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Happy Birthday, Christopher Marlowe
Posted by: Chesil (---.clvdoh.adelphia.)
Date: February 06, 2004 10:26AM


Re: Happy Birthday, Christopher Marlowe
Posted by: Hugh Clary (---.phoenix-01rh15-16rt.az.dial-access.att.net)
Date: February 06, 2004 12:11PM

Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove;
I'll lounge around and guzzle beer,
You'll cook and clean the live-long year.

Here is an interesting blurb from Google, only found in the cache, for some reason. Could be because Luminarium is down; I could not get the site to load at all just now. Anyway, note stanza two above, attributed as a single work below, by Sir John Davies, who lived about the same time:

[tinyurl.com] />
A Lover Out of Fashion
by Sir John Davies

Faith, wench, I cannot courth thy sprightly eyes
With the base viol placed between my thighs;
I cannot lisp, nor to some fiddle sing,
Nor run upon a high-stretched minikin.
I cannot whine in puling elegies
Entombing Cupid with sad obsequies.
I am not fashioned for these amorous times
To court thy beauty with lascivious rhymes.
I cannot dally, caper, dance and sing,
Oiling my saint with supple sonneting.
I cannot cross my arms, or sigh "Ah, me -
Ah, me, forlorn!" - egregious foppery.
I cannot buss thy fist, play with thy hair,
Swearing by Jove thou art most debonaire.
Not I, by cock; but shall I tell the roundly,
Hark in thine ear: zounds, I can swive thee soundly.


Re: Happy Birthday, Christopher Marlowe
Posted by: -Les- (---.trlck.ca.charter.com)
Date: February 06, 2004 12:17PM

the Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd

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.

Time drives the flocks from field to fold
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold,
And Philomel becometh dumb;
The rest complains 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 claps and somber 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 these delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy love.

-- Sir Walter Raleigh


Re: Happy Birthday, Christopher Marlowe
Posted by: Pam Adams (---.bus.csupomona.edu)
Date: February 06, 2004 12:45PM

See, there's always hope for those of us not born under a rhyming planet.

pam




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