Authors born between 1500 and 1550 CE
Click Up For A Summary Of Each Author
Contents
Let Not Old Age Disgrace My High Desire
The Passionate Shepherd to His Love
The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd
Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day?
They that have Power to Hurt and will Do None
When to the Sessions of Sweet Silent Thought
The Expense of Spirit in a Waste of Shame
Tears at the Grave of Sir Albertus Morton
Upon the Death of Sir Albert Morton's Wife
To His Little Child Benjamin, from the Tower
The Elizabethan poets (Sixteenth Century and shortly after) appeared in England during a period roughly contemporaneous with the reign of Queen Elizabeth I (1558-1603). Previous to this, the genius of Chaucer (1343-1400)
had established English
as a new language of literature and was a primary influence on poets of the
Fifteenth Century. With the English renaissance of the Sixteenth Century,
the language had moved much closer to its modern form, Chaucer came to be
regarded as the English Homer, and a new flowering of poetry took place. These poets adopted sonnet forms from Italy and
wrote enormous numbers of love poems, but they also tried new meters and
entertained other subjects, such as the passage of time, the effect of
imprisonment, views on the happy life, the kingdom of the mind, old age, advice to a son, true joy, and tributes
to the dead.
Sir Thomas Wyatt
(1503-1542), born at Allington, Kent, and
educated at Cambridge, was in and out of favor with Henry VIII, whom he served
in a number of offices. He was
repeatedly in jail—for associating with Anne Boleyn, quarreling with the
duke of Suffolk, and on charges of treason. He was knighted in 1537
and served two years as ambassador to Charles V. He translated some
of Petrarch's sonnets, as well as writing many of his own and other lyrics and
songs.
They
flee from me, that sometime did me seek,
With
naked foot, stalking within my chamber;
Once
have I seen them gentle, tame, and meek,
That
now are wild, and do not once remember
That
sometime they have put themselves in danger
To
take bread at my hand; and now they range
Busily
seeking in continual change.
Thanked
be Fortune it hath been otherwise
Twenty
times better; but once, especial,
In
thin array, after a pleasant guise,
When
her loose gown did from her shoulders fall,
And
she me caught in her arms long and small,
And
therewithall so sweetly did me kiss,
And
softly said, 'Dear heart, how like you this?'
It
was no dream; for I lay broad awaking:
But
all is turned now thorough my gentleness,
Into
a bitter fashion of forsaking;
And
I have leave to go from her goodness,
And
she also to use newfangledness.
But
since that I so unkindly am served:
How
like you this, what hath she now deserved?
Sir Thomas Wyatt
Sighs
are my food, my drink are my tears;
Clinking
of fetters would such music crave;
Stink
and close air away my life wears;
Poor
innocence is all the hope I have;
Rain,
wind or weather judge I by my ears.
Malice
assaults that righteousness should have.
Sure
I am, Brian, this wound shall heal again,
But
yet, alas, the scar shall still remain.
Sir Thomas Wyatt
Henry
Howard, Earl of Surrey
(1517-47) received his title when his father became duke of Norfolk. He fought
in Scotland and in Flanders and became commander of
a garrison of Boulogne. Quick-tempered and quarrelsome, he made many enemies
and was imprisoned several times for misconduct. Arrested on false charges of
treason, he was executed in 1547. As with other Elizabethans, his poetry was
somewhat secondary to his other activities, but he was technically skilled
and, like Wyatt, an enthusiast of the Italian sonnet
My
friend, the things that do attain
The
happy life be these, I find.
The
riches left, not got with pain;
The
fruitful ground; the quiet mind;
The
equal friend, no grudge, no strife;
No
charge of rule, nor governance;
Without
disease, the healthy life;
The
household of continuance;
The
mean diet, no delicate fare;
True
wisdom joined with simpleness;
The
night discharged of all care,
Where
wine the wit may not oppress;
The
faithful wife, without debate;
Such
sleeps as may beguile the night;
Contented
with mine own estate,
No
wish for death, nor fear his might.
Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey
Laid
in my quiet bed, in study as I were,
I
saw within my troubled head a heap of thoughts appear.
And
every thought did show so lively in mine eyes,
That
now I sighed, and then I smiled, as cause of thought did rise.
I
saw the little boy in thought how oft that he
Did
wish of God to scape the rod, a tall young man to be.
The
young man, too, that feels his bones with pains opprest,
How
he would be a rich old man, to live and lie at rest.
The
rich old man, that sees his end draw on so sore,
How
he would be a boy again, to live so much the more.
Whereat
full oft I smiled, to see how all these three,
From
boy to man, from man to boy, would chop and change degree.
And,
musing thus, I think the case is very strange
That
man from wealth, to live in woe, doth ever seek to change.
Thus
thoughtful as I lay, I saw my withered skin,
How
it doth show my dinted cheeks, the flesh was worn so thin.
And,
too, my toothless jaws, the gates of my rightway,
That
opes and shuts as I do speak, do thus unto me say:
“Thy
white and hoarish hairs, the messengers of age,
That
show, like lines of true belief, that this life doth assuage,
Bid
thee lay hand, and feel them hanging on thy chin;
The
which do write two ages past, the third now coming in.
Hang
up therefore the bit of thy young wanton time:
And
thou that therein beaten art, the happiest life define.”
Whereat
I sigh'd, and said, “Farewell, my wonted joy!
Truss
up thy pack, and trudge from me to every little boy,
And
tell them thus from me: their time most happy is,
If,
to their time, they reason had to know the truth of this.”
Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey
Sir Edward Dyer (?-1607)was born in Somersetshire and was educated at Oxford, but left before taking a degree. He is mentioned as one of the ornaments of Queen Elizabeth’s court, and was sent by her on missions to Holland and Denmark in the1580s. He was knighted in 1596. He was well esteemed as a poet by his contemporaries, but little of his poetry has survived.
My
mind to me a kingdom is,
Such
present joys therein I find,
That
it excels all other bliss
That
earth affords or grows by kind:
Though
much I want which most would have,
Yet
still my mind forbids to crave.
No
princely pomp, no wealthy store,
No
force to win the victory,
No
wily wit to salve a sore,
No
shape to feed a loving eye;
To
none of these I yield as thrall:
For
why? My mind doth serve for all.
I
see how plenty surfeits oft,
And
hasty climbers soon do fall;
I
see that those which are aloft
Mishap
doth threaten most of all;
They
get with toil, they keep with fear;
Such
cares my mind could never bear.
Content
I live, this is my stay,
I seek no more than may suffice,
I
press to bear no haughty sway;
Look, what I lack my mind supplies.
Lo,
thus I triumph like a king,
Content
with that my mind doth bring.
Some
have too much, yet still do crave,
I little have, and seek no more:
They
are but poor, though much they have,
And I am rich with little store:
They
poor, I rich; they beg, I give;
They
lack, I leave; they pine, I live.
I
laugh not at another's loss,
I grudge not at another's gain;
No
worldly waves my mind can toss,
My state at one doth still remain.
I
fear no foe, I fawn no friend;
I
loathe not life, nor dread my end.
Some
weigh their pleasure by their lust,
Their wisdom by their rage of will;
Their
treasure is their only trust,
A cloaked craft their store of skill:
But
all the pleasure that I find
Is
to maintain a quiet mind.
My
wealth is health and perfect ease:
My conscience clear my chief defense;
I
neither seek by bribes to please,
Nor by deceit to breed offence.
Thus
do I live, thus will I die;
Would
all did so, as well as I.
Sir Edward Dyer
Sir Philip
Sidney (1554-86) was a courtier, soldier, and poet. Born Kent, and educated
at Oxford he was sent by Elizabeth I on diplomatic missions and was considered
one of her favorites. He fell out of favor at one point but was subsequently
appointed governor of Vlissingen in the Netherlands, taking part in an
expedition aiding the Netherlands against Spain. Sidney died of wounds
received in a raid on a Spanish convoy. His best known poetic works are some
108 sonnets about unrequited love (Astrophel and Stella), and a pastoral romance (Arcadia). He defended of poetry against the
Puritans in An Apologie for Poetrie.
Let
not old age disgrace my high desire,
O
heavenly soul, in human shape contained:
Old
wood inflamed doth yield the bravest fire,
When
younger doth in smoke his virtue spend.
Nor
let white hairs, which on my face do grow,
Seem
to your eyes of a disgraceful hue,
Since
whiteness doth present the sweetest show,
Which
makes all eyes do homage unto you.
Old
age is wise and full of constant truth;
Old
age well stayed from ranging humor lives;
Old
age hath known what ever was in youth;
Old
age o'ercome, the greater honor gives:
And
to old age since you yourself aspire,
Let
not old age disgrace my high desire.
Sir Philip Sidney
Christopher
Marlowe (1564-1593)
was born in Kent and educated at Cambridge. He became connected with
a company of actors for whom he wrote plays. He was also said to be a secret
agent and to have led the adventurous life typical of English agents. Denounced as a heretic, he inadvertently
avoided further action against him
by being murdered in a tavern brawl. While he is most famous as the
first great English playwright (Dr. Faustus, Tamerlane the Great, etc.), he also wrote poetry and
translated some of the poems of Lucan and Ovid.
Come live with me, and be my love:
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
Woods or steepy mountain yields.
And
we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing
the shepherds feed their flocks,
By
shallow rivers to whose falls
Melodious
birds sing madrigals.
And
I will make thee beds of roses
With
a thousand fragrant posies,
A
cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered
all with leaves of myrtle;
A
gown made of the finest wool
Which
from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair
lined slippers for the cold,
With
buckles of the purest gold,
A
belt of straw and ivy buds,
With
coral clasps and amber studs:
And,
if these pleasures may thee move,
Come
live with me and be my love.
The
shepherd-swains shall dance and sing
For
thy delight each May morning:
If
these delights thy mind may move,
Then
live with me, and be my love.
Christopher Marlowe
Sir
Walter Raleigh
(1554-1618) was born in Devon, educated at Oxford and studied law in London.
He first sailed to America in 1578 and then in 1585 attempted to sponsor the first
English colony there, which failed. He became a favorite of Queen Elizabeth,
who knighted him but became disenchanted with him when he secretly married one
of her maids of honor. He was convicted of plotting against Elizabeth’s
successor, James I, and was
sentenced to death—commuted to a life sentence in the Tower of London, where
much of his writing was done in the 13 years that followed. This contained many poems, but most of them have been lost. He persuaded the
king to release him in exchange for a fortune in gold that he would find in the Orinoco. He was unsuccessful and his son was killed when they attacked a
Spanish settlement, violating an agreement with the king. James had Raleigh
beheaded when he returned to England.
If
all the world and love were young,
And
truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These
pretty pleasures might me move
To
live with thee and be thy love.
But
time drives flocks from field and fold,
When
rivers rage and rocks grow cold;
And
Philomel becometh dumb;
The
rest complain of cares to come.
The
flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To
wayward winter reckoning yields:
A
honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is
fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.
Thy
gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy
cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies
Soon
break, soon wither, soon forgotten—
In
folly ripe, in reason rotten.
Thy
belt of straw and ivy buds,
Thy
coral clasps and amber studs,
All
these in me no means can move
To
come to thee and be thy love.
But
could youth last and love still breed:
Had
joys no date nor age no need:
Then
those delights my mind might move
To
live with thee and be thy love.
Sir Walter Raleigh
What
is our life? A play of passion.
Our
mirth? The music of division:
Our
mother's wombs the tiring-houses be,
Where
we are dressed for this short comedy.
Heaven
the judicious sharp spectator is
Who
sits and views whosoe'er doth act amiss.
The
graves which hide us from the scorching sun
Are
like drawn curtains when the play is done.
Thus
playing, post we to our latest rest,
And
then we die, in earnest, not in jest.
Three
things there be that prosper all apace
And
flourish, while they are asunder far:
But
on a day, they meet all in a place,
And
when they meet, they one another mar.
And
they be these: the wood, the weed, the wag.
The
wood is that which makes the gallow tree;
The
weed is that that strings the hangman's bag;
The
wag, my pretty knave, betokens thee.
Now
mark, dear boy—while these assemble not,
Green
springs the tree, hemp grows, the wag is wild;
But
when they meet, it makes the timber rot,
It
frets the halter, and it chokes the child.
Sir Walter Raleigh
My
body in the walls captived
Feels
not the wounds of spiteful envy;
But
my thrall'd mind, of liberty deprived,
Fast
fetter'd in her ancient memory,
Doth
nought behold but sorrow's dying face;
Such
prison erst was so delightful
As
it desired no other dwelling place;
But
time's effects and destinies despiteful
Have
changčd both my keeper and my fare.
Love's
fire and beauty's light I then had store;
But
now, close kept, as captives wonted are,
That
food, that heat, that light, l find no more.
Despair
bolts up my doors, and I alone
Speak
to dead walls: but those hear not my moan.
Sir Walter Raleigh
Conceit, begotten by
the eyes,
Is quickly born and
quickly dies;
For while it seeks
our hearts to have,
Meanwhile, there
reason makes his grave;
For many things the
eyes approve,
Which yet the heart
doth seldom love.
For as the seeds in
spring time sown
Die in the ground
ere they be grown,
Such is conceit,
whose rooting fails,
As child that in the
cradle quails;
Or else within the
mother's womb
Hath his beginning
and his tomb.
Affection follows
Fortune's wheels,
And soon is shaken
from her heels;
For, following
beauty or estate,
Her liking still is
turned to hate;
For all affections
have their change,
And fancy only loves
to range.
Desire himself runs
out of breath,
And, getting, doth
but gain his death:
Desire nor reason
hath nor rest,
And, blind, doth
seldom choose the best:
Desire attained is
not desire,
But as the cinders
of the fire.
As ships in ports
desired are drowned,
As fruit, once ripe,
then falls to ground,
As flies that seek
for flames are brought
To cinders by the
flames they sought;
So fond desire when
it attains,
The life expires,
the woe remains.
And yet some poets
fain would prove
Affection to be
perfect love;
And that desire is
of that kind,
No less a passion of
the mind;
As if wild beasts
and men did seek
To like, to love, to
choose alike.
Sir Walter Raleigh
William
Shakespeare (1564-1616) recognized as possible the world’s greatest dramatist left
little on record to describe his life. The poetry he used in his plays to
capture character, motivation, and drama is unique and represents one of the
great achievements in human expression. He also took the sonnet form that had
been brought from Italy by his Elizabethan predecessors and made it his own in
a sequence of sonnets that has no equal.
Shall
I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May;
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or Nature's changing course, untrimmed:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ownest,
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to Time thou growest.
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
William Shakespeare
They that have power to hurt and will do none,
That do not do the thing they most do show,
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,
They rightly do inherit heaven's graces,
And husband Nature's riches from expense;
They are the lords and owners of their faces,
Others but stewards of their excellence.
The summer's flower is to the summer sweet,
Though to itself it only live and die;
But if that flower with base infection meet,
The basest weed outbraves his dignity:
For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;
Lilies that
fester smell far worse than weeds.
William Shakespeare
When
to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And
with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:
Then
can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long since cancelled woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanished sight.
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And
heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But
if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All
losses are restored and sorrows end.
William Shakespeare
The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action; and, till action, lust
Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;
Enjoyed no sooner but despised straight;
Past reason hunted; and no sooner had,
Past reason hated, as a swallowed bait,
On purpose laid to make the taker mad:
Mad in pursuit, and in possession so;
Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme;
A bliss in proof —and, proved, a very woe;
Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream,
All
this the world well knows; yet none knows well
To
shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.
William Shakespeare
Thomas Campion
(1567-1620) was born in London and became a successful physician. He was a
lutenist and composed lyrics, such as Cherry Ripe, which he and others set to
music. His poems, also often set to music, are generally light and charming. The
one selected here, however, has a somewhat earthier quality reminiscent of the
Chinese Odes.
Fain
would I wed a fair young man that night and day could
please
me,
When my mind or body grieved that had the power to ease me.
Maids
are full of longing thoughts that breed a bloodless
sickness,
And that, oft I hear men say, is only cured by quickness.
Oft I have been wooed and praised, but never could be moved;
Many for a day or so I have most dearly loved,
But
this foolish mind of mine straight loathes the thing
resolved;
If to love be sin in me, that sin is soon absolved.
Sure I think I shall at last fly to some holy order;
When I once am settled there, then can I fly no farther.
Yet I would not die a maid, because I had a mother,
As I was by one brought forth, I would bring forth another.
Thomas Campion
Sir Henry
Wotton (1568-1630) was
born in Kent and was educated at Winchester and Oxford. He wrote a play and
was a friend of John Donne, but his interests appear to have been mainly
scientific. He obtained a diplomatic post under the second Earl of Essex,
whose downfall prompted him to leave England for Italy rather rapidly. He
later traveled to Scotland to warn James VI of a plot to murder him. When
James acceded to the English throne, Wotton was knighted and became ambassador
to Venice. He is credited with the saying that an ambassador is a honest man
sent to lie abroad for the good of his country. His poems were published in
1651.
Silence in
truth would speak my sorrow best,
For deepest wounds
can least their feelings tell;
Yet let me
borrow from mine own unrest
But time to bid him,
whom I loved, farewell.
O my unhappy
lines! you that before
Have served my youth
to vent some wanton cries,
And now,
congealed with grief, can scarce implore
Strength to assent,—Here my Albertus lies!
This is the
sable stone,—this is the cave
And womb of earth
that doth his corpse embrace;
While others
sing his praise, let me engrave
These bleeding
numbers to adorn the place.
Here will I paint
the characters of woe;
Here will I pay my
tribute to the dead;
And here my faithful
tears in showers shall flow,
To humanize the
flints whereon I tread:
Where, though I
mourn my matchless loss alone,
And none
between my weakness judge and me,
Yet even these
gentle wails allow my moan,
Whose doleful
echoes to my plaints agree.
But is he gone? and
live I rhyming here,
As if some Muse
would listen to my lay,
When all distuned
sit wailing for their dear,
And bathe the banks
where he was wont to play?
Dwell thou in
endless light, discharged soul,
Freed now from
Nature's and from Fortune's trust!
While on this fluent
globe my glass shall roll,
And run the rest of
my remaining dust.
Henry Wotton
He first
deceased; she for a little tried
To live without him,
liked it not, and died.
Henry Wotton
John Hoskins
(?-1638) was a Fellow of New College, where he graduated M.A. in 1592. He was expelled,
apparently for some sarcastic remarks, made a prosperous marriage, and entered
Parliament. There, "a desperate allusion to the Sicilian Vespers"
led to his confinement in the Tower of London in 1614 for a year.
He subsequently held a series of public offices, including that of a judge for
Wales. He died in 1638. He was said to have produced a book of poems larger
than that of John Donne, but it has not been found.
Sweet Benjamin,
since thou art young,
And hast not yet the
use of tongue,
Make it thy slave,
while thou art free;
Imprison it, lest it
do thee.
John Hoskins
If life be time that
here is lent,
And time on earth be
cast away,
Whoso his time hath
here misspent,
Hath hastened his
own dying day:
So it doth prove a
killing crime
To massacre our
living time.
If doing nought be
like to death,
Of him that doth,
chameleon-wise
Take only pains to
draw his breath,
The passers-by may
pasquilize,
Not, here he lives:
but, here, he dies.
John Hoskins
1, 3, 4 Tottel's Miscellany. Songes and Sonettes by Henry Howard, Earl of Surrrey, Sir Thomas Wyatt, the Elder, Nicholas Grimald and Uncertain Authors. Edited by Edward Arber. 1557. Reprinted, London, 1870. (pp 40, 27, 30.)
2 The Poetical Works of Sir Thomas Wyatt. W. Pickering, London, 1831 (p 176.)
5, 8, 9, 10, 11,12, 18, 19, 20, 21 The Poems of Sir Walter Raleigh Collected and Authenticated with Those of Sir Henry Wotton and Other Courtly Poets. Edited by J. Hannah. George Bell & Sons, London 1892. (p 149, 11, 29, 18, 18, 22, 96, 98, 122, 122.)
6 The Compete Poems of Sir Philip Sidney, Edited by Alexander Grosart, Vol. 2, Chatto and Windus, London, 1877. (p 150.)
7 The Poems of Robert Greene, Christopher Marlowe, and Ben Johnson, Edited by Robert Bell. George Bell & Sons, London, 1910. (p 231.)
13, 14, 15, 16 The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, Edited by W. J. Craig. Oxford University Press, 1905.( p 1108, 1119, 1110, 1124.)
17 Campion's Works, Edited by Percival Vivian. Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1909. (p187.)