Sir Walter Ralegh

What is our life?

What is our life? A play of passion,

Our mirth the music of division,

Our mother's wombs the tiring-houses be,

Where we are dressed for this short comedy.

Heaven the judicious sharp spectator is,

That sits and marks still who doth act amiss.

Our graves that hide us from the setting sun

Are like drawn curtains when the play is done.

Thus march we, playing, to our latest rest,

Only we die in earnest, that's no jest.

New: my brother's history of the Kamasutra!

How good is it?

[Rating system not live]

The Author...

Sir Walter Ralegh (1552-1618) came to fame at the court of Queen Elizabeth I, and is notable for his wit, seafaring, exploring, ability to annoy monarchs, and not least of course literary talent. Up and down in the Queen's favour, when James I acceded in 1603 he was sentenced to death in a show trial, a sentence not carried out until 1618 when he had failed in a royal mission.

The Poem...

This poem, unforgettably set by Orlando Gibbons (see English Madrigals showcases Ralegh's strong, fairly plain style. In other hands the theatrical metaphor could quickly become tiresome. "Division", as well as holding its normal meaning, is a Renaissance styling for "variations". The final line undercuts the part-playful figures of the rest of the poem and could hardly be plainer.

Why is it here?

An absolutely cracking poem. In my personal top twenty. To pick out the skill in one line: "Heaven the judicious sharp spectator is" - a hissing line - no comfortable out here.

Discover more