure, better men
Shall judge the worth of our industrious pen.
In spight of thee, and all that thou canst say,
My lynes shall live, when steele shall weare away:
And when that thou rak’t vp in dust shalt lye,
Then through the spacious Orbe our Muse shall flye:
Although that yet she hath with motion slowe,
Taught her hiewing to keepe a course but lowe.
I must acknowledge, these unpolisht rimes
Sute not the nature of our curious times,
When each sharpe-sighted Critick doth disdaine,
What is not bred in his fantasticke brayne:
Yet will I not with supple fawning words,
Seeke for more praise then merit just affords.
My pen is free, and whatso’ere I write,
Proceeds essentially from my delight:
Then let whose will, or praise, or discommend me.
Neyther can make me proud, nor yet offend me.

From: Andrewe, Thomas, The Unmasking of a Feminine Machiavell, 2006, Text Creation Partnership: Ann Arbor, Michigan and Oxford, p. [unnumbered].

Date: 1604

By: Thomas Andrewe (fl. 1604)

Thursday, 10 December 2015

Will Thow Remorsles Fair by James Sempill with rough rendering into almost modern English by flusteredduck

Will thow remorsles fair, still laughe whill I lament,
And sall thy cheefe contentment be, to see me mallecontent?
Sall I Narcissus lyke, ane flying shade still chaise
Or lyke Pigmaleon straine a stone, quhilk bare no sence of grace
No! no, my blind love now, must burrow reassonnes eyes
It was thy fairnes made me sounde, zour wrong name [now] mak me [wise]
My just desert’s disdaines to love ane loveles dame,
The lyfe of Cupidis fyre confides, Into ane mutuall flame
[For] gave thow but a looke, or gave thow but a smyle
Ore sent thow furth but ane sweit siche, my sorrow to begyle,
My captives thouchts perhaps myght be redeem’d from pane
And thois my mutineris malecontents, mycht freinds with hoip agane
But thow as it appears, still cairles of my gude
And as it seem’s wald eternize, thy bewtie with my bloode,
Ane great disgrace to the, to me ane monstrous wrong,
Quhilk tyme will teache the to repent, befoir that it be long,
Then, to prevente thy schame, and to abraidge my woe,
Becaus thow will noucht love thy freinde I’le cease to luve my foe.

Will Thou Remorseless Fair by James Sempill

Will thou remorseless fair, still laugh while I lament,
And shall thy chief contentment be, to see me malcontent?
Shall I Narcissus like, one flying shade still chase
Or like Pygmalion strain a stone, which bears no sense of grace
No! no, my blind love now, must borrow reason’s eyes
It was thy fairness made me sound, your wrong name now make me wise
My just deserts disdains to love one loveless dame,
The life of Cupid’s fire confides, into one mutual flame
For give thou but a look, or give thou but a smile
Or sent thou forth but one sweet sigh, my sorrow to beguile
My captive’s thoughts perhaps might be redeemed from pain
And these my mutinous malcontents, might friends with hope again
But thou as it appears, still careless of my good
And as it seems would eternalise, thy beauty with my blood,
One great disgrace to thee, to me one monstrous wrong,
Which time will teach thee to repent, before that it be long,
Then, to prevent thy shame, and to abridge my woe,
Because thou will not love thy friend I’ll cease to love my foe.

From: Sempill, Robert and Sempill, James, The Sempill Ballates. A series of historical, political, and satirical Scotish Poems, ascribed to Robert Sempill. M.D.LXVII.—M.D.LXXXIII. To which are added Poems by Sir James Semple of Beltrees, M.D.XCVIII-M.DC.X. Now for the first time printed, 1872, Thomas George Stevenson: Edinburgh, p. 253.

Date: c1604

By: James Sempill (1566-1625)

Friday, 4 December 2015

Crush the Serpent in the Head by Elizabeth Grymeston

Crush the serpent in the head,
Breake ill egges yer they be hatched.
Kill bad chickens in the tread,
Fledge they hardly can be catched.
In the rising stifle ill,
Lest it grow against thy will.

From: Grymeston, Elizabeth, Miscelanea. Meditations. Memoratiues, 2003, Text Creation Partnership: Ann Arbor, Michigan and Oxford, p. [unnumbered].

Date: 1604

By: Elizabeth Grymeston (c1563-c1603)

Friday, 22 February 2013

To Aurora by William Alexander

O if thou knew’st how thou thyself does harm,
And dost prejudge thy bliss, and spoil thy rest;
Then thou would’st melt the ice out of thy breast
And thy relenting heart would kindly warm.

O if thy pride did not our joys controul,
What world of loving wonders should’st thou see!
For if I saw thee once transform’d in me,
Then in thy bosom I would pour my soul;

Then all my thoughts should in thy visage shine,
And if that aught mischanced thou should’st not moan
Nor bear the burthen of thy griefs alone;
No, I would have my share in what were thine:

And whilst we thus should make our sorrows one,
This happy harmony would make them none.


Date: 1604

By: William Alexander (1567-1640)