Treasure Island

Thomas Chatterton

(1752 - 1770 / Bristol / England)

Quotations

  • ''Mie love ys dedde,
    Gon to hys death-bedde,
    Al under the wyllowe tree.

    Waterre wytches, crownede wythe reytes,
    Bere mee to yer leathalle tyde.
    I die; I comme; mie true love waytes.
    Thos the damselle spake, and dyed.''
    Thomas Chatterton (1752-1770), British poet. Aella; a Tragycal Enterlude (l. 54-60). . . Oxford Book of English Verse, The, 1250-1918. Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. (New ed., rev. and enl., 1939) Oxford University Press.
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  • ''Liste! now the thunder's rattling clymmynge sound
    Cheves slowlie on, and then embollen clangs,
    Shakes the hie spyre, and losst, dispended, drown'd,
    Still on the gallard eare of terroure hanges;
    The windes are up; the lofty elmen swanges;
    Again the levynne and the thunder poures,
    And the full cloudes are braste attenes in stonen showers.''
    Thomas Chatterton (1752-1770), British poet. An Excelente Balade of Charitie (l. 36-42). . . The Oxford Anthology of English Poetry. Vol. I: Spenser to Crabbe. John Wain, ed. (1990) Oxford University Press.
  • ''It is my PRIDE, my damn'd, native, unconquerable Pride, that plunges me into Distraction. You must know that 19-20th of my Composition is Pride. I must either live a Slave, a Servant; to have no Will of my own, no Sentiments of my own which I may freely declare as such;Mor DIE—perplexing alternative!''
    Thomas Chatterton (1752-1770), British poet. Letter, April 1770. Quoted in John Cranstoun Nevill, Thomas Chatterton (1948).
  • ''There is a time for all things—Except Marriage my dear.''
    Thomas Chatterton (1752-1770), British poet. Reply, April 9, 1770, to a note from an admirer who bids him be patient, "for there is a time for all things." The Complete Works of Thomas Chatterton, vol. 1 (1971).

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Eclogues

Eclogue the First.

Whanne Englonde, smeethynge from her lethal wounde,
From her galled necke dyd twytte the chayne awaie,
Kennynge her legeful sonnes falle all arounde,
(Myghtie theie fell, 'twas Honoure ledde the fraie,)
Thanne inne a dale, bie eve's dark surcote graie,
Twayne lonelie shepsterres dyd abrodden flie,
(The rostlyng liff doth theyr whytte hartes affraie,)

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