Prefixed to Christopher Middleton's Legend of Humphrey Duke of Gloucester (1600). - To his friend, Master Chr. M. his Booke.

Like as a man, on some aduenture bound
His honest friendes, their kindnes to expresse,
T'incourage him of whome the maine is own'd;
Some venture more, and some aduenture lesse,
That if the voyage (happily) be good:
They his good fortune freely may pertake;
If otherwise it perrish in the flood,
Yet like good friends theirs perish'd for his sake.
On thy returne I put this little forth,
My chaunce with thine indifferently to proue,
Which though (I know) not fitting with thy worth,
Accept it yet since it proceedes from loue;
    And if thy fortune prosper, I may see
    I haue some share, though most returne to thee.

Michael Drayton

Michael Drayton was an English poet who produced a variety of work, including historical poems, sonnets, and a vast poem on the geography of England. His most significant contribution to poetry is the long historical epic "Poly-Olbion" which describes the topography and history of England and Wales. Drayton's poetry often reflects his staunch patriotism and deep scholarly interest in English history.

Michael Drayton

Sonet 9

Michael Drayton, Simple Poetry

Amour 38

Michael Drayton, Simple Poetry

Sonnet 58 To Prouerbe

Michael Drayton, Simple Poetry

An Elegie Vpon The Death Of The Lady Penelope Clifton

Michael Drayton, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Prefixed to John Davies of Hereford; Holy Roode (1609). - To M. IOHN DAVIES, my good friend.

Such men as hold intelligence with Letters,
And in that nice and Narrow way of Verse,
As oft they lend, so oft they must be Debters,
If with the Muses they will haue commerce:
Seldome at Stawles, me, this way men rehearse,
To mine Inferiours, not unto my Betters:
He stales his Lines that so doeth them disperse;
I am so free, I loue not Golden-fetters.
And many Lines fore Writers, be but Setters
To them which cheate with Papers; which doth pierse,
Our Credits: when we shew our selues Abetters:
To those that wrong our knowledge: we rehearse
    Often (my good Iohn; and I loue) thy Letters;
    Which lend me Credit, as I lend my Verse.

Michael Drayton

Prefixed to William Browne's Britannia's Pastorals (1613). - To his Friend the AVTHOR.

Driue forth thy Flocke, young Pastor, to that Plaine,
Where our old Shepheards wont their flocks to feed;
To those cleare walkes, where many a skilfull Swaine
To'ards the calme eu'ning, tun'd his pleasant Reede,
Those, to the Muses once so sacred, Downes,
As no rude foote might there presume to stand:
(Now made the way of the vnworthiest Clownes,
Dig'd and plow'd vp with each vnhallowed hand)
If possible thou canst, redeeme those places,
Where, by the brim of many a siluer Spring,
The learned Maydens, and delightfull Graces
Often haue sate to heare our Shepheards sing:
Where on those Pines the neighb'ring Groues among,
(Now vtterly neglected in these dayes)
Our Garlands, Pipes, and Cornamutes were hong
The monuments of our deserued praise.
So may thy Sheepe li...

Michael Drayton

Prologue[1] To The University Of Oxford, 1681.

    The famed Italian Muse, whose rhymes advance
    Orlando and the Paladins of France,
    Records, that, when our wit and sense is flown,
    'Tis lodged within the circle of the moon,
    In earthen jars, which one, who thither soar'd,
    Set to his nose, snuff'd up, and was restored.
    Whate'er the story be, the moral's true;
    The wit we lost in town, we find in you.
    Our poets their fled parts may draw from hence,
    And fill their windy heads with sober sense.
    When London votes with Southwark's disagree,
    Here may they find their long-lost loyalty.
    Here busy senates, to the old cause inclined,
    May snuff the votes their fellows left behind:
    Your country neighbours, when their grain grows dear,
    May come, and find their last pro...

John Dryden

From Annalia Dubrensia (1636). - TO MY NOBLE Friend Mr. ROBERT DOVER, on his braue annuall Assemblies vpon Cotswold.

Douer, to doe thee Right, who will not striue,
That dost in these dull yron Times reuiue
The golden Ages glories; which poore Wee
Had not so much as dream't on but for Thee?
As those braue Grecians in their happy dayes,
On Mount Olympus to their Hercules
Ordain'd their games Olimpick, and so nam'd
Of that great Mountaine; for those pastimes fam'd:
Where then their able Youth, Leapt, Wrestled, Ran,
Threw the arm'd Dart; and honour'd was the Man
That was the Victor; In the Circute there
The nimble Rider, and skill'd Chariotere
Stroue for the Garland; In those noble Times
There to their Harpes the Poets sang their Rimes;
That whilst Greece flourisht, and was onely then
Nurse of all Arts, and of all famous men:
Numbring their yeers, still their accounts they made,...

Michael Drayton

To His Rivall

    Her lou'd I most,
    By thee that 's lost,
Though she were wonne with leasure;
    She was my gaine,
    But to my paine,
Thou spoyl'st me of my Treasure.

    The Ship full fraught
    With Gold, farre sought,
Though ne'r so wisely helmed,
    May suffer wracke
    In sayling backe,
By Tempest ouer-whelmed.

    But shee, good Sir,
    Did not preferre
You, for that I was ranging;
    But for that shee
    Found faith in mee,
And she lou'd to be changing.

    Therefore boast not
    Your happy Lot,
Be silent now you haue her;
    The time I knew
    She slighted you,
When I was in her fauour.

    None stands so fast,
    But may be cast
By Fortune, and disgraced:
    Once did I ...

Michael Drayton

To The Deere Chyld Of The Muses, And His Euer Kind MecæNas, Ma. Anthony Cooke, Esquire

Vovchsafe to grace these rude vnpolish'd rymes,
Which long (dear friend) haue slept in sable night,
And, come abroad now in these glorious tymes,
Can hardly brook the purenes of the light.
But still you see their desteny is such,
That in the world theyr fortune they must try,
Perhaps they better shall abide the tuch,
Wearing your name, theyr gracious liuery.
Yet these mine owne: I wrong not other men,
Nor trafique further then thys happy Clyme,
Nor filch from Portes, nor from Petrarchs pen,
A fault too common in this latter time.
    Diuine Syr Phillip, I auouch thy writ,
    I am no Pickpurse of anothers wit.

Michael Drayton