Poetry in 16th and 17th century ( Tudor and Struart)
Members of Group :
1. Lulu’ Ulfiyah Aprilia
2. Muna Alfadlilah
3. Moh.Mahrus Imam
4. Istiyanah Shufyani
By: Ben Jonson ( 1572- 1637)
Epigrams (1616)
Epigram XLV: “ On my First Son”
Farwell, thou Child of my Right-hand, and Joy;
My Sin was too much hope of thee, lov’d Boy,
Seven Years tho’wert lent to me, and I thee pay,
Exacted by thy Fate on the just Day.
O, could I lose all Father, now. For why,
Will Man lament the state he should envy?
To have so soon scap’d Worlds, and Fleshes rage,
And, if no other Misery, yet Age?
Rest in soft Peace, and ask’d, say here doth lie
Ben. Jonhson his best Piece of Poetry.
For Whose sake, henceforth all his Vows be such,
As what he loves may never like too much.
The Rape of Lucrece (1594)
By William shakespear
Her lily hand her rosy cheek lies under,
Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiss;
Who, therefore angry, seems to part in sunder,
Swelling on either side to want his bliss;
Between whose hills her head entombed is;
Where like a virtuous monument she lies,
To be admired of lewd unhallowed eyes.
Whitout the bed her other fair hand was,
On the green coverlet, whose perfect white
Showed like an April daisy on the grass,
With pearly sweat resembling dew of night.
Her eyes, like marigolds, had sheathed their light,
And canopied in darkness sweetly lay
Till they might open to adorn the day
Her hair like golden threads played with her breath
O modest wantons, wanton modesty!
Showing life’s triumph in the map of death,
And death’s dim look on life’s mortality.
Each in her sleep themselves so beautify
As if between them twain there were no strife,
But that life lived in death, and death in life.
Her breasts like ivory globes circled with blue,
A pair of maiden worlds unconquered,
Save of their lord no bearing yoke they knew,
And him by oath they truly honoured.
These world in Tarquin new ambition bred,
Who like a foul usurper went about
From this fair throne to heave the owner out
What could he see but mightily he noted?
What did he not but strongly he desire?
What he beheld, on thet he firmly doted,
And in his will his willful eye he tired.
With more than admiration he admired
Her azure veins, her alabaster skin,
Her coral lips, her snow-white dimple chin.
As the grim lion fawneth o’er his prey
Sharp hunger by the conquest satisfied,
So o’er this sleeping soul doth Tarquin stay,
His rage of lust by gazing qualified;
Slacked, not suppressed; for, standing by her side,
His eye, which late this mutiny restrain,
Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins.
And they, like straggling slaves for pillage fighting
Obdurate vassals fell exploits effecting.
In bloody death and revishment delighting,
Nor children’s tears nor mother’s groans respecting,
Swell in their pride, the onset still expecting.
Anon his beating heart, alarum striking,
Gives the hot charge and bids them do their liking.
His drumming heart cheers up his burning eye,
His eyes commends the leading to his hand;
His hand, as proud of such a dignity,
Smoking with pride, marched on to make his stand
On her bare breast, the heart of all her land,
Whose ranks of a blue veins, as his hand did scale
Left their round turrets destitute and pule.
They, mustering to the quite cabinet
Where their dear governess and lady lies,
Do tell her she is dreadfully beset
And fright her with confusion of their cries.
She, much amazed, break ope her looked-up eyes,
Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold,
Are by his flaming torch dimmed and controlled.
Imagine her as one in dead of night
From forth ull sleep by dreadful fancy waking,
That thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite,
Whose grim aspect sets every joint a-shaking.
What terror ‘tis! but she , in worser taking
From sleep disturbed, heedfully doth view
The sight which makes supposed terror true.
Wrapped and confounded in a thousand fears,
Like to a new-killed bird she trembling lies,
She dares not look; yet, winking there appears.
Quick-shifting antics ugly in her eyes.
Such shadows are the weak brain’s firgerie.
Who, angry that the eyes fly from their lights,
In darkness daunts them with more dreadful sight.
His hand, that yet remains upon her breast
( Rude ram, to batter such an ivory wall!)
May fell her heart (poor citizen) distressed
Wounding itself to death, rise up and fall,
Beating her bulk, that his hand shakes withal.
This moves in him more rage and lesser pity,
To make the breach and enter this sweet city.
The Passionate Shepherd to His Love
By Crishtopher Marlowe (1599)
Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all thee pleasure pove
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yield.
And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing th shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
And I will make the thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, aand a kirtle,
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;
A gown made of the finest woll
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;
A belt of strw, and ivy buds,
With corl clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasure may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.
The Shepherds’s swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each may morning
If these delight thy mind may move
Then live with me and be my love.
The sonnets #116 (1609)
By William shakespeare
Let me not to the merriage of true minds
Admit impediments, love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bend with the remover to remove.
O no, it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand’ring bark,
Whose worth’s unknown,
Although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though
rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s
compass come,
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom:
If this be error and upon me
Admit, love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no, it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand’ring bark,
Whose worth’s unknown,
Although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though
rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s
compass come,
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom:
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
Paradise lost (1667)
By john Milton
Of Man’s first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste
Brought death into the world, and all our woe,
With loss of Eden, till one greater Man
Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,
Sing, Heav’nly Muse, that, on the secret top
Of oreb, or of sinai, didst inspire
That shepherd who first taught the chosen seed
In the beginning how the Heav’ns and Earth
Rose out of Chaos: or, if Sion hill
Delight thee more, and Siloa’s brook that flow’d
Fast by the oracle of God, thence
Invoke thy aid yo my advent’trous song,
That with no middleflight intendsto soar
Above th’ aonian mount, while it pursues
Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme.
And chiefly thou, O spirit, that dost prefer
Before all temples th’ upright heart and pure,
Instruct me, for thou know’st; thou from the first
Wast present, and, with mighty wings outspread,
Devolike sat’st brooding on the vast abyss,
And mad’st it pregnant: what in me is dark
Illumine; what is low, raise and support;
That, to the height of this great argument,
I may assert Eternal Providence,
And justify the ways of God to men.
Tidak ada komentar:
Posting Komentar