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?
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