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some me.

But that your trespasse now becomes a fee; Thine eyes I love, and they, as pittying me,
Mine ransoms your's, and your's must ran- Knowing thy heart, torment me with disdaine;

Have put on blacke, and loving mourners be,
Looking with pretty ruth upon my paine.
And truly not the morning sun of heaven

Better becomes the gray cheekes of the east,
Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all; Nor that full starre that ushers in the even,
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? Doth halfe that glory to the sober west,
No love, my love, that thou may'st true love call; As those two mourning eyes become thy face;
All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more. O let it then as well beseeme thy heart
Then if for my love thou my love receivest,

To mourne for me, since mourning doth thee I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest;

grace, But yet be blamed, if thou thyselfe deceivest And sure thy pitie like in every part. By wilfull taste of what thy selfe refusest.

Then will I sweare beauty herselfe is blacke, I doe forgive thy robb'ry, gentle theefe,

And all they foule that thy complection lacke.
Although thou steale thee all my povertie;
And yet, love knowes, it is a greater griefe,
To beare love's wrong, than hate's knowne injury.

Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well showes,
Kill me with spight; yet we must not be foes.

So now I have confest that he is thine,

And I myselfe am morgag'd to thy will; How sweete and lovely dost thou make the shame Myselfe Ile forfeit, so that other mine

Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort still;
Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose,

But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free,
Doth spot the beautie of thy budding naine!
0, in what sweets doest thou thy sinnes inclose! For thou art covetous, and he is kinde;
That tongue that tells the story of thy dayes,

He learned but, suretie-like, to write for me,

Under that bond that him as fast doth binde. (Making lascivious comments on thy sport,) Cannot dispraise, but in a kind of praise:

The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take, Naming thy name, blesses an ill report.

Thou usurer that put'st forth all to use, O what a mansion have those vices got,

And sue a friend, came debtor for my sake; Which for their habitation choose out thee!

So him I loose through my unkinde abuse. Where beautie's vaile doth cover every blot,

Him have I lost; thou hast both him and me, And all things turne to faire that eyes can see!

He paies the whole, and yet I am not free. Take heede, deare heart, of this large priviledge; The hardest knife ill- used doth loose its edge.

How oft, when thou, my musicke, musicke play'st, In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworne,
Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds But thou art twice forsworne to me love swearing;
With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st In act thy bed-vow broke, and new faith torne,
The wiry concord that mine eare confounds, In vowing new hate after new love bearing.
Doe I envie those jackes, that nimble leape But why of two oathes' breach doe I accuse thee
To kisse the tender inward of thy hand, When I breake twenty? I am perjur'd most;
Whilst my poore lips, which should that harvest For all my rowes are oathes but to misuse thee,


And all my honest faith in thee is lost: At the wood's bouldnesse by thee blushing stand! For I have sworne deepe oathes of thy deepe To be so tickled, they would change their state

kindenesse, And situation with those dancing chips

Oathes of thy love, thy truth, thy constancie; O’re whom thy fingers walke with gentle gate, And to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindnesse, Making dead wood more bless'd than living lips Or made them sweare against the thing they see;

Since saucie jackes so happy are in this, For I have sworne thee fair: more perjured I, Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kisse. To sweare, against the truth, so foule a lie!


Sir Henry Wotton aus altem edlem Geschlechte stammend, ward 1568 zu Bocton Hall in Kent geboren, machte seine Studien in Winchester und Oxford, ging dann auf Reisen, und trat bei seiner Rückkehr in die Dienste des Grafen von Essex. Als dieser mächtige Günstling gestürzt wurde, begab sich Wotton nach Florenz und verweilte hier bis zur Thronbesteigung Jakob's I., der ihn zum englischen Gesandten in Venedig ernannte. Nach seiner Zurückberufung wurde er Provost von Eton College wo er 1639 starb.

Henry Wotton ist nicht mit dem Kritiker William Wotton der mehr als ein Jahrhundert später lebte, zu verwechseln. Der Erstere hat im Ganzen nur wenige Gedichte hinterlassen, aber diese wenigen zeichnen sich durch Gedankenreichthum, Anmuth und Kraft so vortheilhaft aus, dass sie sich fortwährend im Andenken der Nation erhalten haben.

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John Davies, der Sohn eines Gerbers, ward 1570 zu Chisgrove in Wiltshire geboren, studirte zu Oxford, widmete sich der Rechtswissenschaft, und trat, nach einer bewegten Jugend, 1601 in das Parlament, als Mitglied für Corfe-Castle. Jakob I. wurde ihm ausserordentlich gewogen und ernannte ihn zuerst zum Solicitor dann zum Attorney general in Irland. 1607 ward er zum Ritter geschlagen und darauf Sprecher des ersten irischen Hauses der Gemeinen. Im Jahre 1615 kehrte er nach England zurück, wo er von nun an das Amt eines Oberrichters, Lord Chief Justice, bekleiden sollte, jedoch vor seiner förmlichen Installation vom Schlagfluss getroffen am 7. December 1616 starb.

D. darf nicht mit seinem Namensvetter dem berühmten kritischen Philologen (1679–1731) in Cambridge verwechselt werden. Er hinterliess eine Sammlung von Lobgedichten, Akrostichen auf die Königin Elisabeth unter dem Titel Hymns to Astrea; ein didactisches Gedicht, Nosce te ipsum or the Immortality of the soul, welches zuerst 1599 zu London erschien; Orchestra, ein Gedicht über den Tanz, das unvollendet blieb und mehrere kleine lyrische Poesieen. Eine vollständige Sammlung seiner dichterischen Werke ist nie veranstaltet worden, doch finden sich die besten zusammengestellt im zweiten Bande von Anderson's British Poets. Tiefes Gefühl, Scharfsinn, elegante Diction und für jene Zeit, seltene Correctheit, zeichnen Davies als Dichter aus.

From the Immortality of the Soul. Is now become a sparkle, which doth lie

Under the ashes, half extinct, and dead:
What is this knowledge? but the sky-stoll'n fire,
For which the thief still chain'd in ice doth


How can we hope, that through the eye and ear, And which the poor rude satyr did admire,

This dying sparkle, in this cloudy place, And needs would kiss, but burnt his lips with it. Can recollect these beams of knowledge clear,

Which were infus'd in the first minds by grace? What is it? but the cloud of empty rain, Which when Jove's guest embrac'd, he mon- So might the heir, whose father hath , in play,

sters got?

Wasted a thousand pounds of ancient rent, Or the false pails, which oft being fill'd with By painful earning of one groat a day,


Hope to restore the patrimony spent. Receiv'd the water, but retain'd it not ?

In fine, what is it? but the fiery coach

If ought can teach us ought, affliction's looks, Which the youth sought, and sought his death (Making us pry into ourselves so near)

withal ?

Teach us to know ourselves, beyond all books Or the boy's wings, which when he did approach

Or all the learned schools that ever were. The sun's hot beams, did melt and let him


This mistress lately pluck'd me by the ear, And yet, alas ! when all our lamps are burn'd,

And many a golden lesson hath me taught; Our bodies wasted, and our spirits spent,

Hath made my sences quick, and reason clear;

Reform'd my will, and rectify'd my thought. When we have all the learned volumes turn'd Which yield men's wits both help and orna


So do the winds and thunders cleanse the air:

So working seas settle and purge the wine: What can we know, or 1 'lat can we discern,

So lopp'd and pruned trees do flourish fair : When error clouds the windows of the mind ?

So doth the fire the drossy gold refine.
The divers forms of things, how can we learn,
That have been ever from our birth-day blind?

Neither Minerva, nor the learned Muse,
When reason's lamp, which (like the sun in sky) Nor rules of art, nor precepts of the wise,
Throughout man's little world her beams did Could in my brain those beams of skill infuse,


As but the glance of this dame's angry eyes.

She within lists my ranging mind hath brought, I know my soul hath power to know all things, That now beyond myself I will not go;

Yet is she blind and ignorant in all: Myself am centre of my circling thought, I know I'm one of Nature's little kings, Only myself I study, learn, and know.

Yet to the least and vilest things am thrall.

I know my body's of so frail a kind,

As force without, fevers within can kill: I know the heavenly nature of my mind,

But 'tis corrupted both in wit and will:

I know my life's a pain, and but a span;

I know my sense is mock'd in ev'ry thing: And to conclude, I know myself a man,

Which is a proud, and yet a wretched thing.


John Donne ward 1573 zu London geboren und zeichnete sich schon so früh durch seine bedeutenden geistigen Fähigkeiten aus, dass er bereits in seinem zwölften Jahre die Universität Oxford besuchen konnte. Von hier ging er nach Cambridge, und widmete sich dann der Rechtswissenschaft; die kirchlichen Streitigkeiten seiner Zeit beschäftigten ihn aber so sehr, dass er ihnen seine ganze Zeit widmete und endlich in Folge seiner Forschungen offen vom Katholicismus zum Protestantismus übertrat. 1596 begleitete er den Grafen von Essex auf der Expedition nach Cadix, machte dann eine grössere Reise durch Spanien und Italien und ward bei seiner Heimkehr Secretair des Lord Kanzlers Egerton. Später trat er in den geistlichen Stand, wurde Caplan des Königs, dann Prediger der Gesellschaft von Lincolns-Inn und zuletzt Dechant von St. Paul. Er starb am 31. März 1631 und ward in der Kathedrale begraben, wo man ihm auch ein Monument errichtete. Seine poetizchen Werke erschienen zuerst London 1633 in 4. und wurden später öfter und in verschiedenem Format wieder aufgelegt. Sie enthalten Satyren , Elegieen, Epigramme, Lieder, Sonette u. s. w. Er wird gewöhnlich als einer der ersten englischen Satyriker gepriesen, doch sind seine Satyren, welche Pope später überarbeitete, ihnen jedoch dadurch viel von ihrer Originalität raubte, mehr durch meisterhafte Reflectionen als durch Schilderungen bedeutend. Donne besass reiche Phantasie, Scharfsinn, Witz und tiefes Gefühl, aber seine Bilder sind oft zu gebäuft, sein Styl gesucht und dunkel und seine Diction selten correct. Unter seinen lyrischen Poesieen findet sich dagegen viel Gelungenes und Hübsches.

The Storm.

East, west, day, night; and I could onely say, The south and west winds joyn'd, and, as they If the world had lasted, now it had beene day.


Thousands our noyses were, yet we 'mongst all Waves like a rowling trench before them threw. Could done by his right name but thunder call Sooner than you read this line did the gale, Lightning was all our light, and it rain'd more Like shot, not fear'd till felt, our sailes assaile; Than if the sunne had drunke the sea before. And what at first was call'd a gust, the same Some coffin'd in their cabbins lye, equally Hath now a stormes, anon a tempest's name. Griev'd that they are not dead, and yet must dye; Jonas! I pitty thee, and curse those men And as sin - burd'ned soules from grave will Who, when the storm rag'd most, did wake thee

creepe then.

At the last day, some forth their cabbins peepe, Sleepe is paines easiest salve, and doth fullfill And, tremblingly, aske what newes? and doe All offices of death except to kill.

hear so But when I wak'd, I saw that I saw not; As jealous husbands, what they would not know. I and the sunne, which should teach me, had Some, sitting on the hatches, would seeme there,


With_hideous gazing, to feare away Feare:

to say

There note they the ship's sicknesses, the mast

The Will.
Shak'd with an ague, and the hold and waist
With a salt dropsie clog'd, and our tacklings

Before I sigh my last gaspe, let me breath, Snapping, like too high-stretched treble strings, Great Love, some legacies; I here bequeath And from our totter'd sailes raggs drop downe so Mine eyes to Argus, if mine eyes can see, As from one hang'd in chaines a yeere ago:

If they be blinde, then, Love, I give them thee; Even our ordinance, plac'd for our defence,

My tongue to Fame; to ambassadours mine ears; Strive to breake loose, and 'scape away from To women or the sea, my teares.


Thou, Love, hast taught mee heretofore Pumping hath tir'd our men, and what's the By making mee serve her who had twenty more,


That I should give to none, but such, as had Seas into seas throwne we suck in againe :

too much before. Hearing hath deafd our saylors; and if they Knew how to heare, there's none knowes what

My constancie I to the planets give,

My truth to them, who at the court doe live; Compard to these stormes, death is but a

Mine ingenuity and opennesse qualme,

To Jesuites; to buffones my pensivenesse;
IIell somewhat lightsome, the Bermud a calme.

My silence to any, who abroad hath been,
Darknesse, Light's eldest brother, his birth-right
Claimd o'er this world, and to heaven hath

My money to a capuchin.
chas'd light.

Thou, Love! taught'st me, by appointing mee

To love there, where no love receiv'd can be, All things are one; and that one none can be, Since all formes uniforme deformity

Onely to give to such as have an incapacitie. Doth cover; so that wee, except God say Another Fiat, shall have no more day: My faith I give to Roman Catholiques; So violent, yet long these furies bee,

All my good works unto the schismaticks That though thine absense sterve mee I wish Of Amsterdam; my best civility

not thee.

And courtship to an universitie:
My modesty I give to souldiers bare;

My patience let gamester's share.
The Good Morrow.

Thou, Love, taught'st mce, by making mee

Love her that holds my love disparity, I wonder, by my troth, what thou, and I Onely to give to those that count my gifts inDid, till we lov'd! Were we not wean'd till then,

dignity But suck'd on countrey pleasures chiildishly? Or snorted we in the seven-sleeper's den? 'Twas so; but thus all pleasures fancies bee.

I give my reputation to those

Which were my friends; mine industrie to foes: If ever any beauty I did see, Which I desir'd, and got, 'twas but a dreame

To schooleinen I bequeath my doubtfulnesse;

My sicknessé to physitians or excesse; of thee.

To Nature, all that I in ryme have writ; And now good-morrow to our waking soules, And to my company my wit. Which watch not one another out of feare; Thou, Love, by making mee adore For love, all love of other sights controules, Her, who begot this love in mee before, And makes one little roome, an every-where. Taught'st me to make, as though I gave, when Let sca-discoverers to new worlds have gone,

I did but restoré. Let maps to other worlds our world have showne, Let us possesse one world; each hath one, and

is one.

To him for whom the passing - bell next tolls,

I give my physick books; my written rowles My face in thine eye, thine in mine appeares, Of morall counsels, I to Bedlam give; And true plaine hearts doe in the faces rest, My brazen medals, unto them which live Where can we fiude two fitter hemispheares In want of bread; to them which passe among Without sharp North, without declining West? All forraigners, mine English tongue. Whatever dyes was not mixt equally;

Thou, Love, by making mee love one If our two loves be one, or, thou and I Who thinkes her friendship a fit portion Love so alike, that none doe slacken, none can die. For yonger lovers, dost my gifts thus dispro


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