Lord John Wilmot

Lord John Wilmot Poems

All my past life is mine no more,
The flying hours are gone,
Like transitory dreams giv'n o'er,
Whose images are kept in store
...

Why dost thou shade thy lovely face? O why
Does that eclipsing hand of thine deny
The sunshine of the Sun's enlivening eye?
...

Ancient Person, for whom I
All the flattering youth defy,
Long be it e'er thou grow old,
Aching, shaking, crazy cold;
...

I cannot change, as others do,
Though you unjustly scorn;
Since that poor swain, that sighs for you
For you alone was born.
...

I cannot change, as others do,
Though you unjustly scorn;
Since that poor swain that sighs for you,
For you alone was born.
...

All my past life is mine no more,
The flying hours are gone,
Like transitory dreams given o'er,
Whose images are kept in store
...

An age in her embraces passed
Would seem a winter's day;
When life and light, with envious haste,
Are torn and snatched away.
...

Methinks I see you, newly risen
From your embroider'd Bed and pissing,
With studied mien and much grimace,
Present yourself before your glass,
...

My dear mistress has a heart
Soft as those kind looks she gave me,
When with love's resistless art,
And her eyes, she did enslave me;
...

Deare Friend.

I heare this Towne does soe abound,
With sawcy Censurers, that faults are found,
...

You ladies of merry England
Who have been to kiss the Duchess's hand,
Pray, did you not lately observe in the show
A noble Italian called Signior Dildo?
...

Love bade me hope, and I obeyed;
Phyllis continued still unkind:
Then you may e'en despair, he said,
In vain I strive to change her mind.
...

After Death nothing is, and nothing, death,
The utmost limit of a gasp of breath.
Let the ambitious zealot lay aside
His hopes of heaven, whose faith is but his pride;
...

As some brave admiral, in former war,
Deprived of force, but pressed with courage still,
Two rival fleets appearing from afar,
Crawls to the top of an adjacent hill;
...

Absent from thee I languish still;
Then ask me not, when I return?
The straying fool 'twill plainly kill
To wish all day, all night to mourn.
...

Were I - who to my cost already am
One of those strange, prodigious creatures, man -
A spirit free to choose for my own share
What sort of flesh and blood I pleased to wear,
...

I could love thee till I die,
Would'st thou love me modestly,
And ne'er press, whilst I live,
For more than willingly I would give:
...

Give me leave to rail at you, -
I ask nothing but my due:
To call you false, and then to say
You shall not keep my heart a day.
...

19.

Were I (who to my cost already am
One of those strange prodigious Creatures Man)
A Spirit free, to choose for my own share,
What Case of Flesh, and Blood, I pleas'd to weare,
...

Tell me no more of constancy,
The frivolous pretense
Of old age, narrow jealousy,
Disease, and want of sense.
...

Lord John Wilmot Biography

Wilmot was born at Ditchley in Oxfordshire, England. He was the son of a Cavalier hero and his deeply religious wife. By the age of eighteen he had already been involved in a number of affairs, one of which resulted in the birth of an illegitimate daughter. In 1665 he kidnapped the much sought after heiress Elizabeth Malet, whom he later married. His rakish lifestyle and wit earned him the favour of Charles II and he remained a favourite of the king even though he was banished from the court on a number of occasions.

Wilmot's poetry often expresses a feeling of disgust at the futile nature of his life, a life he seemed to repent for during its last year, whilst being cared for by the rising Anglican Bishop, Gilbert Burnet. Wilmot's work gives great insight into the over-indulgent lifestyles led in the court of Charles II and he writes more frankly about sex than any previous writers in the seventeenth century. He influenced and was admired by a large number of poets including John Dryden, Jonathan Swift and Alexander Pope. He was also known to be a great patron of writers, if a little unpredictable with his support.

The Best Poem Of Lord John Wilmot

Love And Life

All my past life is mine no more,
The flying hours are gone,
Like transitory dreams giv'n o'er,
Whose images are kept in store
By memory alone.

The time that is to come is not;
How can it then be mine?
The present moment's all my lot;
And that, as fast as it is got,
Phyllis, is only thine.

Then talk not of inconstancy,
False hearts, and broken vows;
If I, by miracle, can be
This live-long minute true to thee,
'Tis all that Heav'n allows.

Lord John Wilmot Comments

bellyvankelly 27 October 2018

ive read many books on wilmot...every one is vastly different...if u know da correct one- as far as his life goes- find me on face book @ facebook.com/bellyvan.kelly

0 0 Reply
cat Lennon 27 March 2016

Linda Hepner. Ignorant comment. The second Earl of Rochester/Viscount of Athlone/Baron of Adderbury fought in wars and was a was hero in the Anglo dutch war for Charles II. He wrote me truth, and brutal but real observation. His wit mind and tongue- sharp. This biography is very inaccurate and does not show him as the great and close friend of King Charles that he was. With a love hate relationship. He was a genius. A satire is the most sublime piece Of work I have ever read.

2 1 Reply
Linda Hepner 06 February 2011

I see because he calls himself 'Lord' he gets away with language we plebs can't use on poemhunter. Out, out, brief kindle!

2 13 Reply
Fred Tarr 28 February 2009

at the behest of the royal society of kentucky outcasts and ecclesiastical scoundrels, let me inform the board at poem hunter that the true identity of Lord John Wilmot is none other than Joe Green, a Shakesperian scholar currently living residing in Minneapolis and wont to great excesses of debauchery visited upon his family with stupendous frequency and indirect indiscreet nomenclature. Green's collection of sexual torture instruments is all the rage in Minneapolis and he can bee seen daily at a bus stop hailing a bus in that he might be transported to his work place. His obvious glee at having been outed on poem hunter is like gasoline spurting from a car fire on the expressway as his thought life has preempted this very occasion for he knew my literary detective skills would reveal his true fakery and post it here. therefore he will not sue this wormly countenance who walks with an unsteady gait and rhumey eye, this outcast of ky literary society and extravagant ecclesiastical genius..

4 13 Reply

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