Treasure Island

Robert Southwell

(1561 - 1595 / England)

Quotations

  • ''Within his crib is surest ward,
    This little babe will be thy guard,
    If thou wilt foil thy foes with joy,
    Then flit not from this heavenly boy.''
    Robert Southwell (1561?-1595), British poet. New Heaven, New War (l. 45-48). . . Norton Anthology of Poetry, The. Alexander W. Allison and others, eds. (3d ed., 1983) W. W. Norton & Company.
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  • ''This stable is a Prince's court.
    This crib His chair of state;
    The beasts are parcel of His pomp,
    The wooden dish His plate.''
    Robert Southwell (1561?-1595), British poet. New Prince, New Pomp (l. 17-20). . . Oxford Book of Sixteenth Century Verse, The. E. K. Chambers, comp. (1932) Oxford University Press.
  • ''Behold, a silly, tender babe
    In freezing winter night,
    In homely manger trembling lies:
    Alas, a piteous sight.''
    Robert Southwell (1561?-1595), British poet. New Prince, New Pomp (l. 1-4). . . Oxford Book of Sixteenth Century Verse, The. E. K. Chambers, comp. (1932) Oxford University Press.
  • ''Do homage to thy King,
    And highly praise His humble pomp
    Which He from Heaven doth bring.''
    Robert Southwell (1561?-1595), British poet. New Prince, New Pomp (l. 26-28). . . Oxford Book of Sixteenth Century Verse, The. E. K. Chambers, comp. (1932) Oxford University Press.
  • ''\'Alas!' quoth he, \'but newly born in fiery heats I fry,
    Yet none approach to warm their hearts or feel my fire but I.
    My faultless breast the furnace is, the fuel wounding thorns;
    Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke, the ashes shame and scorns;
    The fuel justice layeth on, and mercy blows the coals;
    The metal in this furnace wrought are men's defiled souls;''
    Robert Southwell (1561?-1595), British poet. The Burning Babe (l. 7-12). . . Norton Anthology of Poetry, The. Alexander W. Allison and others, eds. (3d ed., 1983) W. W. Norton & Company.
  • ''As in hoary winter's night stood shivering in the snow,
    Surprised I was with sudden heat which made my heart to glow;
    And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was near,
    A pretty Babe all burning bright did in the air appear;''
    Robert Southwell (1561?-1595), British poet. The Burning Babe (l. 1-4). . . Norton Anthology of Poetry, The. Alexander W. Allison and others, eds. (3d ed., 1983) W. W. Norton & Company.
  • ''Times go by turns, and chances change by course,
    From foul to fair, from better hap to worse.

    The sea of Fortune doth not ever flow,
    She draws her favours to the lowest ebb;
    Her tides have equal times to come and go,
    Her loom doth weave the fine and Coarsest web;''
    Robert Southwell (1561?-1595), British poet. Times Go by Turns (l. 5-10). . . Poets of the English Language, Vols. I-V. Vol. I: Langland to Spenser; Vol. II: Marlowe to Marvell; Vol. III: Milton to Goldsmith; Vol. IV: Blake to Poe; Vol. V: Tennyson to Yeats. W. H. Auden and Norman Holmes Pearson, eds. (1950) The Viking Press.
  • ''The lopped tree in time may grow again,
    Most naked plants renew both fruit and flower;''
    Robert Southwell (1561?-1595), British poet. Times Go by Turns (l. 1-2). . . Poets of the English Language, Vols. I-V. Vol. I: Langland to Spenser; Vol. II: Marlowe to Marvell; Vol. III: Milton to Goldsmith; Vol. IV: Blake to Poe; Vol. V: Tennyson to Yeats. W. H. Auden and Norman Holmes Pearson, eds. (1950) The Viking Press.
  • ''grant me grace, O god, that I
    My life may mend, sith I must die.''
    Robert Southwell (1561?-1595), British poet. Upon the Image of Death (l. 53-54). . . Oxford Book of Sixteenth Century Verse, The. E. K. Chambers, comp. (1932) Oxford University Press.
  • '''Remember, man, that thou art dust!'
    But yet, alas, but seldom I
    Do think indeed that I must die . . .''
    Robert Southwell (1561?-1595), British poet. Upon the Image of Death (l. 16-18). . . Oxford Book of Sixteenth Century Verse, The. E. K. Chambers, comp. (1932) Oxford University Press.

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Man's Civil War

MY hovering thoughts would fly to heaven
And quiet nestle in the sky,
Fain would my ship in Virtue's shore
Without remove at anchor lie.

But mounting thoughts are haled down
With heavy poise of mortal load,
And blustring storms deny my ship
In Virtue's haven secure abode.

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