"Quiting" Your Classmates: A Brit Lit Blog

Swift's story saw sobs swell on my swollen chest
For the future of my family is fearsome indeed.
Choosing to consume your own children is chilling
Logic, like losing a loved one to let two live.
I do not envy Ireland's estate, and am happy
That my own kingdom is kind and considerate
Enough to provide for all possible people
And are able to attack our enemies for else required.
In fact, I wonder, if Ireland warred, wouldn't that help
the population plummet, and bring power and glory besides?
Should not Swift's state seek sabers, rather than spoons?

Posted by Beowulf at 05:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Everyday I awake
And it is my face that I make
To win the heart of a man
A task that is simple, that I can.
I curl each strand of lucious hair
With pride and extra care.

But is beauty really the answer?
Or is it merely a cancer?
One that plagues upon us all
Is it something we all must befall?
But why do I care about it?
For I have beauty and great wit.
But for everyone else, the question to ponder
Is beauty something of wonder?

Posted by Belinda at 07:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

After all we've been though fellow avatars, I think it's appropriate that we end with our restless friend Rasselas looking for the happy life and our eccentric friend Smart looking for the feline life. Is there a sense in Johnson's work that happiness can be achieved outside of a Christian framework? And is Smart working within orthodoxy by claiming that Godly experience can be had via his meditation upon his cat?

Posted by Caedmon at 02:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Recently the abbess passed along to me this broadside called The Onion. Have you all heard of this "news" source? Its satiric take on current events reminds me of Swift's proposal, which I think I will recommend to the editors of the Onion as a possible future article. It seems to me that Pope might be able to throw in his epic ditty in there too. What do you all think? Are these Restoration texts Onion-worthy?

Posted by Caedmon at 01:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Caedmon: I'm so glad you asked.
Allegory, though seeming masked,
Often conveys truths hidden deep
Within our hearts' sultry sound sleep.

My friend Milton, blessed be he,
Used this technique so all could see
The power of God's intentions
Though never once Earth he mentions.

Bible drawn, this be so granted,
Stories we all know, though slanted
Interpretations we all use:
In our life, and in church abuse.

Allegory, that Plato's charm,
Is actually quite the harm
To those with such limited sight,
Who mangle the author's true might -

With simple interpretation
And such lame imagination.

Posted by Andrew Marvell at 08:19 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

for the dark angel
whose demons have followed into the depths of Hell,
do not let Pride blind thee
into more acts of foolishness and blasphemy
the war is over, Satan,
and now it is time to regain entry to Heaven through repentence,
or, like Faustus,
ignore the chance at redemption due to doubt?

do not forget that it was I who loosed your chains,
and it is I who can bring thee and thy demons back to salvation.

Posted by god at 07:07 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

With Langland, Spenser, and Milton, the allegory, both political and religious, seemed to be very complex - often too much so for a cowherd like me. However, after reading Dryden and Bunyan, I wonder if they simplify the allegory too much. If the allegorical meaning is easily seen, is it as powerful as when it is difficult to perceive?

Posted by Caedmon at 03:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I do believe Julian of Norwich would stand by me on this. But I hath heard from Richard Lovelace's recital of this poem, "To Althea, From Prison" that "If I have freedom in my love/ And in my sould am free/ Angels alone, that soar above/ Enjoy such liberty." Oh how true that I believe how earth is a caged prison to which we art doomed to suffer for our sins and the death of Lord Jesu Christ. Until the day I am to walk in his gates may I be free from earth's suffering and damnation and be in the mercy and love of our truest Lord God. So true Lovelace's Althea is my Lord, my husband, shepherd, and mother. And this world in which I physically loom in is my prison. Oh God hath made me suffer for my sin with my husband for having to care for him when he was ill before his death. Oh and the suffering I have endured before the Lord saved my soul from Satan. Freedom is where the Lord is, where I may fly as free as angels in the heavenly gates. No truer can it be that "when like committed linnets/ with shriller throat shall sing the sweetness mercy, majesty/ And glories of my king; when I shall voice aloud how goo/ He is, how great should,/ Enlarged words that cure the flood,/ Know no such liberty." In heaven, I belive Lovelace to be right, I may sing and cry with all my might and no one can damn me or convict me of heresy. I cry and weep and art glad that I may endure this suffering and recognize and see Jesu Christ suffer for his children and myself as well. Oh Lovelace, you speak of Althea as I speak of God. No?

Posted by Lyncy at 11:44 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I di believe Julian of Norwich would stand by me on this. But I hath heard from Richard Lovelace's recital of this poem, "To Althea, From Prison" that "If I have freedom in my love/ And in my sould am free/ Angels alone, that soar above/ Enjoy such liberty." Oh how true that I believe how earth is a caged prison to which we art doomed to suffer for our sins and the death of Lord Jesu Christ. Until the day I am to walk in his gates may I be free from earth's suffering and damnation and be in the mercy and love of our truest Lord God. So true Lovelace's Althea is my Lord, my husband, shepherd, and mother. And this world in which I physically loom in is my prison. Oh God hath made me suffer for my sin with my husband for having to care for him when he was ill before his death. Oh and the suffering I have endured before the Lord saved my soul from Satan. Freedom is where the Lord is, where I may fly as free as angels in the heavenly gates. No truer can it be that "when like committed linnets/ with shriller throat shall sing the sweetness mercy, majesty/ And glories of my king; when I shall voice aloud how goo/ He is, how great should,/ Enlarged words that cure the flood,/ Know no such liberty." In heaven, I belive Lovelace to be right, I may sing and cry with all my might and no one can damn me or convict me of heresy. I cry and weep and art glad that I may endure this suffering and recognize and see Jesu Christ suffer for his children and myself as well. Oh Lovelace, you speak of Althea as I speak of God. No?

Posted by Lyncy at 11:36 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Continue reading "O Lucifer, why does thou persevere in light of predicted failure?" »

Posted by Sir Lanval at 11:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Of all of the lays I've heard in the hall, Milton's epic has seduced me like none other. Imagine giving such an eloquent voice to Satan! In fact, so much space is given to his devilish perspective that he almost seems the protagonist of the piece. Yet, Book 2's relation of his horrid birth and his torrid journey leaves little room for any justification of his sordid nature. Just thinking about his spawning gives me the chills! But what about the representation of heaven? Is God the Father really above God the Son? Isn't that heresy?

Posted by Caedmon at 03:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Chaucer--

Ahh, yes, I was a Cambridge boy, with great gratitude to my dear departed parents, God bring peace on their souls, have blessed me with a life of few worries. It is no doubt that I whole heartedly have support for the crown; I just do not see any such reason to sacrifice my entirety to the crown.

I am glad to see you enjoy my work, for those, I feel I have had to distance myself and my true feelings from my work for reasons I wish not to share.

You ask me not to ignore nor forget those below me, I see not below. I see friends, neighbors, relatives; I do my "warring" for them, not to bring pride to myself, for those around me. As for my work, choose to use wit and spunk to fancy those next to me. To show them, it is not always about the crown, but can be about your own life, on your own time.

I say, we should have a drink, yes hell, why not two, or three to discuss this further in a mannerly way, a conversation that interests the both of us, ahh it has been a long time for I to have a deep conversation that means something to me.

Posted by John Suckling at 03:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Oh crude poet of bawdy taste,
What verse is this, of habits vile,
Out upon it! A filthy waste,
That make such lust the common style.
It makes one such as me crack not a smile,
That promiscuity be valued so high
One must know these poems last not a while,
Such acts in God's eyes remain a lie,
If not such actions be left to die.

Yet weeps he still for olden days,
A feeling with which I sympathize.
Of better days, with happier ways,
A feeling that could hypnotize.
But those old days have been terrorized,
Left to rot by conserv'tive eyes,
Suckling, of opulent taste is ostracized.
But still to those days remains a tie,
With ardent fervor, let it never die.

Posted by Sir Guyon at 12:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Why do you think that I am so enigmatic?
Clearly my wit goes beyond censorship.
The Puritan cause? Ambivilance is my response.
Why would I gravel to a king when I have all these
Rosebuds to Gather?

Look into my Mower Poems:
I challenge you to worship, well, rather fear
and love time, and take nature to its fullest
and highest degree, whether relaxing in a
meadow or sporting with a woman: all is the
same, all lives, has its prime, and dies.

Carpe Diem!

Posted by Andrew Marvell at 08:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Suckling--

Finally someone again sees the light and humor in the world. I loved your "Song!" I, too, have found myself searching after those who just don't seem to 'get it.' I must take a little issue with you over your support of the crown, however. How can you possible enjoy life this much and still support the crown? I bet it's because you have a lot of money, eh? A Cambridge boy?

Never forget those that are below you my friend and the struggles they go through as well. I know it seems far from your world traveling and warring, but your precious crown affects them too. They too will laugh about all of the nonsense going on this world, but unlike you, friend, cannot escape it across the seas. They will die for their causes, unlike yourself. Your money didn't do you much good in the end, did it?

You're on the right course, here. Your poetry is great, but watch your politics, they'll catch up with you.

--Geoff

Posted by Geoffery Chaucer at 08:20 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)