Geoffrey Chaucer (born 1340/44, died 1400) was born in London.

His name was of French origin and meant shoemaker. Chaucer was the son of a prosperous wine merchant and deputy to the kings's butler, and his wife Agnes. Little is known of his early education, but his works show that he could read French, Latin, and Italian. In 1359-1360 Chaucer went to France with Edward III's army during the Hundred Years' War. He was captured in the Ardennes and returned to England after the treaty of Brtigny in 1360. It it said that during this period he translated from the French the allegory Romaunt of the Rose, which was his first literary work. Chaucer was so valued as a skilled professional soldier that his ransom, 16, then a tidy sum, was paid by his friends and King Edward. There is no certain information of his life from 1361 until c.1366, when he perhaps married Philippa Roet, the sister of John Gaunt's future wife, and one of Queen Philippa's ladies. Philippa apparently gave him two sons, 'little Lewis', to whom Chaucer addressed A Treatise on the Astrolabe (1391), and Thomas, who was later highly successful in public service. Philippa died in 1387 and Chaucer enjoyed Gaunt's patronage throughout his life. He was in the King's service, held a number of positions at court, and spent some time in Spain. Fortune: Balades de Visage sanz Peinture
This wrecched worldes transmutacioun, As wele or wo, now povre and now honour, Withouten ordre or wys discrecioun Governed is by Fortunes errour. But natheles, the lak of hir favour Ne may nat don me singen though I dye, Jay tout perdu mon temps et mon labour; For fynally, Fortune, I thee defye. Yit is me left the light of my resoun To knowen frend fro fo in thy mirour. So muchel hath yit thy whirling up and doun Ytaught me for to knowen in an hour. But trewely, no force of thy reddour To him that over himself hath the maystrye. My suffisaunce shal be my socour, For fynally Fortune, I thee defye. O Socrates, thou stidfast champioun, She never mighte be thy tormentour; Thou never dreddest hir oppressioun, Ne in hir chere founde thou no savour. Thou knewe wel the deceit of hir colour, And that hir moste worshipe is to lye. I knowe hir eek a fals dissimulour, For fynally, Fortune, I thee defye! La respounse de Fortune au Pleintif No man is wrecched but himself it wene, And he that hath himself hath suffisaunce. Why seystow thanne I am to thee so kene, That hast thyself out of my governaunce? Sey thus: 'Graunt mercy of thyn haboundaunce That thou hast lent or this.' Why wolt thou stryve? What wostow yit how I thee wol avaunce? And eek thou hast thy beste frend alyve. I have thee taught divisioun bitwene Frend of effect and frend of countenaunce; Thee nedeth nat the galle of noon hyene, That cureth eyen derked for penaunce; Now seestow cleer that were in ignoraunce. Yit halt thyn ancre and yit thou mayst arryve Ther bountee berth the keye of my substaunce, And eek thou hast thy beste frend alyve. How many have I refused to sustene Sin I thee fostred have in thy plesaunce. Woltow than make a statut on thy quene That I shal been ay at thyn ordinaunce? Thou born art in my regne of variaunce, Aboute the wheel with other most thou dryve. My lore is bet than wikke is thy grevaunce, And eek thou hast thy beste frend alyve. La respounse du Pleintif countre Fortune Thy lore I dampne; it is adversitee. My frend maystow nat reven, blind goddesse; That I thy frendes knowe, I thanke it thee. Tak hem agayn, lat hem go lye on presse. The negardye in keping hir richesse Prenostik is thou wolt hir tour assayle; Wikke appetyt comth ay before syknesse. In general, this reule may nat fayle. La respounse de Fortune countre le Pleintif Thou pinchest at my mutabilitee For I thee lente a drope of my richesse, And now me lyketh to withdrawe me. Why sholdestow my realtee oppresse? The see may ebbe and flowen more or lesse; The welkne hath might to shyne, reyne, or hayle; Right so mot I kythen my brotelnesse. In general, this reule may nat fayle. Lo, th'execucion of the majestee That al purveyeth of his rightwysnesse, That same thing 'Fortune'' clepen ye, Ye blinde bestes ful of lewdednesse. The hevene hath propretee of sikernesse. This world hath ever resteles travayle; Thy laste day is ende of myn intresse. In general, this reule may nat fayle. Lenvoy de Fortune Princes, I prey you of your gentilesse Lat nat this man on me thus crye and pleyne, And I shal quyte you your bisinesse At my requeste, as three of you or tweyne, And but you list releve him of his peyne, Preyeth his beste frend of his noblesse That to som beter estat he may atteyne.

Alexander Pope born May 21, 1688, London, Eng. died May 30, 1744, Twickenham, near London English poet and satirist. A precocious boy precluded from formal education by his Roman Catholicism, Pope was mainly self-educated. A deformity of the spine and other health problems limited his growth and physical activities, leading him to devote himself to reading and writing. His first major work was An Essay on Criticism (1711), a poem on the art of writing that contains several brilliant epigrams (e.g., To err is human, to forgive, divine). His witty mock-epic The Rape of the Lock (1712, 1714) ridicules fashionable society. The great labour of his life was his verse translation of Homer's Iliad (1720) and Odyssey (1726), whose success made him financially secure. He became involved in many literary battles, prompting him to write poems such as the scathing mock-epic The Dunciad (1728) and An Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot (1735). The philosophical An Essay on Man (173334) was intended as part of a larger work that he never completed.

Solitude Happy the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air In his own ground. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire; Whose trees in summer yield shade, In winter, fire. Blest, who can unconcern'dly find Hours, days, and years, slide soft away In health of body, peace of mind, Quiet by day. Sound sleep by night; study and ease Together mixed; sweet recreation, And innocence, which most does please With meditation. Thus let me live, unseen, unknown; Thus unlamented let me die; Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie.

William Blake was born on November 28, 1757 in London, the third of five children. His father James was a hosier, and could only afford to give William enough schooling to learn the basics of reading and writing, though for a short time he was able to attend a drawing school run by Henry Par. William worked in his father's shop until his talent for drawing became so obvious that he was apprenticed to engraver James Basire at age 14. He finished his apprenticeship at age 21, and set out to make his living as an engraver. Blake married Catherine Boucher at age 25, and she worked with him on most of his artistic creations. Together they published a book of Blake's poems and drawings called Songs of Innocence. Blake engraved the words and pictures on copper plates (a method he claimed he received in a dream), and Catherine coloured the plates and bound the books. Songs of Innocence sold slowly during Blake's lifetime, indeed Blake struggled close to poverty for much of his life. The Lamb Little Lamb, who made thee Does thou know who made thee Gave thee life & bid thee feed. By the stream & o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing woolly bright; Gave thee such a tender voice. Making all the vales rejoice: Little Lamb who made thee Does thou know who made thee Little Lamb I'll tell thee, Little Lamb I'll tell thee; He is called by thy name, For he calls himself a Lamb: He is meek & he is mild, He became a little childh I a child & thou a lamb, We are called by His name, Little Lamb God bless thee, Little Lamb God bless thee.

ALFRED LORD TENNYSON was born at Somersby, near Spilsby, England, August 6, 1810 (given 1809 by some, and January 12, 1810, by others). His father was the Rev. George Clayton Tennyson, LL.D., a Lincolnshire clergyman, who is described as "a tall, striking and imposing man, full of accomplishments and parts, a strong nature, high souled, high tempered." Alfred's mother was the daughter of the Rev. Stephen Fyche. To the Rev. Tennyson were born eleven or twelve children, seven of whom were sons. The three eldest, Frederick, Charles and Alfred, formed a brotherhood of poets, though Alfred is the only one who gained great literary distinction. Tennyson was fortunate in the influence of his home. The children were a noble little clan of poets and knights, coming from a knightly race. Somersby was so far away from the world, so behindhand in its echoes, that though the early part of the century was stirring with the clang of legions, few of its rumors seem to have reached the children. They never heard, at the time, of the battle of Waterloo. They grew up together, playing their own games, living their own life; and where is such life to be found as that of a happy, eager family of boys and girls, before Doubt, the steps of Time, the shocks of Chance, the blows of Death, have come to shake their creed? Mrs. Tennyson, the mother of the family, was a sweet and gentle and most imaginative woman; so kind-hearted that it passed into a proverb, and the wicked inhabitants of a neighboring village used to bring their dogs to her windows and beat them, in order to be bribed by the gentle lady to leave off, or to make advantageous bargains by selling the worthless ours. She was intensely, fervently religious. After her husband's death (he had added to the rectory and made it suitable for his large family) she still lived at Somersby with her children. The daughters were growing up; the older sons were going to college. Frederick, the eldest, went first to Trinity, Cambridge, and his brothers followed him there in turn. Life was opening for them, they were seeing new aspects and places, and making new friends and bringing them home to their Lincolnshire rectory. The Oak Live thy life, Young and old, Like yon oak, Bright in spring, Living gold; Summer-rich Then; and then Autumn-changed, Soberer hued Gold again. All his leaves Fall'n at length, Look, he stands, Trunk and bough, Naked strength.