John Ford


Born
in Ilsington, Devon, The United Kingdom
April 17, 1586

Died
January 01, 1640

Genre


John Ford (baptised 17 April 1586 – c. 1640?) was an English Jacobean and Caroline playwright and poet born in Ilsington in Devon in 1586.

Ford left home to study in London, although more specific details are unclear — a sixteen-year-old John Ford of Devon was admitted to Exeter College, Oxford on 26 March 1601, but this was when the dramatist had not yet reached his sixteenth birthday. He joined an institution that was a prestigious law school but also a centre of literary and dramatic activity — the Middle Temple. A prominent junior member in 1601 was the playwright John Marston. (It is unknown whether Ford ever actually studied law while a resident of the Middle Temple, or whether he was strictly a gentleman boarder, which was a common ar
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The Broken Heart

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Love's Sacrifice

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The Witch of Edmonton

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'Tis Pity She's a Whore: An...

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2.80 avg rating — 5 ratings — published 2010 — 10 editions
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The Plays of John Ford: Tis...

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Plays Of John Ford

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really liked it 4.00 avg rating — 1 rating — published 2007 — 2 editions
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More books by John Ford…
“Revenge proves its own executioner.”
John Ford, The Broken Heart

“Alas, poor gentleman,
He look’d not like the ruins of his youth
But like the ruins of those ruins.”
John Ford, The Broken Heart

“Lost, I am Lost! My fates have doomed my death.
The more I strive, I love; the more I love,
The less I hope. I see my ruin, certain.
What judgement or endeavors could apply
To my incurable and restless wounds
I throughly have examined, but in vain.
Oh, that it were not in religion sin
To make our love a god and worship it!
I have even wearied heaven with prayers, dried up
The spring of my continual tears, even starved
My veins with daily fasts; what wit or art
Could counsel, I have practiced. But, alas,
I find all these but dreams and old men's tales
To fright unsteady youth; I'm still the same.
Or I must speak or burst. Tis not, I know,
My lust, but tis my fate that leads me on.
Keep fear and low fainthearted shame with slaves!
I'll tell her that I love her, through my heart
Were rated at the price of that attempt.”
John Ford, Tis Pity She's A Whore

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