ENGL 3001 Final Exam

for [the poet] yieldeth to the powers of the mind
an image of that whereof the philosopher
bestoweth but a wordish description, which doth
neither strike, pierce, nor possess the sight of the
soul so much as that other doth.

Philip Sidney, The Defence of Poesy

Moving of th’earth brings harmes and feares,
Men reckon what it did and meant,
But trepidation of the spheares,
Though greater farre, is innocent.
Dull sublunary lovers love
(Whose soule is sense) cannot admit
Absence, because it doth remove
Those things which elemented it.

John Donne, A Valediction Forbidding Mourning

trepidation

shaking, vibration

reckon

calculate, reason, or guess about something

innocent

harmless

sublunary

literally “beneath the moon”; worldly,
earthly, not “elemented” from quintessence

refined

purified, purged, polished; separated from
dross and impurities; made more subtle

dull

stupid, sluggish, sad, heavy, gross, cloggy, boring

Foweles in the frith

The fisses in the flod,

And I mon waxe wod.

Sulch sorw I walke with

For beste of bon and blod.

Foweles in the Frith:

Fowls in the forest,

Fishes in the flood,

And I may grow mad.

Much sorrow I walk with

For beast/best of bone and blood.

When as in silks my Julia goes,
Then, then (me thinks) how sweetly flowes
That liquefaction of her clothes.
Next, when I cast mine eyes and see
That brave Vibration each way free;
O how that glittering taketh me!

Robert Herrick, Upon Julia’s Clothes

Adam lay ibounden
Bounden in a bond;
Four thousand winter
Thowt he not too long

And all was for an appil,
An appil that he took,
As clerkes find wreten
In here book.
Ne hadde the appil take ben,
The appil taken ben,
Ne hadde never our lady
A ben hevene quen.
Blissed be the time
That appil take was!
Therefore we moun singen
“Deo gracias!”

Adam Lay Ibounden (15th-century hymn)

Gather ye Rose-buds while ye may,
Old Time is still a flying:
And this same flower that smiles to day,
To morrow will be dying.

The glorious Lamp of Heaven, the Sun,
The higher he’s a getting;
The sooner will his Race be run,
And neerer he’s to Setting.
That Age is best, which is the first,
When Youth and Blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times, still succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time;
And while ye may, goe marry:
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.

Robert Herrick, “To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time”

“but he, wakeful, keeping watch for his enemy,
awaited, enraged, the outcome of battle”

Beowulf in Beowulf

accentual meter

based on number of accents in a line, Beowulf

syllabic meter

based on number of syllables in a line, French verse and haikus

accentual-syllabic meter

based on number of syllables and number of accents in a line, iambic pentameter, Chaucer and Shakespeare

Look you, sir, here is the hand and seal of the Duke.
You know the character, I doubt it not, and the signet
is not strange to you?

Shakespeare, Measure for Measure

sundry folk

various types of people with an array of habits, caricatures that emphasize aspects of humanity

vertu

vigor, power, capacity, property, inherent
quality, virtue, nobility

priken

prick, stir up, urge, incite

corage

heart; spirit; seat of desire, passions,
courage, spiritedness

condicioun

inner state/status

degree

rank/moral position

array

clothes

But greet harm was it, as it thoughte me,
That on his shine a mormal hadde he

Cook in General Prologue

trouthe

truth, allegiance, fidelity, faith, loyalty,
integrity, honesty, promise or pledge of loyalty

Of fustian he wered a gipoun,
Al bismotered with his habergeoun

Knight in General Prologue, fustian = coarse cloth, gipoun = tunic, bismothered = stained with rust, habergeoun = coat of mail

An outridere, that lovede venerye

Monk in General Prologue

venerye

hunting, the pursuit of desire/lust

He yaf nat of that text a pulled hen…But thilke text heeld he nat worth an oyster

Monk in General Prologue

What sholde he studye, and make himselven wood,
Upon a book in cloister alwey to poure,
As Austin bit? How shal the world be served?
Lat Austin have his swink to him reserved!

Monk in General Prologue

swink

labor, sweat

curteisye

manners

sentence

teaching, knowledge, intelligence

solaas

delight, comfort, pleasure, joy

In th’olde dayes of the king Arthour

Wife of Bath’s Tale

grace

mercy

But what! He may nat doon al as him liketh.
And at the laste he chees him for to wende

Wife of Bath’s Tale

lest

desire

yerne

eager

maistrye

mastery, rule, dominion,
authority, force, control

Taak al my good, and lat my body go

Knight in Wife of Bath’s Tale

Ther nas but hevinesse and muche sorwe

Wife of Bath’s Tale

gentilesse

gentleness, gentility, nobility

kinde

nature, essential character, natural
habits, class/species of animals or humans (as
in, each thing according to its kind or humankind)

cherl

churl, base person, boorish person

I folwed ay min inclinacioun,
By vertu of my constellacioun;
... For, God so wysly be my savacioun,
I ne loved nevere by no discrecioun,
But evere folwede I min appetit

Wife of Bath’s Prologue

He was a jangler and a goliardeis

Miller in General Prologue, jangler = loudmouth, goliardeis = boaster

to quite with the Knightes tale

Miller’s Prologue

quiten

requite, pay back, revenge, retort, reply

It is a sinne and eek a greet folye
To apeiren any man, or him defame,
And eek to bringen wives in swich fame

Miller’s Prologue

And eek men shal noght make ernest of a game

Miller’s Prologue

An housbonde shal noght been inquisitif
Of Goddes privetee, nor of his wif.
So he may finde Goddes foison there,
Of the remenant nedeth nat enquere

Miller’s Prologue

foison

bounty, plentiful harvest

privetee

privacy, secrecy, concealment,
mystery, secret knowledge

A barmecloth as whit as morne milk

Alison, Miller’s Tale

She was ful moore blisful on to see
Than is the newe pere-jonette tree,
And softer than the wolle is of a wether”

Alison, Miller’s Tale

popelote, primerole, piggesnye

Alison pet names: a pet, a flower, a sweetheart

hende

handy, handsy, skilled, clever,
smooth, polite, close at hand

solas

delight, comfort, pleasure, joy

Men seyn right thus: ‘Alwey the nye slye
Maketh the ferre leeve to be looth

Miller’s Tale, always the nearby sly makes the far love disliked

Ywis, but if ich have my wille,
For derne love of thee, lemman, I spille!

Nicholas, Miller’s Tale

His rode was reed, his eyen greye as good.
With Poules window corven were his shoos,
In hoses rede he wente fetisly.

Absolon, Miller’s Tale

shapen him a wyle

devise a trick

franklin

landowner, free person, gentleman, not aristocratic

Which was the mooste fre, as thinketh yow?

Franklin’s Tale

fredom

no obstacles to will, economic freedom from necessity and want, generosity, noble, gracious, kind

Fy on possessioun,
But if a man be vertuous withal!”

Squire’s Tale

In Armorik, that called is Britaine,
Ther was a knight that loved and did his paine
To serve a lady in his beste wise,
And many a labour, many a gret emprise
He for his lady wroghte er she were wonne

Franklin’s Tale

pitee

pity, mercy, compassion, sympathy,
piety, grace

ir servant and hir lord –
Servant in love, and lord in mariage

Franklin’s Tale

Of swich a parfit wis God and a stable,
Why han ye wroght this werk unresonable?

Dorigen, Franklin’s Tale

And this was on the sixte morwe of May,
Which May hadde peinted with his softe shoures
This gardin, ful of leves and of floures;
And craft of mannes hand so curiously
Arrayed hadde this gardin, trewely,
That nevere was ther gardin of swich pris
But if it were the verray Paradis.

The odour of floures and the fresshe sighte
Wolde han maked any herte lighte
That evere was born, but if to greet siknesse
Or to greet sorwe helde it in distresse,
So ful it was of beautee with plesaunce.

Franklin’s Tale

Allas!’ quod she, ‘on thee, Fortune, I pleine,
That unwar wrapped hast me in thy cheine,
Fro which t’escape woot I no socour,
Save oonly deeth or elles dishonour;
Oon of thise two bihoveth me to chese.

Dorigen, Franklin’s Tale

solo et pensoso

alone and pensive, Petrarch, Rime Sparse #35

I turned my inward eye upon myself

Petrarch, Ascent of Mount Ventoux

You who hear in scattered rhymes the sound of those sighs with which I nourished my heart during my first youthful error, when I was in part another man from what I am now: for the varied style in which I weep and speak between vain hopes and vain sorrow, where there is anyone who understands love through experience, I hope to find pity, not only pardon. But now I see well how for a long time I was the talk of the crowd, for which often I am ashamed of myself within; and of my raving, shame is fruit, and repentance, and the clear knowledge that whatever pleases in this world is a brief dream.

Petrarch, Rime Sparse #1

Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show,
That she (dear she) might take some pleasure of my pain, Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know, Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain

Philip Sidney, Astrophil and Stella #1

But words came halting forth, wanting Invention’s stay;
Invention, Nature’s child, fled step-dame’s Study’s blows; And others’ feet still seemed but strangers in my way. Thus great with child to speak, and helpless in my throes, Biting my truand pen, beating my self for spite,
Fool, said my Muse to me, look in thy heart and write.

Philip Sidney, Astrophil and Stella #1

True, that true beauty virtue is indeed,
Whereof this beauty can be but a shade,
Which elements with mortal mixture breed;
True, that on earth we are but pilgrims made,
And should in soul up to our country move:
True, and yet true, that I must Stella love.

Philip Sidney, Astrophil and Stella #5

What, have I thus betrayed my liberty?
. . .
Virtue, awake! Beauty but beauty is!
I may, I must, I can, I will, I do
Leave following that which it is gain to miss.
Let her do—soft, but here she comes, go to.
Unkind, I love you not: O me, that eye
Doth make my heart give to my tongue the lie.

Philip Sidney, Astrophil and Stella #47

Am I thus conquered? Have I lost the powers
That to withstand, which joys to ruin me?
....
No, seeke some host to harbor thee: I fly
Thy babish tricks, and freedom doe profess.
But O, my hurt makes my lost heart confess:
I love, and must; so, farewell liberty.

Mary Wroth, Pamphilia to Amphilanthus #14

a crown/corona of sonnets

A sequence or chain of sonnets in which the last line of each sonnet is repeated as the first line of the next sonnet, and the last line of the last sonnet repeats the first line of the first sonnet so that the sonnets are all connected together and form a circle

In this strange labyrinth how shall I turn?
Ways are on all sides, while the way I miss:
If to the right hand, there in love I burn;
Let me go forward, therein danger is.
If to the left, suspicion hinders bliss;
Let mee turn back, shame cries I ought return,
Nor faint, though crosses with my fortunes kiss,
Stand still is harder, although sure to mourn.

Thus let mee take the right, or left hand way,
Go forward, or stand still, or back retire:
I must these doubts endure without allay
Or help, but travail find for my best hire.
Yet that which most my troubled sense doth move,
Is to leave all, and take the thread of Love

Mary Wroth, Pamphilia to Amphilanthus, Crown of Sonnets #1

Except my heart, which you bestowed before,
And for a sign of Conquest gave away
As worthless to be kept in your choice store,
Yet one more spotless with you doth not stay.
The tribute which my heart doth truly pay
Is faith untouched, pure thoughts discharge the score
Of debts for me, where Constancy bears sway,
And rules as Lord, unharmed by envy’s sore.

Yet other mischiefs fail not to attend,
As enemies to you, my foes must be:
Curst jealousy doth all her forces bend
To my undoing, thus my harms I see.
So though in love I fervently doe burn,
In this strange labyrinth how shall I turn?

Mary Wroth, Pamphilia to Amphilanthus, Crown of Sonnets #14

A white doe on the green grass appeared to me, with two golden horns, between two rivers, in the shade of a laurel when the sun was rising in the unripe season.
Her look was so sweet and proud that to follow her I left every task, like the miser who as he seeks his treasure sweetens his trouble with
delight. ‘Let no one touch me,’ she bore written with diamonds and topazes around her lovely neck. ‘It has pleased my Caesar to make me free.’ And the sun had already turned at midday; my eyes were tired by
looking but not sated, when I fell into the water, and she disappeared

Petrarch, Rime Sparse #190

Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,
But as for me, alas, I may no more;
The vain travail hath wearied me so sore,
I am of them that farthest cometh behind.
Yet may I by no means my wearied mind
Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore,
Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore,
Since in a net I seek to hold the wind.

Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,
As well as I may spend his time in vain;
And graven with diamonds in letters plain
There is written her fair neck round about,
Noli me tangere, for Caesar’s I am,
And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.

Thomas Wyatt, “Whoso list to hunt”

vain travail

vain = empty/purposeless, travail = effort/struggle

Like as a huntsman after weary chase,
Seeing the game from him escaped away,
Sits down to rest him in some shady place,
With panting hounds beguiled of their prey:
So after long pursuit and vain assay,
When I all weary had the chase forsook,
The gentle deer returned the self-same way,
Thinking to quench her thirst at the next brook.

There she, beholding me with milder look,
Sought not to fly, but fearless still did bide,
Till I in hand her yet half trembling took,
And with her own good will her firmly tied.
Strange thing me seemed to see a beast so wild
So goodly won, with her own will beguiled.

Spencer, Amoretti #67

beguiled

deprived or cheated of something, charmed as well as tricked

This is the liver vein, which makes flesh a deity,
A green goose a goddess. Pure, pure idolatry.
God amend us, God amend: we are much out o’ th’
way.

Shakespeare, Love’s Labour’s Lost

From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty’s rose might never die

Shakespeare, Sonnet 1

And, all in war with Time for love of you,
As he takes from you, I engraft you new.

Shakespeare, Sonnet 15

Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest,
Now is the time that face should form another,
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose uneared womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
Of his self-love to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother’s glass, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime;
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,
Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.
But if thou live rememb’red not to be,
Die single, and thine image dies with thee.

Shakespeare, Sonnet 3

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But sad mortality o’ersways their power,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O how shall summer’s honey breath hold out
Against the wrackful siege of batt’ring days,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
Nor gates of steel so strong, but time decays?
O fearful meditation; where, alack,
Shall Time’s best jewel from Time’s chest lie hid?
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back,
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?
O none, unless this miracle have might,
That in black ink my love may still shine bright.

Shakespeare, Sonnet 65

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
Of princes shall outlive this pow’rful rhyme,
But you shall shine more bright in these contents
Than unswept stone besmeared with sluttish time.
When wasteful war shall statues overturn,
And broils root out the work of masonry,
Nor Mars his sword, nor wars quick fire shall burn
The living record of your memory.
’Gainst death, and all oblivious enmity
Shall you pace forth, your praise shall still find room,
Even in the eyes of all posterity
That wear this world out to the ending doom.
So, till the judgment that yourself arise,
You live in this, and dwell in lovers’ eyes.

Shakespeare, Sonnet 55

sluttish

grimy, dirty, dusty, but also careless

When in disgrace with Fortune and men’s eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man’s art, and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state
(Like to the lark at break of day arising)
From sullen earth sings hymns at heaven’s gate.
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

Shakespeare, Sonnet 29

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest,
In me thou seest the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.
This thou perceiv’st, which makes they love more strong,
To love that well, which thou must leave ere long.

Shakespeare, Sonnet 73

O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends
For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed?
Both truth and beauty on my love depends:
So dost thou too, and therein dignified.
Make answer, Muse, wilt thou not haply say
‘Truth needs no colour with his colour fixed,
Beauty no pencil beauty’s truth to lay,
But best is best if never intermixed’?
Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb?
Excuse not silence so, for ’t lies in thee
To make him much outlive a gilded tomb,
And to be praised of ages yet to be.
Then do thy office, Muse, I teach thee how,
To make him seem long hence, as he shows now.

Shakespeare, Sonnet 101