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Драммонд, Уильям цитаты

Уильям Драммонд — шотландский поэт школы Спенсера.

Отличался большой учёностью .

Мотивы его лирики в основном мистико-меланхолические. Драммонд стал знаменит главным образом благодаря оставленной им записи своих бесед с Беном Джонсоном, который посетил его в 1618. Запись эта вызвала много толков у историков литературы в связи с исследованием эпохи Шекспира.

В печати появилась в 1711, переиздана в 1842, но в полном виде, тщательно сверенная с уцелевшими рукописными копиями, вышла только в 1923. С. Л. Стейнер в своей работе «Бен Джонсон и Драммонд» доказывает, что «Запись» является подделкой. Другие учёные считают это мнение недостаточно обоснованным.

Поэмы Драммонда изданы для Maitland Club , by P. Cunningham , W. B. Turnbull , W. С. Ward , Prof. L. E. Kastner, 2 vv. ; Drummond of Hawthornden, Ben Jonson’s conversation with, by R. E. Patterson, L. 1923. Wikipedia  

✵ 13. Декабрь 1585 – 4. Декабрь 1649
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Драммонд, Уильям: Цитаты на английском языке

“What doth it serve to see sun's burning face,
And skies enamelled with both the Indies' gold?”

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William Drummond of Hawthornden

"What doth it Serve?"
Poems (1616)
Контексте: What doth it serve to see sun's burning face,
And skies enamelled with both the Indies' gold?
Or moon at night in jetty chariot roll'd,
And all the glory of that starry place?

“God never had a church but there, men say,
The Devil a chapel hath raised by some wyles.
I doubted of this saw, till on a day
I westward spied great Edinburgh’s Saint Gyles.”

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William Drummond of Hawthornden

Posthumous Poems, reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919). Compare: "Where God hath a temple, the Devil will have a chapel", Robert Burton, Anatomy of Melancholy, Part iii, Section 4, Member 1, Subsection 1 .

“For what doth serve all that this world contains,
Sith she for whom those once to me were dear,
No part of them can have now with me here?”

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William Drummond of Hawthornden

"What doth it Serve?"
Poems (1616)

“Of this fair volume which we World do name
If we the sheets and leaves could turn with care,
Of him who it corrects, and did it frame,
We clear might read the art and wisdom rare.”

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William Drummond of Hawthornden

Human Folly http://www.bartleby.com/40/196.html

“Here is the pleasant place,
And nothing wanted is, save She, alas!”

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William Drummond of Hawthornden

"Phoebus Arise".
Poems (1616)

“This is the morn should bring unto this grove
My love, to hear and recompense my love.”

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William Drummond of Hawthornden

"Phoebus Arise".
Poems (1616)

“The last and greatest herald of Heaven's King,
Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild,
Among that savage brood the woods forth bring,
Which he than man more harmless found and mild.”

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William Drummond of Hawthornden

"For the Baptist" Flowers of Sion (1623).

“Phœbus, arise!
And paint the sable skies
With azure, white, and red.”

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William Drummond of Hawthornden

"Phoebus Arise".
Poems (1616)

“My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow
With thy green mother in some shady grove,
When immelodious winds but made thee move,
And birds their ramage did on thee bestow.”

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William Drummond of Hawthornden

To His Lute http://www.bartleby.com/40/198.html

“My thoughts hold mortal strife;
I do detest my life,
And with lamenting cries
Peace to my soul to bring
Oft call that prince which here doth monarchise:
— But he, grim-grinning King,
Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprise,
Late having deck'd with beauty's rose his tomb,
Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come.”

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William Drummond of Hawthornden

Inexorable http://www.bartleby.com/101/230.html

“This Life, which seems so fair,
Is like a bubble blown up in the air
By sporting children's breath,
Who chase it every where”

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William Drummond of Hawthornden

This Life, which seems so fair http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/this-life-which-seems-so-fair-2/

“Doth then the world go thus, doth all thus move?
Is this the justice which on Earth we find?
Is this that firm decree which all doth bind?
Are these your influences, Powers above?”

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William Drummond of Hawthornden

The Problem http://www.bartleby.com/40/197.html.

“Make an eternal spring;
Give life to this dark world which lieth dead.
Spread forth thy golden hair
In larger locks than thou wast wont before,
And emperor-like decore
With diadem of pearl thy temples fair.”

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William Drummond of Hawthornden

"Phoebus Arise".
Poems (1616)