Sir George Etherege
Biography of Sir George Etherege
Sir George Etherege (1635- 10 May 1692,) was an English dramatist. He wrote the plays The Comical Revenge or, Love in a Tub in 1664, She Would if She Could in 1668, and The Man of Mode or, Sir Fopling Flutter in 1676.
George Etherege was born in Maidenhead, Berkshire, around 1636, to George Etherege and Mary Powney, as the eldest of six children. Educated at Lord Williams's School where a school building was later named after him, he was also rumored to have been educated at Cambridge as well; however, John Dennis assures that to his certain knowledge he understood neither Greek nor Latin, thus raising doubts that he could hardly have been there. He served as apprentice to a lawyer and later studied law at Clement's Inn, London, one of the Inns of Chancery. He probably travelled abroad to France with his father who stayed with the exiled queen Henrietta Maria. It is possible that he witnessed in Paris the performances of some of Molière's earliest comedies; and he is thought, from an allusion in one of his plays, to have been personally acquainted with Roger de Rabutin, Comte de Bussy.
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Sir George Etherege Poems
To A Lady Asking Him How Long He Would L...
IT is not, Celia, in our power To say how long our love will last; It may be we within this hour May lose those joys we now do taste;
LADIES, though to your conquering eyes Love owes his chiefest victories, And borrows those bright arms from you With which he does the world subdue,
To A Very Young Lady
Sweetest bud of beauty, may No untimely frost decay Th' early glories which we trace Blooming in thy matchless face:
Song From Love In A Tub
If she be not as kind as fair, But peevish and unhandy, Leave her, she's only worth the care Of some spruce Jack-a-dandy.
A Drinking Song
The pleasures of Love and the joys of good Wine, To perfect our happiness, wisely we join! We, to Beauty, all day.
To A Very Young Lady
Sweetest bud of beauty, may
No untimely frost decay
Th' early glories which we trace
Blooming in thy matchless face:
But kindly opening, like the rose,
Fresh beauties every day disclose,
Such as by Nature are not shown
In all the blossoms she has blown:
And then, what conquest shall you make,