Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE AUTHOR'S HERMAPHRODITE, by JOHN CLEVELAND Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Problem of sexes! Must thou likewise be Last Line: So shall it be thy son, and yet my daughter. Subject(s): Sex | ||||||||
PROBLEM of sexes! Must thou likewise be As disputable in thy pedigree? Thou twins in one, in whom Dame Nature tries To throw less than aums ace upon two dice. Wert thou served up two in one dish, the rather To split thy sire into a double father? True, the world's scales are even; what the main In one place gets, another quits again. Nature lost one by thee, and therefore must Slice one in two to keep her number just. Plurality of livings is thy state, And therefore mine must be impropriate. For, since the child is mine and yet the claim Is intercepted by another's name, Never did steeple carry double truer; His is the donative and mine the cure. Then say, my Muse (and without more dispute), Who 'tis that fame doth superinstitute. The Theban wittol, when he once descries Jove is his rival, falls to sacrifice. That name hath tipped his horns; see, on his knees! A health to Hans-in-kelder Hercules! Nay, sublunary cuckolds are content To entertain their fate with compliment; And shall not he be proud whom Randolph deigns To quarter with his Muse both arms and brains? Gramercy Gossip, I rejoice to see She'th got a leap of such a barbary. Talk not of horns, horns are the poet's crest; For, since the Muses left their former nest To found a nunnery in Randolph's quill, Cuckold Parnassus is a forked hill. But stay, I've waked his dust, his marble stirs And brings the worms for his compurgators. Can ghost have natural sons? Say, Og, is't meet Penance bear date after the winding sheet? Were it a Phoenix (as the double kind May seem to prove, being there's two combined) I would disclaim my right, and that it were The lawful issue of his ashes swear. But was he dead? Did not his soul translate Herself into a shop of lesser rate; Or break up house, like an expensive lord That gives his purse a sob and lives at board? Let old Pythagoras but play the pimp And still there's hopes't may prove his bastard imp. But I'm profane; for, grant the world had one With whom he might contract an union, They two were one, yet like an eagle spread, I' th' body joined, but parted in the head. For you, my brat, that pose the Porph'ry Chair, Pope John, or Joan, or whatsoe'er you are, You are a nephew; grieve not at your state, For all the world is illegitimate. Man cannot get a man, unless the sun Club to the act of generation. The sun and man get man, thus Tom and I Are the joint fathers of my poetry. For since, blest shade, thy verse is male, but mine O' th' weaker sex, a fancy feminine, We'll part the child, and yet commit no slaughter; So shall it be thy son, and yet my daughter. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LIE DOWN WITH A MAN by TONY HOAGLAND ARISTOTLE TO PHYLLIS by JOHN HOLLANDER PORTRAIT WITH BROWN HAIR by DONALD JUSTICE NATIONAL NUDIST CLUB NEWSLETTER by WAYNE KOESTENBAUM BLACKOUT SONNETS by JOAN LARKIN SEX IS NOT IMPORTANT by JAN HELLER LEVI |
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