73-) English Literature

73-) English Literature 

John Cleveland

John Cleveland (born June 16, 1613, Loughborough, Leicestershire, Eng.—died April 29, 1658, London) was an English poet , the most popular of his time, and then and in later times the most commonly abused Metaphysical poet,who supported the Royalist cause in the English Civil War. He was one of the most popular English poets of the 17th Century He was best known for political satire.

Biography

Cleveland was born in 16th June 1613 Loughborough, Leicestershire the eldest son of Thomas Cleveland, Vicar of Hinckley, an usher in a charity school(1620–1652).Thomas and Elizabeth Cleveland (John's parents) produced a number of children, two of whom died young. Cleveland was educated at Hinckley Grammar School. The headmaster at the Grammar School was Richard Vines. Richard Vines wrote against the Anglican establishment in The Civil War period and was present at The Execution of Charles I.

September 1627 John was admitted to Christ's College, Cambridge and a brilliant academic career opened out before him. It was at Christ's that Cleveland first came across a member of the old Lincolnshire family, the Thorolds, who were to figure largely in his life in the Civil War and Protectorate. He graduated BA in 1632 and became a fellow of St John's College in 1634 , where he became a college tutor and lecturer in rhetoric, and was much sought after , before joining the Royalist army at Oxford in 1643. In 1645–46 he was judge advocate with the garrison at Newark until it surrendered to the Parliamentary forces, after which he lived with friends.

A staunch Royalist, he opposed the election of Oliver Cromwell as member for Cambridge in the Long Parliament, and lost his college post as a result in 1645. Joining Charles I, by whom he was welcomed, he was appointed to the office of Judge Advocate at Newark. In 1646, however, he lost this office, and wandered about the country dependent on the bounty of the Royalists. In 1655 he was imprisoned at Yarmouth, but released by Cromwell, to whom he appealed, and went to London, where he lived till his death. His best work is satirical, slightly reminiscent of Hudibras; his other poems are considered mediocre. The Poems were published in 1656.)

When Charles I put himself in the hands of the Scots’ army and they turned him over to the Parliamentary forces, Cleveland excoriated his enemies in a famous satire, “The Rebel Scot.” Imprisoned for “delinquency” in 1655, Cleveland was released on appeal to Oliver Cromwell, but he did not repudiate his royalist convictions.

The Cleveland family moved to Hinckley, Leicestershire. John was educated at Hinckley Grammar School in Hinckley, Leicestershire.

In1629 John was chosen to deliver the Latin address of welcome to the Chancellor of the University and the French Ambassador.

In1632 John graduated from Christ's College in Cambridge with a BA.

1634 Together with Edmund Thorold, his co-student at Christ's College, he was elected Fellow of St. John's, which was his father's college. He became a college tutor and lecturer on rhetoric, and was much sought after. Among his pupils at St. John's were Samuel Drake and John Lake, both held an important ecclesiastical appointments in the Restoration and compiled the posthumous 1677 collection of Cleveland's works.

1640 After Oliver Cromwell had gained the parliamentary seat of the town of Cambridge, John went to Oxford where the King had established his camp. It was during his time at Oxford that he wrote one of his most celebrated pieces of verse satire, 'The Rebel Scot', and a tract, 'The Character of a London Diurnal', a piece of Royalist propaganda which was the kind of writing that laid the foundations of modern journalism.

1645 As a staunch Royalist, he opposed the election of Oliver Cromwell as member for Cambridge in the Long Parliament, and lost his college post as a result.

1645 John's allegiance to the Royalist cause was put to practical account at the siege of Newark, where he served as Judge Advocate inside the garrison. The post had the nominal rank of colonel. Serving alongside him was his former pupil from St. John's, Samuel Drake. Also at Newark was another reminder of St. John's who was a recusant relative of his colleague Edmund Thorold, another Edmund, who was Commissioner of Array for Lincolnshire.

1646 At the fall of Newark, Cleveland, along with all other members of the garrison, was allowed to walk out with honour and to seek refuge at the nearest possible point. He stayed for a while at the home of the recusant Thorolds, Hough on the Hill, some ten miles away across the Great North Road. John lost this office and spent his time wandering around the country dependent on the bounty of the Royalists.

In 1646, however, he lost his judge advocacy and wandered about the country dependent on the bounty of other Royalists. In 1655 he was imprisoned at Great Yarmouth, but released by Cromwell, to whom he appealed, and went to London, where he spent the rest of his life.[1] For his letter to Cromwell, see May it please yr Highnesse (1657) or Cleaveland's petition to His Highnesse the Lord Protector [sic].

1655 John joined the Royalist army at Oxford, but was captured by the Parliamentarians and was imprisoned for 'delinquency' at Yarmouth Prison. After an eloquent plea he was released by Cromwell.

John went to London, where he lived in Grey's Inn.

29th April 1658 John finally succumbed to malaria, which ironically Cromwell would die of as well in September of the same year. He was buried in the church of St. Michael Royal, College Hill, London.

1974 The Hinckley Grammar School along Butt Lane was renamed the John Cleveland College.

Posts

A staunch Royalist, Cleveland opposed the election of Oliver Cromwell as member for Cambridge in the Long Parliament and lost his college post as a result in 1645. He then joined Charles I, by whom he was welcomed, and appointed to the office of judge advocate at Newark-on-Trent.[1]

Poems and other works

1647 The Poems were published in The Character of a London Diurnal and thereafter in some 20 collections in the next quarter century, this large number of editions attests to his great popularity in the mid-17th century. His best work is satirical, slightly reminiscent of Hudibras.

His real achievement lay in his political poems, which were mostly written in heroic couplets and satirised contemporary persons and issues. John's political satires influenced his friend Samuel Butler (in Hudibras), and his use of heroic couplets foreshadowed that of John Dryden.

An example of John Cleveland's Poetry

'Epitaph on the Earl of Strafford'

'Here lies wise and valiant dust,

Huddled up 'twixt fit and just:

STRAFFORD, who was hurried hence

'Twixt treason and convenience.

He spent his time here in a mist;

A Papist, yet a Calvinist.

His prince's nearest joy, and grief;

He had, yet wanted all relief.

The prop and ruin of the state;

The people's violent love, and hate:

One in extremes loved and abhorred.

Riddles lie here; or in a word,

Here lies blood; and let it lie

Speechless still, and never cry.'

Cleveland’s poems first appeared in The Character of a London Diurnal (1647) and thereafter in some 20 collections in the next quarter century; this large number of editions attests to his great popularity in the mid-17th century. Cleveland carried Metaphysical obscurity and conceit to their limits, and many of his poems are merely intellectual gymnastics. From the time of John Dryden’s deprecatory criticism of the Metaphysical poets, Cleveland has been a whipping boy for them, largely because his conceits are profuse and cosmetic rather than integral to his thought. Cleveland’s real achievement lay in his political poems, which were mostly written in heroic couplets and satirized contemporary persons and issues. Cleveland’s political satires influenced his friend Samuel Butler (in Hudibras), and his use of heroic couplets foreshadowed that of Dryden.

Cleveland's poems first appeared in The Character of a London Diurnal (1647) and thereafter in some 20 other collections. His achievement lay in political, satirical verses written mainly in heroic couplets. He has been called "both a detached, intellectual, 'metaphysical' poet" and "a committed satirist".

Cleveland also wrote Royalist news books such as Mercurius Pragmaticus for King Charles II, which appeared after the execution of Charles I. He was particularly interested in the 14th-century Wat Tyler rebellion against Richard II. His own volume of Poems was published in 1654.

John Cleveland Poems1.Fuscara, Or The Bee Errant ( Excerpt)

The Best Poem Of John Cleveland

Fuscara, Or The Bee Errant ( Excerpt)

"But oh! what waspe was't that could prove

Ravilliack to my Queen of Love?

The King of Bees now's jealous grown

Lest her beams should melt his throne…

Live-Hony all, the Envyous Elfe

Stung her, cause sweeter than himself.

Sweetness and she are so ally'd

The Bee committed parricide."

Poem2.Mark AntonyWhenas the nightingale chanted her vespers,

And the wild forester couched on the ground,

Venus invited me in th' evening whispers

Poem3.The Scots ApostasieIs't come to this? What shall the cheeks of fame

Stretch'd with the breath of learned Loudon's name,

Is't come to this? What shall the cheeks of fame

Stretch'd with the breath of learned Loudon's name,

Be flogg'd again? And that great piece of sense,

As rich in loyalty and eloquence,

Brought to the test be found a trick of state,

Like chemist's tinctures, proved adulterate;

The devil sure such language did achieve,

To cheat our unforewarned grand-dam Eve,

As this imposture found out to be sot

The experienced English to believe a Scot,

Who reconciled the Covenant's doubtful sense,

The Commons argument, or the City's pence?

Or did you doubt persistence in one good,

Would spoil the fabric of your brotherhood,

Projected first in such a forge of sin,

Was fit for the grand devil's hammering?

Or was't ambition that this damned fact

Should tell the world you know the sins you act?

The infamy this super-treason brings.

Blasts more than murders of your sixty kings;

A crime so black, as being advisedly done,

Those hold with these no competition.

Kings only suffered then; in this doth lie

The assassination of monarchy,

Beyond this sin no one step can be trod.

If not to attempt deposing of your God.

O, were you so engaged, that we might see

Heav'ns angry lightning 'bout your ears to flee,

Till you were shrivell'd to dust, and your cold land

Parch't to a drought beyond the Libyan sand!

But 'tis reserv'd till Heaven plague you worse;

The objects of an epidemic curse,

First, may your brethren, to whose viler ends

Your power hath bawded, cease to be your friends;

And prompted by the dictate of their reason;

And may their jealousies increase and breed

Till they confine your steps beyond the Tweed.

In foreign nations may your loathed name be

A stigmatizing brand of infamy;

Till forced by general hate you cease to roam

The world, and for a plague live at home:

Till you resume your poverty, and be

Reduced to beg where none can be so free

To grant: and may your scabby land be all

Translated to a generall hospital.

Let not the sun afford one gentle ray,

To give you comfort of a summer's day;

But, as a guerdon for your traitorous war,

Love cherished only by the northern star.

No stranger deign to visit your rude coast,

And be, to all but banisht men, as lost.

And such in heightening of the indiction due

Let provok'd princes send them all to you.

Your State a chaos be, where not the law,

But power, your lives and liberties may give.

No subject 'mongst you keep a quiet breast

But each man strive through blood to be the best;

Till, for those miseries on us you've brought

By your own sword our just revenge be wrought.

To sum up all ... let your religion be

As your allegiance--maskt hypocrisie

Until when Charles shall be composed in dust

Perfum'd with epithets of good and just.

He saved--incensed Heaven may have forgot--

To afford one act of mercy to a Scot:

Unless that Scot deny himself and do

What's easier far--Renounce his nation too.

Poem4.An Elegy On Ben JonsonWHO first reform'd our Stage with justest Lawes,

And was the first best Judge in his owne Cause?

Who (when his Actors trembled for Applause)

WHO first reform'd our Stage with justest Lawes,

And was the first best Judge in his owne Cause?

Who (when his Actors trembled for Applause)

Could (with a noble Confidence) preferre

His owne, by right, to a whole Theater;

From Principles which he knew could not erre.

Who to his FABLE did his Persons fitt,

With all the Properties of Art and Witt,

And above all (that could bee Acted) writt.

Who publique Follies did to covert drive,

Which hee againe could cunningly retrive,

Leaving them no ground to rest on, and thrive.

Heere IONSON lies, whom had I nam'd before

In that one word alone, I had paid more

Then can be now, when plentie makes me poore.

Poem5.The Rebel ScotHow, Providence? and yet a Scottish crew?

Then Madam Nature wears black patches too!

What, shall our nation be in bondage thus

How, Providence? and yet a Scottish crew?

Then Madam Nature wears black patches too!

What, shall our nation be in bondage thus

Unto a land that truckles under us?

Ring the bells backward! I am all on fire.

Not all the buckets in a country quire

Shall quench my rage. A poet should be feared

When angry, like a comet's flaming beard.

And where's the stoic can his wrath appease,

To see his country sick of Pym's disease?

By Scotch invasion to be made a prey

To such pigwidgeon myrmidons as they?

But that there's charm in verse, I would not quote

The name of Scot without an antidote;

Unless my head were red, that I might brew

Invention there that might be poison too.

Were I a drowsy judge whose dismal note

Disgorgeth halters as a juggler's throat

Doth ribbons; could I in Sir Empiric's tone

Speak pills in phrase and quack destruction;

Or roar like Marshall, that Geneva bull,

Hell and damnation a pulpit full;

Yet to express a Scot, to play that prize,

Not all those mouth-grenadoes can suffice.

Before a Scot can properly be curst,

I must like Hocus swallow daggers first.

Come, keen iambics, with your badger's feet,

And badger-like bite till your teeth do meet.

Help, ye tart satirists, to imp my rage

With all the scorpions that should whip this age.

Scots are like witches; do but whet your pen,

Scratch till the blood come, they'll not hurt you then.

Now, as the martyrs were enforced to take

The shape of beasts, like hypocrites at stake,

I'll bait my Scot so, yet not cheat your eyes:

A Scot within a beast is no disguise.

No more let Ireland brag; her harmless nation

Fosters no venom since the Scot's plantation;

Nor can our feigned antiquity obtain:

Since they came in, England hath wolves again.

The Scot that kept the Tower might have shown,

Within the grate of his own breast alone,

The leopard and the panther, and engrossed

What all those wild collegiates had cost

The honest high-shoes in their termly fees;

First to the salvage lawyer, next to these.

Nature herself doth Scotchmen beasts confess,

Making their country such a wilderness:

A land that brings in question and suspense

God's omnipresence, but that Charles came thence,

But that Montrose and Crawford's loyal band

Atoned their sin and christened half their land.

Nor is it all the nation hath these sports:

There is a Church as well as Kirk of Scots,

As in a picture where the squinting paint

Shows fiend on this side, and on that side saint.

He that saw hell in's melancholy dream

And in the twilight of his fancy's theme,

Scared from his sins, repented in a fright,

Had he viewed Scotland, had turned proselyte.

A land where one may pray with curst intent,

Oh may they never suffer banishment!

Had Cain been Scot, God would have changed his doom:

Not forced him wander, but confined him home!

Like Jews they spread, and as infection fly,

As if the devil had ubiquity.

Hence 'tis they live at rovers and defy

This or that place, rags of geography.

They're citizens of the world; they're all in all;

Scotland's a nation epidemical.

And yet they ramble not to learn the mode,

How to be dressed, or how to lisp abroad;

To return knowing in the Spanish shrug,

Or which of the Dutch states a double jug

Resembles most in belly or in beard

(The card by which the mariners are steered).

No, the Scots-errant fight and fight to eat;

Their ostrich stomachs make their swords their meat.

Nature with Scots as tooth-drawers hath dealt,

Who use to string their teeth upon their belt.

Yet wonder not at this their happy choice,

The serpent's fatal still to Paradise.

Sure, England hath the hemorrhoids, and these

On the north postern of the patient seize

Like leeches; thus they physically thirst

After our blood, but in the cure shall burst!

Let them not think to make us run o' the score

To purchase villenage, as once before

Call them good subjects, buy them gingerbread.

Not gold, nor acts of grace, 'tis steel must tame

The stubborn Scot; a prince that would reclaim

Rebels by yielding, doth like him, or worse,

Who saddled his own back to shame his horse.

Was it for this you left your leaner soil,

Thus to lard Israel with Egypt's spoil?

They are the Gospel's life-guard; but for them,

The garrison of New Jerusalem,

What would the brethren do? The Cause! The Cause!

Sack-possets and the fundamental laws!

Lord! What a godly thing is want of shirts!

How a Scotch stomach and no meat converts!

They wanted food and raiment; so they took

Religion for their seamstress and their cook.

Unmask them well; their honors and estate,

As well as conscience, are sophisticate.

Shrive but their titles and their moneys poise,

A laird and twenty pence pronounced with noise,

When contrued, but for a plain yeoman go,

And a good sober twopence, and well so.

Hence, then, you proud impostors; get you gone,

You Picts in gentry and devotion;

You scandal to the stock of verse, a race

Able to bring the gibbet in disgrace.

Hyperbolus by suffering did traduce

The ostracism and shamed it out of use.

The Indian that Heaven did forswear

Because he heard some Spaniards were there,

Had he but known what Scots in hell had been,

He would, Erasmus-like, have hung between.

My Muse hath done. A voider for the nonce,

I wrong the devil should I pick their bones.

That dish is his; for when the Scots decease,

Hell, like their nation, feeds on barnacles.

A Scot, when from the gallow-tree got loose,

Drops into Styx and turns a solan goose.

Poem6.Upon Phillis Walking In A Morning Before Sun-RisingTHE sluggish morne as yet undrest,

My Phillis brake from out her East;

As if shee'd made a match to run

Poem7.On The Memory Of Mr. Edward King, Drown'D In The Irish SeasI like not tears in tune, nor do I prize

His artificial grief that scans his eyes;

Mine weep down pious beads, but why should I

Confine them to the Muses' rosary?