Biography of Alexander Brome
Alexander Brome (1620 – 30 June 1666) was an English poet.
He was by profession an attorney, and was the author of many drinking songs and of satirical verses in favor of the Royalists and in opposition to the Rump Parliament. In 1661, following the Restoration, he published Songs and other Poems, containing songs on various subjects, followed by a series of political songs; ballads, epistles, elegies and epitaphs; epigrams and translations. Izaak Walton wrote an introductory eclogue for this volume in praise of the writer, and his gaiety and wit won for him the title of the English Anacreon in Edward Phillips's Theatrum Poetarum.
Brome published in 1666 a translation of Horace by himself and others, and was the author of a comedy entitled The Cunning Lovers (1654). He also edited two volumes of Richard Brome's plays.
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Alexander Brome Poems
To A Painted Lady
Leave these deluding tricks and shows, Be honest and downright; What Nature did to view expose, Don't you keep out of sight.
The Mad Lover
I have been in love, and in debt, and in drink, This many and many a year; And those three are plagues enough, one would think,
ome leave thy care, and love thy friend; Live freely, don't despair, Of getting money there's no end, And keeping it breeds care.
To His Friend J. H.
If thou canst fashion no excuse, To stay at home, as 'tis thy use, When I do send for thee, Let neither sickness, way, nor rain,
Come, pass about the bowl to me, A health to our distressëd king! Though we're in hold, let cups go free, Birds in a cage may freely sing.
For General Monk, His Entertainment At C...
Ring, bells! and let bonfires outblaze the sun! Let echoes contribute their voices! Since now a happy settlement's begun,
My Lesbia, let us live and love, Let crabbed Age talk what it will. The sun when down, returns above, But we, once dead, must be so still.
TELL me not of a face that 's fair, Nor lip and cheek that 's red, Nor of the tresses of her hair, Nor curls in order laid,
Come, pass about the bowl to me,
A health to our distressëd king!
Though we're in hold, let cups go free,
Birds in a cage may freely sing.
The ground does tipple healths apace
When storms do fall, and shall not we?
A sorrow dares not show his face
When we are ships, and sack's the sea.