Richard Barnfield
The late sixteenth century in England was a period of considerable activity in vernacular poetry, with writers producing lyric verse in the English language across a range of forms and registers. Richard Barnfield was born in Norbury in 1574 and worked as a poet and writer within this broad literary period.
Barnfield was educated at the University of Oxford, and he composed his work in the English language. As a poet and writer, he was among those who practiced verse in English during a time when the language was being used with increasing ambition and regularity as a literary medium. He was born in Norbury and carried that formation through an Oxford education before pursuing his work as a writer. The facts of his life place him as an English-language poet with a university education, operating in the decades that spanned the turn of the seventeenth century.
Barnfield died in 1627. The surviving record identifies him clearly as a poet and writer, educated at Oxford, who used English as his literary language throughout his career. While the historical record does not preserve a detailed account of critical reception or specific honors conferred upon him, the basic outline of his life — born in Norbury, educated at one of England's principal universities, and active as a poet writing in English — situates him as a participant in the literary culture of his era. His death in 1627 marks the close of a life that extended from the final quarter of the sixteenth century into the early decades of the seventeenth.
Quotes by Richard Barnfield

Money is the sovereign queen of all delights – for her, the lawyer pleads, the soldier fights.

He that is thy friend indeed, – He will help thee in thy need: – If thou sorrow, he will weep; – If you wake, he cannot sleep; – Thus of every grief in heart – He with thee doth bear a part.

Love is a fiend, a fire, a heaven, a hell Where pleasure, pain, and sad repentance dwell

He that is thy friend indeed, - He will help thee in thy need: - If thou sorrow, he will weep; - If you wake, he cannot sleep; - Thus of every grief in heart - He with thee doth bear a part.

As it fell upon a day In the merry month of May, Sitting in a pleasant shade Which a grove of myrtles made.

Every one that flatters thee Is no friend in misery. Words are easy, like the wind, Faithful friends are hard to find.

Nothing is more certain than uncertainties: / Fortune is full of fresh variety; / Constant in nothing but inconstancy.


