Who Made the Potato and a Poet Known as Sir Walter Raleigh
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I was working once as a directory assistance operator and got a call from someone who was having a serious debate with his friends. They were in a muddle so they decided to ask my professional advice on a very serious question: Who made the potato, The English or the French? The existence of the French Fries and the English Fish and Chips being a serious matter to consider made it harder to decide.
But this is not about the potato. This article is about a poet who brought the potato to the English courts. Sir Walter Raleigh was an English aristrocrat, explorer, poet, writer, and many more. He brought not only the potatoes to England but also the tobacco and the tales of El Dorado. Twice he was imprisoned for love, of which, the second caused him his life.
In 1591 he married one of Queen Elizabeth's ladies-in-waiting, Elizabeth Throckmorton, in secret without informing the queen. This caused both him and his wife imprisonment in the London tower. The sentence didn't last but the marriage did.
His second love was not that of a woman but for adventure which beckoned in the form of El Dorado, the famed city of gold. Sir Walter Raleigh did not find the city. Like everyone else who tried after him. But it did cause the ire of a Spanish ambassador who asked for his life as payment. As the sharp blade of the English axe whoosed to cut the breathe that fuels this man's life he cried, "Strike, man! Strike!"
A poet of the Renaissance period, his style was not elaborate nor superflous as were his contemporaries. He attacked poetry as he attacked life--honest, and direct to the point. And though he lost his life for one love, in another he gained his life. Of the life he lived we can only take a peek from the poetry he has left us with.
The Lie
By: Sir Walter Ralegh
1552–1618
Go, soul, the body’s guest,
Upon a thankless errand;
Fear not to touch the best;
The truth shall be thy warrant.
Go, since I needs must die,
And give the world the lie.
Say to the court, it glows
And shines like rotten wood;
Say to the church, it shows
What’s good, and doth no good.
If church and court reply,
Then give them both the lie.
Tell potentates, they live
Acting by others’ action;
Not loved unless they give,
Not strong but by a faction.
If potentates reply,
Give potentates the lie.
Tell men of high condition,
That manage the estate,
Their purpose is ambition,
Their practice only hate.
And if they once reply,
Then give them all the lie.
Tell them that brave it most,
They beg for more by spending,
Who, in their greatest cost,
Seek nothing but commending.
And if they make reply,
Then give them all the lie.
Tell zeal it wants devotion;
Tell love it is but lust;
Tell time it is but motion;
Tell flesh it is but dust.
And wish them not reply,
For thou must give the lie.
Tell age it daily wasteth;
Tell honor how it alters;
Tell beauty how she blasteth;
Tell favor how it falters.
And as they shall reply,
Give every one the lie.
Tell wit how much it wrangles
In tickle points of niceness;
Tell wisdom she entangles
Herself in overwiseness.
And when they do reply,
Straight give them both the lie.
Tell physic of her boldness;
Tell skill it is pretension;
Tell charity of coldness;
Tell law it is contention.
And as they do reply,
So give them still the lie.
Tell fortune of her blindness;
Tell nature of decay;
Tell friendship of unkindness;
Tell justice of delay.
And if they will reply,
Then give them all the lie.
Tell arts they have no soundness,
But vary by esteeming;
Tell schools they want profoundness,
And stand too much on seeming.
If arts and schools reply,
Give arts and schools the lie.
Tell faith it’s fled the city;
Tell how the country erreth;
Tell manhood shakes off pity;
Tell virtue least preferreth.
And if they do reply,
Spare not to give the lie.
So when thou hast, as I
Commanded thee, done blabbing—
Although to give the lie
Deserves no less than stabbing—
Stab at thee he that will,
No stab the soul can kill.
-----
Sources:
poetryfoundation.org
Wikipedia.org
P.S. I forgot to tell you my answer to the question -- Who made the potato, the English of the French? As I sat in front of my screen, I could feel the palpable holding of my caller's breath. After a few seconds contemplating the question I folded my hands together in front my chest, prayer like, and said, "Sir, I think God made the potato."
But this is not about the potato. This article is about a poet who brought the potato to the English courts. Sir Walter Raleigh was an English aristrocrat, explorer, poet, writer, and many more. He brought not only the potatoes to England but also the tobacco and the tales of El Dorado. Twice he was imprisoned for love, of which, the second caused him his life.
In 1591 he married one of Queen Elizabeth's ladies-in-waiting, Elizabeth Throckmorton, in secret without informing the queen. This caused both him and his wife imprisonment in the London tower. The sentence didn't last but the marriage did.
His second love was not that of a woman but for adventure which beckoned in the form of El Dorado, the famed city of gold. Sir Walter Raleigh did not find the city. Like everyone else who tried after him. But it did cause the ire of a Spanish ambassador who asked for his life as payment. As the sharp blade of the English axe whoosed to cut the breathe that fuels this man's life he cried, "Strike, man! Strike!"
A poet of the Renaissance period, his style was not elaborate nor superflous as were his contemporaries. He attacked poetry as he attacked life--honest, and direct to the point. And though he lost his life for one love, in another he gained his life. Of the life he lived we can only take a peek from the poetry he has left us with.
The Lie
By: Sir Walter Ralegh
1552–1618
Go, soul, the body’s guest,
Upon a thankless errand;
Fear not to touch the best;
The truth shall be thy warrant.
Go, since I needs must die,
And give the world the lie.
Say to the court, it glows
And shines like rotten wood;
Say to the church, it shows
What’s good, and doth no good.
If church and court reply,
Then give them both the lie.
Tell potentates, they live
Acting by others’ action;
Not loved unless they give,
Not strong but by a faction.
If potentates reply,
Give potentates the lie.
Tell men of high condition,
That manage the estate,
Their purpose is ambition,
Their practice only hate.
And if they once reply,
Then give them all the lie.
Tell them that brave it most,
They beg for more by spending,
Who, in their greatest cost,
Seek nothing but commending.
And if they make reply,
Then give them all the lie.
Tell zeal it wants devotion;
Tell love it is but lust;
Tell time it is but motion;
Tell flesh it is but dust.
And wish them not reply,
For thou must give the lie.
Tell age it daily wasteth;
Tell honor how it alters;
Tell beauty how she blasteth;
Tell favor how it falters.
And as they shall reply,
Give every one the lie.
Tell wit how much it wrangles
In tickle points of niceness;
Tell wisdom she entangles
Herself in overwiseness.
And when they do reply,
Straight give them both the lie.
Tell physic of her boldness;
Tell skill it is pretension;
Tell charity of coldness;
Tell law it is contention.
And as they do reply,
So give them still the lie.
Tell fortune of her blindness;
Tell nature of decay;
Tell friendship of unkindness;
Tell justice of delay.
And if they will reply,
Then give them all the lie.
Tell arts they have no soundness,
But vary by esteeming;
Tell schools they want profoundness,
And stand too much on seeming.
If arts and schools reply,
Give arts and schools the lie.
Tell faith it’s fled the city;
Tell how the country erreth;
Tell manhood shakes off pity;
Tell virtue least preferreth.
And if they do reply,
Spare not to give the lie.
So when thou hast, as I
Commanded thee, done blabbing—
Although to give the lie
Deserves no less than stabbing—
Stab at thee he that will,
No stab the soul can kill.
-----
Sources:
poetryfoundation.org
Wikipedia.org
P.S. I forgot to tell you my answer to the question -- Who made the potato, the English of the French? As I sat in front of my screen, I could feel the palpable holding of my caller's breath. After a few seconds contemplating the question I folded my hands together in front my chest, prayer like, and said, "Sir, I think God made the potato."
