Edmundi Trotii Epitaphium

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1. Epitaphium Erotii HERE lies Erotion, whom at six years old Fate pilfered. Stranger (when I too am cold, Who shall succeed me in my rural field), To this small spirit annual honours yield! Bright be thy hearth, hale be thy babes, I crave And this, in thy green farm, the only grave....
2. Dignissimo Suo Amico Doctori Wittie. De Translatione Vulgi Nempe sic innumero succrescunt agmine libri, Saepia vix toto ut jam natet una mari. Fortius assidui surgunt a vulnere praeli: Quoque magis pressa est, auctior Hydra redit. Heu quibus Anticyris, quibus est sanabilis herbis Improba scribendi pestis, avarus amor! India sola tenet tanti medicamina morbi, Dicitur & nostris ingemuisse malis. Utile Tabacci dedit illa miserta […]...
3. Poem 95 VNto his mother straight he weeping came, And of his griefe complayned: Who could not chose but laugh at his fond game, Though sad to see him pained. Think now (quod she) my sonne how great the smart Of those whom thou dost wound: Full many thou hast pricked to the hart, That pitty neuer […]...
4. Hortus Quisnam adeo, mortale genus, praecordia versat: Heu Palmae, Laurique furor, vel simplicis Herbae! Arbor ut indomitos ornet vix una labores; Tempora nec foliis praecingat tota maglignis. Dum simud implexi, tranquillae ad ferta Quiaetis, Omnigeni coeunt Flores, integraque Sylva. Alma Quies, teneo te! & te Germana Quietis Simplicitas! Vos ergo diu per Templa, per urbes, Quaesivi, […]...
5. Amoretti LXXV: One Day I Wrote Her Name One day I wrote her name upon the strand, But came the waves and washed it away: Again I wrote it with a second hand, But came the tide, and made my pains his prey. “Vain man,” said she, “that dost in vain assay, A mortal thing so to immortalize; For I myself shall like […]...
6. Sonnet 75 One day I wrote her name upon the strand, But came the waves and washed it away: Agayne I wrote it with a second hand, But came the tyde, and made my paynes his pray. “Vayne man,” sayd she, “that doest in vaine assay. A mortall thing so to immortalize, For I my selve shall […]...
7. A Letter To Doctor Ingelo, then With My Lord Whitlock, Amba Quid facis Arctoi charissime transfuga coeli, Ingele, proh sero cognite, rapte cito? Num satis Hybernum defendis pellibus Astrum, Qui modo tam mollis nec bene firmus eras? Quae Gentes Hominum, quae sit Natura Locorum, Sint Homines, potius dic ibi sintre Loca? Num gravis horrisono Polus obruit omnia lapsu, Jungitur & praeceps Mundas utraque nive? An melius […]...
8. To a Lady with an Unruly and Ill-mannered Dog Who Bit several Persons of Importance Your dog is not a dog of grace; He does not wag the tail or beg; He bit Miss Dickson in the face; He bit a Bailie in the leg. What tragic choices such a dog Presents to visitor or friend! Outside there is the Glasgow fog; Within, a hydrophobic end. Yet some relief even […]...
9. Exmoor Lost aboard the roll of Kodac- Olor that was to have super- Seded all need to remember Somerset were: a large flock Of winter-bedcover-thick- Pelted sheep up on the moor; A stile, a church spire, And an excess, at Porlock, Of tenderly barbarous antique Thatch in tandem with flower- Beds, relentlessly pictur- Esque, along every […]...
10. Sonnet L LOng languishing in double malady, Of my harts wound and of my bodies greife: There came to me a leach that would apply Fit medicines for my bodies best reliefe. Vayne man (quod I) that hast but little priefe: In deep discouery of the mynds disease, Is not the hart of all the body chiefe? […]...
11. Edward Hirsch In Memory of Dennis Turner, 1946-1984 A hook shot kisses the rim and Hangs there, helplessly, but doesn’t drop, And for once our gangly starting center Boxes out his man and times his jump Perfectly, gathering the orange leather From the air like a cherished possession And spinning around to throw a strike To the […]...
12. Of the Mean and Sure Estate My mother’s maids, when they did sew and spin, They sang sometime a song of the field mouse, That, for because her livelood was but thin, Would needs go seek her townish sister’s house. She thought herself endurèd too much pain; The stormy blasts her cave so sore did souse That when the furrows swimmèd […]...
13. 227. Verses on Friars' Carse Hermitage (First Version) THOU whom chance may hither lead, Be thou clad in russet weed, Be thou deckt in silken stole, Grave these maxims on thy soul. Life is but a day at most, Sprung from night, in darkness lost: Hope not sunshine every hour, Fear not clouds will always lour. Happiness is but a name, Make content […]...
14. Beacons Reubens, river of forgetfulness, garden of sloth, Pillow of wet flesh that one cannot love, But where life throngs and seethes without cease Like the air in the sky and the water in the sea. Leonardo da Vinci, sinister mirror, Where these charming angels with sweet smiles Charged with mystery, appear in shadows Of glaciers […]...
15. Ireland With Emily Bells are booming down the bohreens, White the mist along the grass, Now the Julias, Maeves and Maureens Move between the fields to Mass. Twisted trees of small green apple Guard the decent whitewashed chapel, Gilded gates and doorway grained, Pointed windows richly stained With many-coloured Munich glass. See the black-shawled congregations On the broidered […]...
16. The Holy War “For here lay the excellent wisdom of him that built Mansoul, thatthe Walls could never be broken down nor hurt by the most mighty adverse Potentate unless the townsmen gave consent thereto.” Bunyan’s Holy War.) A tinker out of Bedford, A vagrant oft in quod, A privet under Fairfax, A minister of God Two hundred […]...
17. THE YUKON THE moon resumed all heaven now, She shepherded the stars below Along her wide, white steeps of snow, Nor stooped nor rested, where or how. She bared her full white breast, she dared The sun e’er show his face again. She seemed to know no change, she kept Carousal constantly, nor slept, Nor turned aside […]...
18. A Farewell to Agassiz How the mountains talked together, Looking down upon the weather, When they heard our friend had planned his Little trip among the Andes How they’ll bare their snowy scalps To the climber of the Alps When the cry goes through their passes, “Here comes the great Agassiz!” “Yes, I’m tall,” says Chimborazo, “But I wait […]...
19. 241. Written in Friars' Carse Hermitage (Second Version) THOU whom chance may hither lead, Be thou clad in russet weed, Be thou deckt in silken stole, Grave these counsels on thy soul. Life is but a day at most, Sprung from night,-in darkness lost; Hope not sunshine ev’ry hour, Fear not clouds will always lour. As Youth and Love with sprightly dance, Beneath […]...
20. The Frog Prince Frau Doktor, Mama Brundig, Take out your contacts, Remove your wig. I write for you. I entertain. But frogs come out Of the sky like rain. Frogs arrive With an ugly fury. You are my judge. You are my jury. My guilts are what We catalogue. I’ll take a knife And chop up frog. Frog […]...