On the Earl of Essex
Essex twice made unhappy by a Wife,
Yet Marry'd worse unto the Peoples strife:
He who by two Divorces did untie
His Bond of Wedlock and of Loyalty:
Who was by Easiness of Nature bred,
To lead that Tumult which first Him misled;
Yet had some glimm'ring Sparks of Virtue lent
To see (though late) his Errour, and Repent:
Essex lies here, like an inverted Flame,
Hid in the Ruins of his House and Name;
And as He, frailties sad Example, lies,
Warns the Survivours in his Exequies.
He shews what wretched bubbles Great Men are,
Through their Ambition grown too Popular:
For they Built up, from weak Opinion, stand
On Bases false as Water, loose as Sand;
Essex in differing Successes try'd
The fury and the falshood of each Side;
Now with applauses Deify'd, and then
Thrown down with spightfull infamy agen:
Tells them, what Arts soever them support,
Their Life is meerly Time and Fortunes sport,
And that no Bladders blown by Common breath,
Shall bear them up amidst the Waves of Death:
Tells them no Monstrous Birth, with Pow'r endu'd
By that more Monstrous Beast the Multitude;
No State-Coloss (though Tall as that bestrid
The Rhodian Harbour where their Navy rid)
Can hold that ill-porportion'd Greatness still,
Beyond his Greater, most Resistless will,
Whose dreadfull Sentence written on the Wall
Did sign the Temple Robbing Tyrants fall;
But Spight of their vast Priviledge, which strives
T'exceed the Size of ten Prerogatives;
Spight of their Endless Parliament, or Grants,
(In Order to those Votes and Covenants,
When, without Sense of their black Perjury
They Swear with Essex they would Live and Dye)
With their Dead General ere long they must
Contracted be into a Span of Dust.
poem by Henry King
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Related quotes
S6
Essex
in Essex the black ravens are hovering
on a tree without leaves
it is cold here
snow on the roof and on the ground
frozen mailboxes
of long time ago
when the emails come forth
saying
Essex Essex
the world has changed
and you have remained there
constantly wondering
waiting.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Somebody ought to tell him his ambition is showing.
quote by Harry Essex
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shakespeare replies to Cuthbert Bundy
King James demands a Scottish play
and believes in witches three
Look close and see they are the fates
that set our destiny
I can't write about his mother
or the murder of her clerk
One whisper about Darnley
and we'll all be out of work.
After that unhappy business
about Essex and the Queen.
I won't risk another incident
no abdication scene.
Keep the text, in time to come
it will prove rare like gold
I kept it shorter than King Lear
your attention span to hold.
W.S.
.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Empire State Human
Since I was very young I realised
I never wanted to be human size
So I avoid the crowds and traffic jams
They just remind me of how small I am
Because of this longing in my heart
Im going to start the growing up
Im going to grow now and never stop
Think like a mountain, grow to the top
Tall, tall, tall, I want to be tall, tall, tall
As big as a wall, wall, wall, as big as a wall, wall, wall
And if Im not tall, tall, tall, then I will grow, grow, grow
Because Im not tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall
Tall, tall, tall, I want to be tall, tall, tall
As big as a wall, wall, wall, as big as a wall, wall, wall
And if Im not tall, tall, tall, then I will grow, grow, grow
Because Im not tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall
With concentration
My size increased
And now Im fourteen stories high
At least!!
Empire state human
Just a bored kid
Ill go to egypt to be
A pyramid
Tall, tall, tall, I want to be tall, tall, tall
As big as a wall, wall, wall, as big as a wall, wall, wall
And if Im not tall, tall, tall, then I will grow, grow, grow
Because Im not tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall
Tall, tall, tall, I want to be tall, tall, tall
As big as a wall, wall, wall, as big as a wall, wall, wall
And if Im not tall, tall, tall, then I will grow, grow, grow
Because Im not tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall
Brick by brick
Stone by stone
Growing till hes fully grown
Brick by brick
Stone by stone
Growing till hes fully grown
Fetch more water
Fetch more sand
Biggest person in the land
Fetch more water
Fetch more sand
Biggest person in the land
song performed by by Human League
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Every Face Tells A Story
Look at the man in the corner, hes sitting all alone
His blankets are made out of cardboard,
His pillows are made out of stone
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
See the man walking on the water, see the light in his eyes
He came into the world with a message to tell,
He came into the world to die
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Youre always telling stories, youre always telling me lies
Youre always telling stories, why?
So think of yourself in the water, seeing your days flashing by
Its too late to see what you wanted to be,
Youve spent all your time, you must die
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Step down
And make it work out right
Im trying to get to you with my warning
Been there
For nearly half the night
Look its nearly four in the morning
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Grave By The Sea
No white cloud sails the lonely sky,
Thro’ the gaunt trees no breezes sigh,
Thro’ the lush grass no fall of feet;
No song of bird in all the land,
But, floating faintly, dreamily,
The distant dirge of waves that beat
In discontent upon the sand.
Here, where all Nature seems aswoon,
Time, languid as a summer stream,
Drifts down the sweet soft afternoon;
And Death, discrowned of terror, brings
Surcease to souls that wake not soon,
And casts above Life’s fevered dream
Cool shadows of Immortal Wings.
Here, by the old graves overgrown,
A bare mound, without wreath or stone,
Marks where he sleeps ’mid grasses long,
Who sought not things that others seek,
Who fought in silence and alone,
Who in his weakness was so strong
And in his strength so weak.
The shining years shall glide and go,
The human tides shall ebb and flow,
And Love make sweet the days to be,
And Death make smooth the brow of pain,
But no such heart again shall glow,
And no such friend shall come to me
Thro’ all the cycles that remain.
Some pass and perish with their breath;
He liveth yet and quickeneth,
As scent of roses on the wind
Recalls the bygone summer’s day;
He leaves this side the seas of Death,
The fragrance of a noble mind:
He dies, but passes not away.
poem by George Essex Evans
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Well, it seems to me a scientist has need for both vision and confidence.
quote by Harry Essex
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To A Bigot
Here am I sent a wanderer like to thee,
And here a moment ere the night I stand.
The twin eternities—Has Been, Shall Be—
Gird me on either hand.
My joy or grief—the flicker of a wing
Of some brief insect in the blinding glow!
One moment down the wind my voice shall ring.
This, and no more, I know.
My soul went out amid the ways of men,
By land and sea, and to the stars o’erhead.
I deemed it lost when it came back again.
“Is there a God?” I said.
“Thou fool,” it answered, “all are truly kin.
God is the Soul of all—no power apart.
God is the spark Divine that glows within
The Temple of the Heart.”
poem by George Essex Evans
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Idea LI: Calling to mind since first my love begun
Calling to mind since first my love begun,
Th' incertain times oft varying in their course,
How things still unexpectedly have run,
As t' please the fates by their resistless force:
Lastly, mine eyes amazedly have seen
Essex' great fall, Tyrone his peace to gain,
The quiet end of that long-living Queen,
This King's fair entrance, and our peace with Spain,
We and the Dutch at length ourselves to sever:
Thus the world doth and evermore shall reel.
Yet to my goddess am I constant ever,
Howe'er blind fortune turn her giddy wheel:
Though heaven and earth prove both to me untrue,
Yet am I still inviolate to you.
poem by Michael Drayton
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Sonnet LI: Calling to Mind
Calling to mind, since first my love begun,
Th'uncertain times oft varying in their course,
How things still unexpectedly have run,
As it please the Fates, by their resistless force.
Lastly mine eyes amazedly have seen
Essex' great fall, Tyrone his peace to gain;
The quiet end of that long-living Queen;
This King's fair entrance; and our peace with Spain,
We and the Dutch at length ourselves to sever.
Thus the world doth and evermore shall reel;
Yet to my Goddess am I constant ever,
Howe'er blind Fortune turn her giddy wheel.
Though Heav'n and Earth prove both to me untrue,
Yet am I still inviolate to you.
poem by Michael Drayton
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The Wayfarers
Still the white stars burn overhead,
The green earth swings upon her way:
Where are the voices of the dead,
The hearts of Yesterday?
Drawn by what strange, mysterious power,
From what dream world and magic sky
Came they to laugh on earth an hour,
To weep, to toil, to die?
And whither gone? On what wild flight
By planet pale and sceptred star?
What realms of sorrow or delight
Now wander they afar?
Pale Wayfarers, whose noiseless tread
Is near me as I seem to see
The mighty generations dead,
And all that yet shall be!
Are Past and Future, then, a breath
That one vast Present makes its own?
The Angel, Birth, the Shadow, Death,
Each guards a world unknown.
Wayfarers all, we know not whence
We came, nor whitherwards we go.
Deep in our hearts a haunting sense
That somewhere we shall know.
Still the white stars burn overhead,
The green earth swings upon her way:
Where are the voices of the dead,
The hearts of yesterday?
poem by George Essex Evans
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Welcome
Prince of the race whose Empire is the Sea,
We welcome thee!
Thy ensign floats above our harbour-mouth.
A fairy’s hand
Has decked the great Queen City of the South.
By arch and roof, in bannered street and stand,
The vast crowd waits.
The cannon thunder greeting from the strand.
But in our hearts a deeper note vibrates—
The loving welcome of a loyal land.
’Tis the same race that from the iron North
Went faring forth,
Flying the flag of England at the fore;
Nor saw again
The masted city, with its ceaseless roar,
The flower-flecked meadow and the leafy lane,
The steepled hill,
Or ivied ruin rising from the plain,
But for a sign that they remembered still,
Built Greater Britains over all the main.
For thee, and her who comes with thee to grace
Our land and race,
Five million hearts beat with a welcome leal,
North, South and West.
Not in a day was built this Commonweal!
Slow, with our lives, we built it; nor confes’t
How stern our fears,
Thro’ drought and flood, in fever and unrest.
Its tale: the courage of laborious years.
And for a seal: the life-blood of our best.
Is she not fair whose morning thrills the East?
Youngest, not least,
Of all those Britains that one isle has sown,
One faith impearled
In world-wide union. We can hold our own—
’Gainst us in vain all envious shafts are hurled
If still we be
The Sons of Freedom, ’neath one flag unfurled,
Co-heirs of Fame and Wardens of the Sea,
One tongue, one race, one heart before the world!
poem by George Essex Evans
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I wasn't ever a massive David Essex fan, but I liked a few of his tracks, and Stardust was one of them.
quote by Martin Gore
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Adulterous Wife
As her Children sleep in their bed
While her husband lays down his sleepy head
She quietly gets up and starts continuing her lies,
As this is the story, of the Adulterous wife.
She lies and cheats and do the sins that she shouldn't,
Sadly though, this isn't the first time for this woman
As in her past she has done this all before
Sadly her husband didn't know, that he had married a whore.
As when he is at work, she was never at home
And when her girl's slept, she was never alone
She lied and cheated and used her husband for a price
As this is the story of the Adulterous wife.
She sneaks out of the house whenever she can
So she can jump in the bed of another man
He then uses her, and then she lies to him
But neither can lie to GOD, when their beginning becomes their end.
And when her daughter's get older and they feel the strife
I wander if they will be like their mother, the adulterous wife
She argues and fights with her husband all the time
Loyalty and love to her husband has been left far behind.
The vow she swore to GOD she has broke it once again
Now she is a marked woman, in front of women and men
She has affairs with her lovers, that only the devil could believe
Asking them to come and rescue her, and set herself free.
She is never happy unless she is in another mans bed
Only happiness she brings that man, is when he is dead
She tells her lies and say all her men of hers are abusers
But she never let them know, that she is but a user.
And she'll keep her lies from yesterday unto today
And while she sins, other men lay down to pray
How sad it is to live that type of sinful life
But this is the true story of the Adulterous wife.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Genius is entitled to respect only when it promotes the peace and improves the happiness of mankind.
quote by Lord Essex
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Qualis vita, finis ita
Here-vnder lyes the wonder of her kinde,
The Quintessence of Nature and of Grace,
Wit, Beauty, Bounty, and (in Nobles race
The rarest Iewell) a right humble minde;
Here lyes her body, but her soule refin'd
Aboue th'impyreall, hath imperial place,
In blisse so boundlesse, as no words embrace,
Nor Art can feigne, nor mortall heart can find.
Her fame remaines a Monument of honor,
Built by her vertue gilt with purest gold,
With Lilly-flowres and Roses strewed vpon her,
Her Epitaph Urania thus enrol'd:
Mild child, chaste mayden, and religious wife:
The Euen crownes the day, Ioane Essex death her life.
poem by John Webster
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Eyes Berg
Behind my eyes the ice stays cool,
To melt it now would play the fool...
The shields are up both left and right,
Protecting me by day and night.
I play the games they bid me play
Despite the fact I long to stray!
Conforming only for their eyes...
The hidden truth behind my lies!
If I were free to do my best
Perhaps Mankind would then be blessed!
Yet what if I should do my worst?
Be warned, for then you'd all be cursed!
What man could stand my awesome wrath?
For I could rip this whole world off!
Let loose my gruesome subtlety
Would surely lead to infamy!
And then what use would good deeds serve?
I'd truly get what I deserve!
I think it's best to play their game
For law and order bear no shame!
There's no great profit made by crime
And prison walls slow down all time...
I couldn't bear a life inside...
So let their conscience be my guide...
poem by Denis Martindale
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Essex and Hollywood
With pert nose and buttocks to match.
You were a ginger long-haired,
Tight jeaned 'Guinness ad' man's dream.
For the time it took
(On a drunken Sunday night.)
For you to light up and yawn.
The difference between an
Essex girl
And a Hollywood siren.
poem by Peter Vealey
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William Francis Bartlett
Oh, well may Essex sit forlorn
Beside her sea-blown shore;
Her well beloved, her noblest born,
Is hers in life no more!
No lapse of years can render less
Her memory's sacred claim;
No fountain of forgetfulness
Can wet the lips of Fame.
A grief alike to wound and heal,
A thought to soothe and pain,
The sad, sweet pride that mothers feel
To her must still remain.
Good men and true she has not lacked,
And brave men yet shall be;
The perfect flower, the crowning fact,
Of all her years was he!
As Galahad pure, as Merlin sage,
What worthier knight was found
To grace in Arthur's golden age
The fabled Table Round?
A voice, the battle's trumpet-note,
To welcome and restore;
A hand, that all unwilling smote,
To heal and build once more;
A soul of fire, a tender heart
Too warm for hate, he knew
The generous victor's graceful part
To sheathe the sword he drew.
When Earth, as if on evil dreams,
Looks back upon her wars,
And the white light of Christ outstreams
From the red disk of Mars,
His fame who led the stormy van
Of battle well may cease,
But never that which crowns the man
Whose victory was Peace.
Mourn, Essex, on thy sea-blown shore
Thy beautiful and brave,
Whose failing hand the olive bore,
Whose dying lips forgave!
Let age lament the youthful chief,
And tender eyes be dim;
The tears are more of joy than grief
That fall for one like him!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Visits to St Elizabeths
This is the house of Bedlam.
This is the man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
This is the time
of the tragic man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
This is a wristwatch
telling the time
of the talkative man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
This is a sailor
wearing the watch
that tells the time
of the honored man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
This is the roadstead all of board
reached by the sailor
wearing the watch
that tells the time
of the old, brave man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
These are the years and the walls of the ward,
the winds and clouds of the sea of board
sailed by the sailor
wearing the watch
that tells the time
of the cranky man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
This is a Jew in a newspaper hat
that dances weeping down the ward
over the creaking sea of board
beyond the sailor
winding his watch
that tells the time
of the cruel man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
This is a world of books gone flat.
This is a Jew in a newspaper hat
that dances weeping down the ward
over the creaking sea of board
of the batty sailor
that winds his watch
that tells the time
of the busy man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
This is a boy that pats the floor
to see if the world is there, is flat,
for the widowed Jew in the newspaper hat
that dances weeping down the ward
waltzing the length of a weaving board
by the silent sailor
that hears his watch
that ticks the time
of the tedious man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
These are the years and the walls and the door
that shut on a boy that pats the floor
to feel if the world is there and flat.
This is a Jew in a newspaper hat
that dances joyfully down the ward
into the parting seas of board
past the staring sailor
that shakes his watch
that tells the time
of the poet, the man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
This is the soldier home from the war.
These are the years and the walls and the door
that shut on a boy that pats the floor
to see if the world is round or flat.
This is a Jew in a newspaper hat
that dances carefully down the ward,
walking the plank of a coffin board
with the crazy sailor
that shows his watch
that tells the time
of the wretched man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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