Cover of Quaint Gleanings from Ancient Poetry A Collection of Curious Poetical Compositions of the XVIth, XVIIth, and XVIIIth Centuries — Background and Themes

Quaint Gleanings from Ancient Poetry A Collection of Curious Poetical Compositions of the XVIth, XVIIth, and XVIIIth Centuries — Background and Themes

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Authors: Goldsmid, Edmund Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2004 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: English poetry Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 12,322

Reading time 54 min

Text sections 2

Before opening Quaint Gleanings from Ancient Poetry A Collection of Curious Poetical Compositions of the XVIth, XVIIth, and XVIIIth Centuries — Background and Themes, the edition data offers a quick orientation: 12,322 words, 54 min estimated reading time, and 2 detected text sections.

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Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “English poetry,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #6375

Edmund Goldsmid's 1884 anthology gathers obscure 16th-18th century poems from manuscripts, rare prints, and even pencillings on bindings. The collection moves from allegorical love lyrics to political squibs, epitaphs, and a panegyric on Oates, with footnotes that anchor the verses in historical context.

Editorial Edition Score 4.5/5

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Description quality20 pts
Title & short description10 pts
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Text length15 pts
Chapters / structure15 pts
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Edition quality

File: pg6375

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Through thought Of love, which me affrights.

For fancy's flames of fire Aspire Unto such furious power, As but the tears I shed Make dead, The brands would me devour.

I should consume to nought Through thought Of thy fair shining eye, Thy cheeks, thy pleasing smiles, The wiles That forced my heart to die,

Thy grace, thy face, the part Where art Stands gazing still to see The wondrous gifts and power, Each hour, That hath bewitched me.

ANTHONY MUNDAY'S POEM ON THE CAPTIVITY OF JOHN FOX.

Leeving at large all fables vainly us'd, all trifling toys that doe no truth import, Lo, here how the end (at length), though long diffus'd, unfoldeth plaine a rare and true report, To glad those minds who seek their countries wealth by proffer'd pains t'enlarge its happy health.

At Rome I was when Fox did there arrive; therefore I may sufficiently express What gallant joy his deedes did there revive in the hearts of those which heard his valiantness. And how the Pope did recompense his pains, and letters gave to move his greater gains.

But yet I know that many doe misdoubt that those his pains are fables, and untrue; Not only I in this will bear him out, but divers more that did his Patents view, And unto those so boldly I dare say that nought but truth John Fox cloth here bewray.

Besides, there's one was slave with him in thrall lately return'd into our native land; This witness can this matter perfect all: what needeth more? for witness he may stand. And thus I end, unfolding what I know; the other man more larger proof can show. "_Honos alit Artes_"

The above lines by Anthony Munday are omitted by Hakluyt in his reprint of the captivity of John Fox in his "Principal English Voyages," vol. ii. p. 136, ed. 1598-1600. John Fox, of Woodbridge, gunner of the _Three Half Moons_, was made prisoner by the Turks in 1563. Escaped with 266 other Christians in 1577.

Care for thy soule, as thing of greatest pryce! Made to the ende to taste of power Divine, Devoid of guilt, abhorryng sin and vice, Apt by God's grace to virtue to incline; Care for it soe, as by thy retchless traine It bee not brought to taste eternall paine!

Care for thy corpse (body), but chiefely for soules sake, Not of excess; sustainyng food is best To vanquish pryde, but comely clothing take. Seeke after skille; deepe ignorance detest; Care so, I say, the flesh to feede and cloth, That thou harm not thy soule and bodie both.

Care for the world, to doe thy bodie right; Back not thy wytt to win by wicked wayes; Seeke not t'oppress the weak by wrongfull might; To pay thy due, doe banish all delayes; Care to dispend accordyng to thy store, And, in like sort, bee mindfull of the pore.

Care for thy soule, as for thy chiefest staye, Care for thy bodie, for the soules avail; Care for the world, for bodies helpe alwaye, Care yett but soe as virtue may prevail; Care in such sort, that thou be sure of this, Care keepe the not from heaven and heavenlie blisse.

By Edward de Vere, Earl of Oxford.

Faction, that ever dwells in Courte where witt excels, Hath sett defiance; Fortune and Love have sworne that they were never borne Of one alliance.

Cupid, which doth aspire to be god of Desire, Swears he "gives lawes; That where his arrows hit, somejoy, some sorrow it: Fortune no cause."

Fortune swears "weakest heartes," the bookes of Cupide's artes. "Turn'd with her wheel, Senselesse themselves shal prove. Venture hath place in love. Aske them that feel!"

This discord it begot atheists, that honour not. Nature thought good Fortune shoud ever dwel in Court where wits excel; Love keepe the wood.

Soe to the wood went I, with Love to live and dye; Fortunes forlorne. Experience of my youth made mee thinke humble Truth In deserts borne.

My saint I keepe to mee, and Joan herself is free, Joan fair and true! Shee that doth onely move passions of love with Love. Fortune! adieu!

A LETTER FROM THE DUKE OF MONMOUTH TO THE KING.

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Edmund Goldsmid opens his 1884 collection by describing a scavenger's method: manuscripts in public and private libraries, old books from dusty bookstalls, auction-room prizes, and even pencillings on the inside of tattered bindings. The resulting medley, or pot-pourri, spans three centuries and includes works by known figures such as Anthony Munday and Warren Hastings alongside anonymous squibs. Goldsmid promises that few readers will have seen more than half a dozen of these pieces before.

Structure as a Cabinet of Curiosities

The collection's arrangement follows no chronological or thematic order. The table of contents lists twenty-six items, beginning with the allegorical Beauties Fort and ending with a dirge. Political satires sit beside epitaphs and love lyrics. A ballad on the Fleet appears near an imitation of Horace. This deliberate disorder mirrors Goldsmid's description of his gathering as a pot-pourri—a mixed dish meant to be sampled rather than consumed straight through. The reader moves from a poem on the captivity of John Fox to a letter from the Duke of Monmouth to the King, then to an epitaph on Dundee, without transitional commentary. The editor's footnotes occasionally supply context, but the poems themselves are left to stand as found objects.

Recurring Images of Fortification and Siege

In Beauties Fort, love is figured as a military assault on a fortress. The poem personifies Chastity, Prudence, and female Courage as defenders, while the besieger relies on force of words and the lady's own eyes. The central tension is internal: the flesh is a traitor within the camp. This martial metaphor recurs in later pieces. The ballad on the Fleet describes sea-colonels of the nature of Otter, and a satirical poem on the Admiralty uses the refrain Which, etc. to mock naval inaction. The panegyric on Oates and the verses on Fox and Hastings deploy the language of battle and siege to frame political conflict. The image of a fortress under attack, whether of chastity or of state, binds the collection together.

Movement Between Public and Private Voices

The anthology shifts abruptly between intimate lyric and public polemic. My Bonny Lass, Thine Eye and Ah! the Shepherd's Mournful Fate belong to a pastoral tradition of personal complaint. In contrast, A Satyre against the Scots and Justice in Masquerade are bitter political squibs aimed at identifiable targets. The poem on Fox and Hastings includes footnotes that name Pitt, Burke, and Sheridan, anchoring the verse in parliamentary debate. Goldsmid's introduction notes that some pieces are exquisitely beautiful, such as The Dirge, while others are bitter. This juxtaposition of tones—from the shepherd's lament to the satirist's invective—creates a reading experience that is deliberately uneven, reflecting the editor's own catholic taste.

The Footnote as a Second Text

Goldsmid's footnotes do more than gloss obscure references. In the poem on Fox and Hastings, a note explains that Pitt declared he had no fears for India while Hastings directed councils, and another note accuses Burke of publishing a speech almost every year. These annotations turn the page into a layered document: the verse carries one argument, the footnote another. The editor intervenes to correct what he sees as licens'd falsehoods and to defend Hastings. The footnotes on the ballad about the Fleet identify George, Viscount Torrington, as the likely target. This editorial apparatus transforms the collection into a dialogue between the poems and their historical moment, mediated by a partisan voice.

Readers approaching this collection should expect no guiding narrative. Goldsmid's gleanings reward those who dip in and out, following a footnote to a name or pausing over a stanza that catches the ear. The poems are best read as fragments of a lost conversation—between poets, politicians, and the editor himself—about love, power, and the uses of satire.

There’s something tender about these old pencillings on bindings, those stray verses caught between history and a stranger’s hand. It makes me think of the quieter hours I’ve spent with Very Short Stories and Verses For Children — Context and Discussion, where the same fragility of words meant to outlive their moment seems to linger, gentle as dust on a sill.