from The Manner of Her Will, & What She Left to London, and to All Those in It, at Her Departing

f
I whole in body, and in mind,
but very weak in purse,
Do make, and write my testament
for fear it will be worse.
And first I wholly do commend
my soul and body eke,
To god the father and the son,
so long as I can speak.
And after speech, my soul to him,
and body to the grave,
Till time that all shall rise again,
their Judgement for to have,
And then I hope they both shall meet,
to dwell for aye in joy;
Whereas I trust to see my friends
released from all annoy.
Thus have you heard touching my soul,
and body what I mean:
I trust you all will witness bear,
I have a steadfast brain.
O God, now let me dispose such things,
as I shall leave behind,
That those which shall receive the same,
may know my willing mind.
I first of all to London leave,
because I there was bred,
Brave buildings rare, of churches store,
and Paul’s to the head.
Between the same, fair treats there be,
and people goodly store;
Because their keeping craveth cost,
I yet will leave him more.
First for their food, I butchers leave,
that every day shall kill;
By Thames you shall have brewers’ store,
and bakers at your will.
And such as orders do observe,
and eat fish thrice a week,
I leave two streets, full fraught therewith,
they need not far to seek.
Watling Street, and Canwick Street,
I full of woolen leave;
And linen store in Friday Street,
if they me not deceive.
And those which are of calling such,
that costlier they require,
I mercers leave, with silk so rich,
as any would desire.
In Cheap of them, they store shall find,
and likewise in that street,
I goldsmiths leave, with jewels such,
as are for ladies meet.

* * *

Now when the folk are fed and clad
with such as I have named,
For dainty mouths, and stomachs weak
some junckets must be framed.
Wherefore I potecaries leave,
with banquets in their shop,
Physicians also for the sick,
Diseases for to stop.
Some roysters still must bide in thee,
and such as cut it out;
That with the guiltless quarrel will,
to let their blood about.
For them I cunning surgeons leave,
some plasters to apply,
That ruffians may not still be hanged,
nor quiet persons die.

* * *

To all the bookbinders by Paul’s,
because I like their art,
They every week shall money have,
when they from books depart.
Among them all, my printer must
have somewhat to his share;
I will my friends these books to buy
of him, with other ware.
For maidens poor, I widowers rich
do leave, that oft shall dote:
And by that means shall marry them,
to set the girls afloat.
And wealthy widows will I leave
to help young gentlemen;
Which when you have, in any case,
be courteous to them then:
And see their plate and jewels eke
may not be marred with rust;
Nor let their bags too long be full,
for fear that they do burst.

* * *

And Bedlam must not be forgot,
for that was oft my walk:
I people there too many leave,
that out of tune do talk.

* * *

At th’ Inns of Court, I lawyers leave
to take their case in hand.
And also leave I at each Inn
of Court, or Chancery,
Of gentlemen, a youthful roote,
full of activity,
For whom I store of books have left,
at each bookbinder’s stall:
And part of all that London hath,
to furnish them withal.
And when they are with study cloyed,
to recreate their mind,
Of tennis courts, of dancing schools,
and fence they store shall find.
And every Sunday at the least,
I leave to make them sport,
In divers places players, that
of wonders shall report.
Now, London, have I (for thy sake)
within thee, and without,
As comes into my memory,
dispersèd ’round about
Such needful things as they should have,
here left now unto thee;
When I am gone, with conscience,
let them dispersèd be.
And though I nothing namèd have,
to bury me withal,
Consider that above the ground,
annoyance be I shall.
And let me have a shrouding sheet
to cover me from shame,
And in oblivion bury me,
and never more me name.
Ringings nor other ceremonies
use you not for cost,
Nor at my burial, make no feast,
your money were but lost.

* * *

This XX of October, I,
in ANNO DOMINI,
A thousand, v. hundred seventy-three,
as almanacs descry,
Did write this will with mine own hand,
and it to London gave;
In witness of the standers-by,
whose names, if you will have,
paper, pen and standish were,
at that same present by,
With Time, who promised to reveal
so fast as she could buy
The same, lest of my nearer kin
for any thing should vary;
So finally I make an end
no longer can I tarry.
401
Rating:

Comment form:

*Max text - 1500. Manual moderation.

Similar Poems:

Technical Notes by James Laughlin
James Laughlin
Catullus is my master and I mix
a little acid and a bit of honey
in his bowl love

is my subject & the lack of love
which lack is what makes evil a
poet must strike

Catullus could rub words so hard
together their friction burned a
Read Poem
0
580
Rating:

Ode on Solitude by Alexander Pope
Alexander Pope
Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air,
In his own ground.

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire,
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire.

Blest, who can unconcernedly find
Hours, days, and years slide soft away,
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day,

Read Poem
0
495
Rating:

Because I could not stop for Death by Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The Carriage held but just Ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility.
Read Poem
1
841
Rating:

Poor Crow! by Mary Mapes Dodge
Mary Mapes Dodge
Give me something to eat,
Good people, I pray;
I have really not had
One mouthful today!

I am hungry and cold,
And last night I dreamed
A scarecrow had caught me—
Good land, how I screamed!

Of one little children
And six ailing wives
(No, one wife and six children),
Not one of them thrives.

Read Poem
0
462
Rating:

Sicilian Cyclamens by D. H. Lawrence
D. H. Lawrence
When he pushed his bush of black hair off his brow:
When she lifted her mop from her eyes, and screwed it
in a knob behind
—O act of fearful temerity!
When they felt their foreheads bare, naked to heaven,
their eyes revealed:
When they left the light of heaven brandished like a knife at
their defenceless eyes
Read Poem
0
422
Rating:

Morning Song and Evening Walk by Sonia Sanchez
Sonia Sanchez
1.

Tonite in need of you
and God
I move imperfect
through this ancient city.

Quiet. No one hears
No one feels the tears
of multitudes.
Read Poem
0
588
Rating:

Meeting Point by Louis MacNeice
Louis MacNeice
Time was away and somewhere else,
There were two glasses and two chairs
And two people with the one pulse
(Somebody stopped the moving stairs):
Time was away and somewhere else.

And they were neither up nor down;
The stream’s music did not stop
Flowing through heather, limpid brown,
Read Poem
0
545
Rating:

A Lady Dressed By Youth by Duchess of Newcastle Margaret Cavendish
Duchess of Newcastle Margaret Cavendish
Her hair was curls of Pleasure and Delight,
Which on her brow did cast a glistening light.
As lace her bashful eyelids downward hung:
A modest countenance o'er her face was flung:
Blushes, as coral beads, she strung to wear
About her neck, and pendants for each ear:
Her gown was by Proportion cut and made,
With veins embroidered, with complexion laid,
Rich jewels of pure honor she did wear,
By noble actions brightened everywhere:
Thus dressed, to Fame's great court straightways she went,
To dance a brawl with Youth, Love, Mirth, Content.
Read Poem
0
434
Rating:

Faces at the First Farmworkers’ Constitutional Convention by José Montoya
José Montoya
Just the other day
In Fresno
In a giant arena
Architectured
To reject the very poor
Cesar Chavez brought
The very poor
Together
Read Poem
0
674
Rating:

War Mothers by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
There is something in the sound of drum and fife
That stirs all the savage instincts into life.
In the old times of peace we went our ways,
Through proper days
Of little joys and tasks. Lonely at times,
When from the steeple sounded wedding chimes,
Telling to all the world some maid was wife—
But taking patiently our part in life
Read Poem
0
590
Rating:

Scots Wha Hae by Robert Burns
Robert Burns
Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led;
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to victory!

Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lour;
See approach proud Edward's power—
Chains and slavery!

Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave!
Wha sae base as be a slave?
Let him turn and flee!

Read Poem
0
635
Rating:

So We'll Go No More a Roving by Lord Byron (George Gordon)
Lord Byron (George Gordon)
So, we'll go no more a roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.

For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest.

Though the night was made for loving,
And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a roving
By the light of the moon.
Read Poem
0
517
Rating:

from The Testament of John Lydgate by John Lydgate
John Lydgate
Beholde, o man! lyft up thyn eye and see
What mortall peyne I suffre for thi trespace.
With pietous voys I crye and sey to the:
Beholde my woundes, behold my blody face,
Beholde the rebukes that do me so manace,
Beholde my enemyes that do me so despice,
And how that I, to reforme the to grace,
Was like a lambe offred in sacryfice.

...

And geyn thi pryde behold my gret mekenesse;
Geyn thyn envie behold my charité;
Geyn thi leccherye behold my chast clennesse;
Geyn thi covetyse behold my poverté.
Read Poem
0
484
Rating:

The Beasts' Confession by Jonathan Swift
Jonathan Swift
To the Priest, on Observing how most Men mistake their own Talents When beasts could speak (the learned say,
They still can do so ev'ry day),
It seems, they had religion then,
As much as now we find in men.
Read Poem
0
685
Rating:

Nothing Gold Can Stay by Robert Frost
Robert Frost
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
Read Poem
0
424
Rating:

The Wind Shifts by Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
This is how the wind shifts:
Like the thoughts of an old human,
Who still thinks eagerly
And despairingly.
The wind shifts like this:
Like a human without illusions,
Who still feels irrational things within her.
The wind shifts like this:
Read Poem
0
470
Rating:

Incidents of Travel in Poetry by Frank Lima
Frank Lima
Happy Birthday Kenneth Koch/Feb 27 We went to all those places where they restore sadness and joy
and call it art. We were piloted by Auden who became
Unbearably acrimonious when we dropped off Senghor into the
steamy skies of his beloved West Africa. The termites and ants
Read Poem
0
613
Rating:

Thirteen Implements by W. S. Graham
W. S. Graham
Do not allow me to sink, I said
To a top floating ribbon of kelp.
As I was lifted on each wave
And made to slide into the vale
I wanted not to drown. I wanted
To make it all right with my dear,
To tell my cat I’ll be away,
To have them all destroyed, the poems
Read Poem
0
615
Rating:

Ave Atque Vale by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Algernon Charles Swinburne
In Memory of Charles Baudelaire

Nous devrions pourtant lui porter quelques fleurs;
Les morts, les pauvres morts, ont de grandes douleurs,
Et quand Octobre souffle, émondeur des vieux arbres,
Son vent mélancolique àl'entour de leurs marbres,
Certe, ils doivent trouver les vivants bien ingrats.

Les Fleurs du Mal.
I
Shall I strew on thee rose or rue or laurel,
Brother, on this that was the veil of thee?
Or quiet sea-flower moulded by the sea,
Read Poem
0
624
Rating:

Change by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
Letitia Elizabeth Landon
And this is what is left of youth! . . .
There were two boys, who were bred up together,
Shared the same bed, and fed at the same board;
Each tried the other’s sport, from their first chase,
Young hunters of the butterfly and bee,
To when they followed the fleet hare, and tried
The swiftness of the bird. They lay beside
The silver trout stream, watching as the sun
Read Poem
0
482
Rating: