Born in 1602, the only son of Philip Strode, who belonged to an old Devonshire family, he was born at Plympton, Devonshire. From an early age he showed studious tendencies and was sent to Westminster School and Oxford. While at the University he began to manifest his poetic talents,and generally distinguished himself, being elected in 1629 Public Orator. He took orders and, on Richard Corbet ... more »
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William Strode Poems
A Riddle: On A Kiss
What thing is that, nor felt nor seene Till it bee given? a present for a Queene: A fine conceite to give and take the like: The giver yet is farther for to seeke;
A Song On The Baths
What Angel stirrs this happy Well, Some Muse from thence come shew't me, One of those naked Graces tell That Angels are for beauty:
These veines are nature's nett, These cords by art are sett.
On The Picture Of Two Dolphins In A Foun...
These dolphins twisting each on either side For joy leapt upp, and gazing there abide; And whereas other waters fish doe bring, Here from the fishes doe the waters spring,
Keepe On Your Maske And Hide Your Eye
Keepe on your maske, and hide your eye, For with beholding you I dye: Your fatall beauty, Gorgon-like, Dead with astonishment will strike;
Chloris in the Snow
I SAW fair Chloris walk alone, When feather'd rain came softly down, As Jove descending from his Tower To court her in a silver shower:
A Paralell Between Bowling And Prefermen...
Preferment, like a Game at bowles, To feede our hope with diverse play Heer quick it runnes, there soft it rowles: The Betters make and shew the way.
In Commendation Of Musick
When whispering straynes doe softly steale With creeping passion through the hart, And when at every touch wee feele Our pulses beate and beare a part;
An Epitaph On Mr. Fishborne The Great Lo...
What are thy gaines, O death, if one man ly Stretch'd in a bed of clay, whose charity Doth hereby get occasion to redeeme Thousands out of the grave: though cold hee seeme
For A Gentleman, Who, Kissinge His Frien...
What mystery was this; that I should finde My blood in kissing you to stay behinde? 'Twas not for want of color that requirde My blood for paynt: No dye could be desirde
On The Life Of Man
What is our life? a play of passion; Our mirth the musick of division: Our mother's wombes the tyring houses bee Where wee are drest for tyme's short comedy:
A Translation Of The Nightingale Out Of ...
Now the declining sun 'gan downwards bend From higher heavens, and from his locks did send A milder flame, when near to Tiber's flow A lutinist allay'd his careful woe
We hugg, imprison, hang, and save, This foe, this friend, our Lord, our slave.
Consolatorium, Ad Parentes
Lett her parents then confesse That they beleeve her happinesse, Which now they question. Thinke as you Lent her the world, Heaven lent her you:
Comments about William Strode
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
A Riddle: On A Kiss
What thing is that, nor felt nor seene
Till it bee given? a present for a Queene:
A fine conceite to give and take the like:
The giver yet is farther for to seeke;
The taker doth possesse nothing the more,
The giver hee hath nothing lesse in store:
And given once that nature hath it still,
You cannot keepe or leave it if you will:
The workmanshippe is counted very small,
The labour is esteemed naught at all:
But to conclude, this gift is such indeede,
That, if some see't 'twill make theyr hearts to bleede