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Samuel Daniel, der Sohn eines Musiklehrers, ward 1562 in der Nähe von Taunton geboren und erhielt durch die Unterstützung der Gräfin Pembroke eine gelehrte Erziehung. Nachdem er seine Studien zu Oxford vollendet, wurde er Erzieher der Lady Anna Clifford und dann Hofpoet (Poet Laureat) der Königin Elisabeth, was ihm jedoch Nichts eintrug. Nach ihrem Tode erhielt er das Amt eines Kammerdieners bei der Gemahlin Jacobs I. Später zog er sich auf das Land zurück und starb daselbst im October 1619. Seine gesammelten Werke wurden von seinem Bruder, London 1623, 1 Bd. in 4. herausgegeben und sind später neu aufgelegt worden u. A. London 1718, 2 Bde. in 12. Sie enthalten: The Complaint of Rosamond (57 Sonnette), Letter of Octavia to Mark Anthony; Hymen's Triumph und the Queens Arcadia (zwei Schäferdramen), Cleopatra und Philotas (zwei Trauerspiele) Musophilus (ein didactisches Gedicht), the History of the Civil Wars (ein episches Gedicht, den Kampf zwischen York und Lancaster schildernd) und vermischte Gedichte. Daniel ist als Dichter correct, elegant und oft gefühlvoll und natürlich, aber auch trocken, gesucht und künstelnd und der Form nicht selten den Inhalt opfernd.
To the Ladie Margaret, Countesse of He sees the face of right t'appeare as maniCumberland.
folde He that of such a height hath built his minde, Who puts it in all colours, all attires,
As are the passions of uncertaine man, And rear'd the dwelling of his thoughts so to serve his ends and make his courses holde:
He sees, that let deceit worke what it can, As neither feare nor hope can shake the frame
Plot and contrive base wayes to high desires, Of his resolved pow’rs, nor all the winde Of vanitie or malice pierce to wrong
That the all-guiding Providence doth yet His setled peace, or to disturbe the same;
All disappoint, and mocks this smoake of wit. What a faire seate hath he, from whence he
Nor is he mov'd with all the thunder - cracks The boundlesse wastes and weids of man survay. Of tyrant's threats, or with the surly brow
Of Power, that proudly sits on others crimes, And with how free an eye doth he looke Charg'd with more crying sinnes then those he downe
checks; Upon these lower regions of turmoyle
The stormes of sad confusion, that may grow Where all the stormes of passions mainly Up in the present, for the comming times,
Appall not him, that hath no side at all On flesh and bloud, where honour, pow'r, re- But of himselfe, and knowes the worst can fall.
Are onely gay afflictions, golden toyle,
Although his heart so neere allied to earth, Where greatnesse stands upon as feeble feet
Cannot but pitty the perplexed state As frailty doth, and onely great doth seeme
of troublous and distrest mortalitie, To little minds, who doe it so esteeme.
That thus make way unto the ougly birth
Of their owne sorrowes, and doe still beget He lookes upon the mightiest monarchs Affliction upon imbecillitie:
Yet seeing thus the course of things must runne, But onely as on stately robberies,
He lookes thereon, not strange; but as foredone. Where evermore the fortune that prevailes Must be the right, the ill-succeeding marres The fairest and the best - fac't enterprize:
And whilst distraught ambition compasses Great pirat Pompey lesser pirats quailes, And is incompast, whil'st as craft deceives Justice, he sees, as if seduced, still
And is deceived, whilst man doth ransacke Conspires with pow'r, whose cause must not be
And th' inheritance of desolation leaves
To great expecting hopes, he lookes thereon But worke beyond their yeeres, and even denie
With death: that when ability expires,
Desire lives still: so much delight they have Thus, madam, fares that man that hath To carry toyle and travell to the grave.
prepar'a A rest for his desires, and sees all things
Whose ends you see, and what can be the Beneath him, and hath learn'd this booke of
They reach unto, when they have cast the Full of the notes of frailty and compar'd The best of glory with her sufferings,
And reckonings of their glory, and you know By whom I see you labour all you can
This foting life hath but this port of rest, To plant your heart, and set your thoughts as A heart prepard, that feares no ill to come:
And that mans greatnesse rests but in his show, His glorious mansion as your pow'rs can beare. The best of all whose dayes consumed are
Either in warre, or peace conceiving warre. Which, madam, are so soundly fashioned By that cleere judgement that hath carryed you This concord, madame, of a well - tun'd Beyond the feeble limits of your kinde,
minde As they can stand against the strongest head Hath beene so set, by that all-working hand Passion can make, inur'd to any hue
Of Heaven, that though the world hath done his The world can cast, that cannot cast that minde
worst Out of her forme of goodnesse, that doth see To put it out, by discords most unkinde Both what the best and worst of earth can be. Yet doth it still in perfect union stand
With God and man, nor ever will be forc't Which makes, that whatsoever here befalles From that most sweet accord, but still agree You in the region of your selfe remaine, Equall in fortunes inequalitie. Where no vaine breath of th' impudent molests, That hath secur'd within the brasen walles
And this note (madame) of your worthinesse Of a cleere conscience, that without all staine Remaines recorded in so many hearts, Rises in peace, in innocencie rests,
As time nor malice cannot wrong your right Whilst all what Malice from without procures, In th' inheritance of fame you must possesse Shewes her owne ougly heart, but hurts not You that have built you by your great deserts,
Out of small meanes, a farre more exquisit
And glorious dwelling for your honoured name And whereas none rejoyce more in revenge Then all the gold that leaden minds can frame. Then women use to doe, yet you well know, That wrong is better .checkt, by being contemn'd Then being pursu'd leaving to him t'avenge To whom it appertaines; wherein you show How worthily your cleerenesse hath condemn'd
To Henry Wriothesly, Earle of Base Malediction, living in the darke,
Southampton. That at the raies of goodnesse still doth barke.
He who hath never warr'd with miserie, Knowing the heart of man is set to be Nor ever tugg'd with fortune and distresse The centre of this world, about the which Hath had n'occasion nor no field to trie These revolutions of disturbances
The strength and forces of his worthinessę: Still roule, where all th' aspects of miserie Those parts of judgement which felicitie Predominate, whose strong effects are such Keepes as conceal'd, affliction must expresse As he must beare, being pow'rlesse to redresse; And onely men shew their abilities, And that unlesse above himselfe he can
And what they are, in their extremities. Erect himselfe, how poore a thing is man!
The world had never taken so full note And how turmoyld they are, that levell lie Of what thou art, hadst thou not beene undone, With earth, and cannot lift theemselves from And onely thy affliction hath begot
More fame, then thy best fortunes could have That never are at peace with their desires,
For ever, by adversitie are wrought
Restore thy tresses to the golden ore,
Yeeld Cithereas sonne those arkes of love;
And to th' orient do thy pearles remove. Mutius the fire, the tortures Regulus,
Yeeld thy hands pride unto th' ivory white, Did make the miracles of faith and zeale,
T' Arabian odors give thy breathing sweete; Exile renown'd, and grac'd Rutilius;
Restore thy blush unto Aurora bright, Imprisonment and poyson did reveale
To Thetis give the honour of thy feete. The worth of Socrates; Fabritius
Let Venus have thy graces, her resign'd, Povertie did grace that common-weale
And thy sweet voice give back unto the More then all Syllaes riches got with strife;
spheares. And Catoes death did vie with Caesars life
But yet restore thy fierce and cruell mind, Not to b' unhappy is unhappynesse;
To Hyrcan tygres, and to ruthles beares.
Yeeld to the marble thy hard hart againe;
So shalt thou cease to plague, and I to paine.
Sonnet. Who never shewes them the true face of things.
Care - charmer Sleepe, sonne of the sable Night, How could we know that thou could'st have Brother to Death, in silent darknes borne:
Relieve my languish, and restore the light, With a reposed cheere, wrong and disgrace; With darke forgetting of my care returne. And with a heart and countenance assur'd And let the day be time enough to mourne Have lookt sterne Death and horror in the face! The shipwracke of my ill adventred youth How should we know thy soule had beene Let waking eyes suftice to waile their scorne,
Without the torment of the nights untruth. In honest counsels and in way unbase!
Cease dreames, th' images of day desires, Hadst thou not stood to shey us what thou To modell forth the passions of the morrow.
Never let rising sunne approve you liers, By thy affliction, that discri'd thy heart.
To adde more griefe to aggravate my sorrow.
Still let me sleepe, imbracing clouds in vaine,
Not for that rivers ranne
Unto the husband - man
Not for no cold did freeze,
Wherein liv'd every thing,
But onely for that name,
That idle name of wind :
doth please! Then amongst flowres and springs
Making delightfull sport,
But thou fierce lord of Nature and of Love,
Let's love, the sun doth set, and rise againe,
Which from affection came :
Now each creature joyes the other, The naked virgin then
Passing happy dayes and howers, Her roses fresh reveales
One bird reports unto another,
In the fall of silver showers,
Hath her bosome deckt with flowers.
With bright rayes warmes Floras lap, The spring of all delight:
Making nights and dayes both even, Denying water to the amorous thirst;
Chearing plants with fresher sap: Thou taught'st faire eyes to lose
My field of flowers quite bereven, The glory of their light,
Wants refresh of better hap. Restrain 'd from men, and on themselves re- Eccho, daughter of the aire,
(Babling guest of rocks and hils,) Thou in a lawne didst first
Knows the name of my fierce faire, Those golden haires incase,
And sounds the accents of my ils. Late spred unto the wind;
Each thing pitties my dispaire, Thou mad'st loose grace unkind,
Whilst that she her lover kils. Gav'st bridle to their words, arts to their pace. Whilst that she (0 cruell mayd) O Honour it is thou
Doth me and my love despise, That mak'st that stealth, which love doth free My lives florish is decayed
That depended on her eyes : It is thy worke that brings
But her will must be obeyed, Our griefes, and torments thus :
And well he ends for love who dies.
D r a y t o n.
Michael Drayton ward 1563 zu Harfull in Warwickshire geboren, zeichnete sich schon früb durch seine Fähigkeiten aus und studirte, nachdem er einige Jahre hindurch Page eines vornehmen Mannes gewesen, zu Oxford. Später trat er in die Armee und bekleidete lange Zeit daselbst einen höheren Posten. 1621 erhielt er die Würde eines Hofdichters (poet laureat). Er starb 1631 und wurde in der Westminsterabtei begraben, wo ihm die Gräfin von Dorset ein Denkmal errichten liess.
Drayton hinterliess sehr viele poetische Werke, zwei derselben haben sich jedoch nur im Andenken der Nachwelt erhalten: Nymphidia or the Court of the Faeries und the Polyolbion. Das Erstere ist eine Nachahmung und gewissermaassen Fortbildung von Shakspeare's Sommernachtstraum, doch keinesweges ohne selbstständigen Werth; das Letztere dagegen eine poetische Topographie von England mit eingemischten Episoden und Beschreibungen: wichtiger für den Alterthumsforscher als für den Freund englischer Dichtkunst. Unter seinen kleineren Poesieen zeichnen sich besonders seine Ideas, womit er Sonnette in freierer Form bezeichnete, vortheilhaft aus. Warmes Gefühl, Lebendigkeit, Phantasie und glückliche, wenn auch nicht immer streng correcte, Behandlung der Sprache und der Form characterisiren seine poetischen Leistungen überhaupt.
As Love and I late harbour'd in one inne Since there's no help, come, let us kisse and part, With proverbs thus each other entertaine : Nay, I have done, you get no more of me;
In love there is no lucke, thus I begin; And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,
Faire words make fooles; replieth he againe; That thus so cleanly I myselfe can free;
Who spares to speake, doth spare to speed, Shake hands for ever, cancell all our vowes;
(quoth I); And when we meet at any time againe,
As well (saith he) too forward, as too slow: Be it not seen in either of our browes
Fortune assists the boldest, I reply;
Labour is light, where love (quoth I) doth pay; When his pulse failing, passion speechlesse lies, (Saith he) Light burthens heavy, if far borne: When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death,
(Quoth I) The maine lost, cast the by away; And Innocence is closing up his eyes,
Y' have spun a faire thred, he replies in scorne Now if thou would'st, when all have given
And having thus awhile each other thwarted,
Fooles as we met, so fooles again we parted. From death to life thou might'st yet recover.
To Himselfe and the Harpe.
And why not I, as hee
(In sundry strains that strive
Th' old Lyrick kind revive ?
Love banish'd heaven, in earth was held in
I will, yea, and I may;
For what is he alone,
Hee's heire of Helicon?
Apollo, and the Nine,
That commeth with hands pure
They will him not indure.