Anglo-Saxon Old English literature

Folk Poetry
Beowulf
Caesura and Kennings

Anglo-French/ Medieval English Literature Metrical Tales and

Romances

*King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table

Introduction

They went back to the place outside the church, and Sir Ector put the
sword in the stone Again.
‘Now pull it out,’ he said to Arthur.
Arthur pulled it out. It came out as easily as a knife out of butter. Sir
Ector saw this and
Took Arthur’s hand.
‘You are my king,’ he said.

Only the next king can pull the sword out of the stone. Many people
try, but they cannot move the sword. Then young Arthur tries, and it
comes out easily. Now he will be king. But will he be a good king? Will
his people love him? And will his life be happy?
The story of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table is very,
very old. People know that there was a king in Britain between the years
400 and 600. He fought the
Saxons, from countries in the north of Europe, and perhaps this king was
Arthur. He lived, Perhaps, in Wales or in the west of England — in
Somerset or Cornwall.
 People wrote stories about this king hundreds of years later, but they
made the stories more interesting and more exciting. At that time people
were interested in magic, knights and their ladies. So people fight with
swords and use magic in these stories.
Who wrote these first stories? Nobody really knows, but different
people in France and Britain wrote about King Arthur and his knights.
Not every book about them has the same People and stories in it. One
book (1484), by Sir Thomas Malory, is very famous. He used French
stories about King Arthur and wrote them in English.

This very old story begins with Uther, a great king. He was a good
man and he was king in The south of Britain. Other places were very
dangerous at that time, but people did not fight In Uther’s country. Uther
loved a beautiful woman, Igraine, and he wanted to marry her. But she
did not love him and he was very sad about that.
Merlin was a very clever man and he knew a lot of magic. He could
change into an Animal or bird. Sometimes, when he used magic, nobody
could see him. He also helped people with his magic, and one day he
came to King Uther.
You can marry Igraine,’ he said. ‘I will help you. But when you have a
child, you will have to give the boy to me.’
‘I will give him to you,’ said the King. He married Igraine and later
they had a baby Son. They called him Arthur. When Arthur was three
days old, a very old man arrived at the door of the King’s house. It was
Merlin. King Uther took the child in his arms and gave him to Merlin.
Merlin took the child away. He gave the boy, Arthur, to a good knight. His
Name was Sir* Ector. So Arthur lived with Sir Ector and his son, Kay, and
the two boys Were brothers.
•
A short time after this happened King Uther was very ill. He did not get
better. He called for Merlin because he wanted to talk about the future of
his country. Merlin came and listened To the King.
I know that I am going to die,’ King Uther said. ‘Who will be king after
me?’
 ‘Call your knights and great men,’ Merlin told the King. ‘Tell them, “My
son, Arthur will be the next king!”‘
King Uther told his people this before he died. But a lot of people
wanted to be king, so the knights and great men began to fight. There
was no new king for a long time.

•
When Arthur was a young man. Merlin went to London. He visited the
Archbishop, the most important man in the Church.
Call the knights to London. Then we will find the new king,’ Merlin told
the Archbishop. The knights came to London. They met at a large
church, and the Archbishop spoke to them. When they came outside,
they saw something strange in front of the church. It was a very large
stone with a great sword in it. The sun shone on the sword and it looked
very strong. The knights were excited, and started to talk about it.

 Sir is name for a knight.

‘Where did it come from?’

‘How did it get here?’
‘Who brought the stone here? We didn’t see anybody. And who put
the sword in it?’
On the stone were these words:

ONLY THE KING CAN TAKE THE SWORD FROM THE STONE
Every knight tried to pull the sword out of the stone. Nobody could do
it — the sword did not come out. The knights pulled and pulled. But they
could not move the sword.
*Canterbury Tales by G. Chaucer
THE COOK’S TALE
THE COOK’S PROLOGUE
The Cook, in joy to hear the Miller pickled,
Laughed like a man whose back is being tickled;
‘Haha!’ he roared. ‘Haha! Christ’s blessed passion!
That miller was paid out in proper fashion
For trying to argue that his house was small!
“Be careful who you bring into the hall,”
Says Solomon in Ecclesiasticus,
For guests who stay the night are dangerous.
A man can’t be too careful when he brings
A stranger in among his private things.
May the Lord send me misery and care
If ever, since they called me Hodge of Ware,
I heard a miller scored off so completely!
That jest of malice in the dark came neatly.
‘But God forbid that we should stop at that,
So if you’ll condescend to hear my chat,
I’ll tell a tale, though only a poor man;
But I will do the very best I can,
A little joke that happened in our city.’
‘Well,’ said our Host, ‘let it be good and witty;
Now tell on, Roger, for the word’s with you.
You’ve stolen gravy out of many a stew,
Many’s the Jack of Dover you have sold*
That has been twice warmed up and twice left cold;
Many a pilgrim’s cursed you more than sparsely
When suffering the effects of your stale parsley
Which they had eaten with your stubble-fed goose;
Your shop is one where many a fly is loose.
Tell on, my gentle Roger, and I beg
You won’t be angry if I pull your leg,
Many a true word has been said in jest.’
‘That’s sure enough,’ said Roger, ‘for the rest,
“True jest, bad jest” is what the Flemings say,
And therefore, Harry Bailey, don’t give way
To temper either if I have a plan
To tell a tale about a publican
Before we part. Still, I won’t tell it yet,
I’ll wait until we part to pay my debt.’
And then he laughed and brightened up a bit
And he began his story. This was it.
There was a prentice living in our town
Worked in the victualling trade, and he was brown,
Brown as a berry; spruce and short he stood,
As gallant as a goldfinch in the wood.
Black were his locks and combed with fetching skill;
He danced so merrily, with such a will,
That he was known as Revelling Peterkin.
He was as full of love, as full of sin
As hives are full of honey, and as sweet.
Lucky the wench that Peter chanced to meet.
At every wedding he would sing and hop,
And he preferred the tavern to the shop.
Whenever any pageant or procession
Came down Cheapside, goodbye to his profession!
He’d leap out of the shop to see the sight
And join the dance and not come back that night.
He gathered round him many of his sort
And made a gang for dancing, song and sport.
They used to make appointments where to meet
For playing dice in such and such a street,
And no apprentice had a touch so nice
As Peter when it came to casting dice.
Yet he was generous and freely spent
In certain secret places where he went.
Of this his master soon became aware;
Many a time he found the till was bare,
For an apprentice that’s a reveller,
With music, riot, dice or paramour,
Will surely cost his shop and master dear;
Though little music will his master hear.
Riot and theft can interchange and are
Convertible by fiddle and guitar.
Revels and honesty among the poor
Are pretty soon at strife, you may be sure.
This jolly prentice – so the matter stood
Till nearly out of his apprenticehood –
Stayed in his job, was scolded without fail,
And sometimes led with minstrelsy to jail.*
But in the end his master, taking thought
While casting up what he had sold and bought,
Hit on a proverb, as he sat and pored:
‘Throw out a rotten apple from the hoard
Or it will rot the others’: thus it ran.
So with a riotous servant; sack the man,
Or he’ll corrupt all others in the place;
Far wiser to dismiss him in disgrace.
His master, then, gave Peterkin the sack
With curses, and forbade him to come back;
And so this jolly apprentice left his shop.
Now let him revel all the night, or stop.
As there’s no thief but has a pal or plucker
To help him to lay waste, or milk the sucker
From whom he borrows cash, or steals instead,
Peter sent round his bundle and his bed
To a young fellow of the self-same sort
Equally fond of revelling, dice and sport,
Whose wife kept shop – to save her good repute;
But earned her living as a prostitute
CHAUCER’S TALE OF MELIBEE

Chaucer’s prose Tale of Melibee (the tone of which is entirely

serious
Throughout) here follows in the original. It is a dialectical homily or
moral
Debate, exhibiting a learned store of ethical precept culled from
many ancient
Authorities. It extends over a thousand lines or so. Among the
authorities
Quoted are Job, Solomon, St Paul, Jesus son of Sirach, St
Augustine, St
Jerome, St Gregory, Pope Innocent, Ovid, Cato, Seneca, Cicero,
Cassiodorus, and Petrus Alphonsus.
The principal character in the debate is Dame Prudence, the wife of
Melibee, but we also hear the views of his acquaintances, doctors,
lawyers, Prudent old men and hot-headed young ones. Melibee
himself offers some Opinions, most of which are wisely and
modestly refuted by his wife. He is, However, more talked against
than talking, and is always won over, in the End, to the right view.
The principal subject of the debate is whether we should avenge a
violent Injury by violence, and the subject arises because during
his absence from Home Melibee’s daughter, Sophia, has been
assaulted and wounded by three Miscreants who have made a
burglarious entry. Should revenge be taken Upon them?
In the course of the debate the following subjects arise and are
dealt with Learnedly and logically, for the most part by Dame
Prudence:
How to purify one’s heart of anger, covetousness, and impetuosity;
how To keep one’s opinions to oneself and distinguish true friends
from false Ones, fools, and flatterers; how to examine any advice
proffered and When to change one’s advisers;
Whether women are to be trusted, and whether their advice can
ever be Good, and if so, whether husbands ought to submit
themselves to their Direction (Dame Prudence wins heavily on
this);
Whether to take a private revenge is (a) dangerous, (b) justifiable
Morally, (c) in this case expedient (in parentheses, why does God
permit Evil? No one knows): the outcome of violence is uncertain,
one cannot Be sure of success in vengeance. It is better to agree or
compound with One’s enemies. But would not this involve a loss of
prestige? Prestige Considered;
The importance of not making God your enemy, to whom
vengeance Belongs. If you reconcile yourself with Him, He will
reconcile your Enemies with you.
The enemies of Melibee are then sent for; Dame Prudence sees
them Privately and points out the superiority of a peaceful
settlement. They are Astonished and delighted.
Melibee decides to let them off with a fine. Dame Prudence
persuades him To forgive them altogether.
His enemies then return before Melibee, who forgives them utterly,
but not Before he has rebuked them severely and pointed out his
own magnanimity. This is perhaps the only point he scores.
Nothing is said of what happened to Sophia or whether she
recovered from Her injuries. The homily is immediately followed by

Shakespearian Drama
Romeo and Juliet
Shakespearian Sonnets

Sonnet 18: Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer’s Day?

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

Sonnet 27: Weary With Toil, I Haste To My Bed

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;
But then begins a journey in my head
To work my mind, when body’s work’s expired:
For then my thoughts–from far where I abide–
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see:
Save that my soul’s imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,
Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new.
Lo! Thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee, and for myself, no quiet find.

Sonnet 29: When In Disgrace With Fortune and Men’s Eyes

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 my self 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.

Sonnet 98: From You Have I Been Absent In The Spring

From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dress’d in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,
That heavy Saturn laughed and leapt with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odour and in hue,
Could make me any summer’s story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:
Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seemed it winter still, and you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.

Sonnet 104: To me, fair friend, you never can be old

To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I ey’d,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold,
Have from the forests shook three summers’ pride,
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn’d,
In process of the seasons have I seen,
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn’d,
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah! Yet doth beauty like a dial-hand,
Steal from his figure, and no pace perceiv’d;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceiv’d:
For fear of which, hear this thou age unbred:
Ere you were born was beauty’s summer dead.

Sonnet 106: When In The Chronicle Of Wasted Time

When in the chronicle of wasted time
I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme,
In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights,
Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty’s best,
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see their antique pen would have express’d
Even such a beauty as you master now.
So all their praises are but prophecies
Of this our time, all you prefiguring;
And for they looked but with divining eyes,
They had not skill enough your worth to sing:
For we, which now behold these present days,
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.

Sonnet 116: Let Me Not To The Marriage Of True Minds

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. 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 wandering 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.

Sonnet 129: The’ Expense Of Spirit In A Waste Of Shame

The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action: and till action, lust
Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;
Enjoyed no sooner but despised straight;
Past reason hunted; and no sooner had,
Past reason hated, as a swallowed bait,
On purpose laid to make the taker mad.
Mad in pursuit and in possession so;
Had, having, and in quest to have extreme;
A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe;
Before, a joy proposed; behind a dream.
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

Sonnet 130: My Mistress’ Eyes Are Nothing Like The Sun

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red, than her lips red:
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound:
I grant I never saw a goddess go,
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare,
As any she belied with false compare.

Sonnet 134: So now I have confessed that he is thine

So now I have confessed that he is thine,
And I my self am mortgaged to thy will,
Myself I’ll forfeit, so that other mine
Thou wilt restore to be my comfort still:
But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free,
For thou art covetous, and he is kind;
He learned but surety-like to write for me,
Under that bond that him as fast doth bind.
The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take,
Thou usurer, that put’st forth all to use,
And sue a friend came debtor for my sake;
So him I lose through my unkind abuse.
Him have I lost; thou hast both him and me:
He pays the whole, and yet am I not free.

The Restoration and the

18th Century Literature
Puritan Period
Neoclassical Period
On His Blindness byJ. Milton