John Marston

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John Marston
John Marston (baptised October 7, 1576 – June 25, 1634) was an English poet, playwright and satirist during the late Elizabethan and Jacobean periods. Although his career as a writer lasted only a decade, his work is remembered for its energetic and often obscure style, its contributions to the development of a distinctively Jacobean style in poetry, and its idiosyncratic vocabulary. Marston's father was an eminent lawyer of the Middle Temple. The father first argued in London and then became the counsel to Coventry and ultimately its steward. John Marston entered Brasenose College, Oxford in 1592 and received his BA in 1594. By 1595, he was in London, living in the Middle Temple, where he had been admitted a member three years previously. He had an interest in poetry and play writing, although his father's will of 1599 expresses the hope that he would give up such vanities.

the scourge of villainy
In serious jest, and jesting seriousness,
I strive to scourge polluting beastliness;
I inv... [read poem]
the character of holland
Holland, that scarce deserves the name of land,
As but th' off-scouring of the British sand;... [read poem]
the definition of love
My love is of a birth as rare
As 'tis for object strange and high;
It was begotten by Desp... [read poem]
a dialogue between the soul and the body
O who shall, from this dungeon, raise
A soul enslav'd so many ways?
With bolts of bones, t... [read poem]
the fair singer
To make a final conquest of all me,
Love did compose so sweet an enemy,
In whom both beaut... [read poem]
the garden
How vainly men themselves amaze
To win the palm, the oak, or bays,
And their uncessant lab... [read poem]
an horatian ode upon cromwell's return from ireland
The forward youth that would appear
Must now forsake his Muses dear,
Nor in the shad... [read poem]
the mower
Luxurious man, to bring his vice in use,
Did after him the world seduce;
And from th... [read poem]
the mower to the glow-worms
Ye living lamps, by whose dear light
The nightingale does sit so late,
And studying all th... [read poem]
the mower's song
My mind was once the true survey
Of all these meadows fresh and gay,
And in the gr... [read poem]
the nymph complaining for the death of her fawn
The wanton troopers riding by
Have shot my fawn, and it will die.
Ungentle men! they canno... [read poem]
to his coy mistress
Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down an... [read poem]
upon appleton house, to my lord fairfax
Within this sober frame expect
Work of no foreign architect;
That unto caves the quarries ... [read poem]
if everything happens that can't be done (liv)
if everything happens that can't be done
(and anything's righter
than books
could pla... [read poem]
anyone lived in a pretty how town
anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autu... [read poem]
buffalo bill's/ defunct
Buffalo Bill's
defunct
who used to
ride a water... [read poem]
all in green went my love riding
All in green went my love riding
on a great horse of gold
into the silver dawn.
... [read poem]
little tree
little tree
little silent Christmas tree
you are so little
you are more like a flower... [read poem]
suppose
suppose
Life is an old man carrying flowers on his head.

young death sits in a cafe... [read poem]
in just-
in Just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame balloonman... [read poem]
nobody loses all the time
nobody loses all the time

i had an uncle named
Sol who was a born failure and
n... [read poem]
poem: untitled
"think of it: not so long ago
this was a village"
"yes; i know"

"of human b... [read poem]
if i have made, my lady, intricate
If I have made, my lady, intricate
imperfect various things chiefly which wrong
your eyes ... [read poem]
poem 42
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urPa... [read poem]
pity this busy monster, manunkind
pity this busy monster, manunkind,

not. Progress is a comfortable disease:
your vict... [read poem]
somewhere i have never travelled
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:... [read poem]
what if a much of a which of a wind
what if a much of a which of a wind
gives the truth to summer's lie;
bloodies with dizzyin... [read poem]
o sweet spontaneous
O sweet spontaneous
earth how often have
the
doting

fingers of... [read poem]
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