the duke of earl


John Sheffield, 1st Duke of Buckingham and Normanby, KG, PC (7 April 1648 – 24 February 1721) 

English poet and Tory politician of the late Stuart period who served as Lord Privy Seal and Lord President of the Council. He was also known by his original title, Lord Mulgrave.

Buckingham was the author of An Account of the Revolution and some other essays, and of numerous poems, among them the Essay on Poetry and the Essay on Satire. It is probable that the Essay on Satire, which attacked many notable persons, “sauntering Charles” amongst others, was circulated in MS. It was often attributed at the time to Dryden, who accordingly suffered a thrashing at the hands of Rochester’s bravoes for the reflections it contained upon the earl. Mulgrave was a patron of Dryden, who may possibly have revised it, but was certainly not responsible, although it is commonly printed with his works. Mulgrave adapted Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, breaking it up into two plays, Julius Caesar and Marcus Brutus. He introduced choruses between the acts, two of these being written by Pope, and an incongruous love scene between Brutus and Portia. He was a constant friend and patron of Pope, who expressed a flattering opinion of his Essay on Poetry

In 1721 Edmund Curl published a pirated edition of his works, and was brought before the bar of the House of Lords for breach of privilege accordingly. An authorized edition under the superintendence of Pope appeared in 1723, but the authorities cut out the Account of the Revolution and The Feast of the Gods on account of their alleged Jacobite tendencies. These were printed at the Hague in 1727. Pope disingenuously repudiated any knowledge of the contents. Other editions reappeared in 1723, 1726, 1729, 1740 and 1753. His Poems were included in Johnson’s and other editions of the British poets. (Wikipedia)

From our stacks: The Works of John Sheffield, Earl of Mulgrave, Marquis of Normanby, and Duke of Buckingham. Vol. II. The Third Edition, Corrected. London: Printed for T. Wotton, against St. Dunstan’s Church, Fleet-Street; D. Browne, without Temple-Bar; T. Astley, in St. Paul’s Church-yard; A. Millar, against St. Clement’s Church, in the Strand; J. Stagg, in Westminster-Hall; and S. Williamson. 1740.


Queen Elizabeth and Prince William, Prince Philip, The Duke of Cambridge and Prince Edward .attend a service of thanksgiving at Westminster Abbey for Lord Antony Armstrong-Jones. Mr. Armstrong-Jones was married to Her Majesty’s sister Princess Margaret and is the father of HM’s nephe and neice. Queen Elizabeth gave condolences to her nephew the new Earl of Snowdon (with  Margareta Armstrong-Jones and Chales Armstrong-Jones, Viscount Linley, neice Sarah Chatto. Franices Armstrong-Jones who is a daughter of the Lord Snowdon. April 7, 2017


  1. Anne of York (10 August 1439 – 14 January 1476), primarily wife of Henry Holland, 3rd Duke of Exeter, and secondly, Sir Thomas St. Leger.
  2. Edward IV of England (28 April 1442 – 9 April 1483).
  3. Edmund, Earl of Rutland (17 May 1443 – 30 December 1460).
  4. Elizabeth of York (22 April 1444 – possibly after January 1503), wife of John de la Pole, 2nd Duke of Suffolk.
  5. Margaret of York (3 May 1446 – 23 November 1503), married Charles I, Duke of Burgundy
  6. George Plantagenet, 1st Duke of Clarence (21 October 1449 – 18 February 1478), drowned in his favourite wine.
  7. Richard III of England (2 October 1452 – 22 August 1485), killed in battle.

I would like to request an imagine where the reader’s ex is Harry and she starts dating Draco and Harry finds out, lots of angst?

a/n- I seriously dislike how I wrote this, I think its so bad but I hope you don’t

If he were a bird, he’d be a hawk. Silent. Quick. Watchful. He views the world from the tips of his nose, eyes always evaluating. Slowly, he begins to evaluate her. 
Her name’s Y/n. She’s got h/c hair, e/c eyes, and skin as smooth as milk. He’s always been attracted to the strange and unusual. It’s odd how she dips out of the castle late at night. It’s curious, the way she hums a melody no one can place a finger on. It’s peculiar that she spends time in an abandoned classroom, an antique, muggle record player spinning an unknown vinyl. He’s intrigued. He’s fascinated, and when Harry Potter is fascinated, it’s a balanced mixture of adventure, with a fifty percent chance of disaster.
‘What’s that song?’ She spins around, hair falling in slow motion, as her lips pucker before parting. ‘It’s called Mr. Sandman.’ He nods, tentative steps guiding him towards her. She glances at him, her eyebrows drawn together with trepidation. ‘Why are you here?’ He smiles, lightly, taking a seat on a dusty desk. ‘I walk by this classroom every Thursday and Sunday, and have never found the will to walk in. I figured now was a good time.’ His kind, yet mysterious eyes found way to her’s, their pupils widening in mutual attraction. ‘I’m glad you did.’
The next day, they were walking hand-in-hand through the castle. Every girl was fuming and every boy was jealous, each student coveting the affairs of Y/n L/n and Harry Potter. However, he wasn’t the only boy fascinated by the secretive siren. 
The moon washed over her cheeks, blue and silver light finding way into her eyes. She sucked in a breath, dipping her toes into the lake. The iced chill climbed up her legs, residing in the pit of her spine. He hadn’t meant to notice her, she was Potter’s girl. Anyone stupid enough to hitch their wagon to the golden boy was of no interest to him. But her way about the world was to be studied. Everything she touched was carried like an artifact, her stance like a lost, Egyptian queen. He watched her body slink into the water, her knees, then hips, then elbows sinking with the ripples. ‘Are you just going to stand there and watch?’ His eyes widened, wondering when he found nerve to walk into the moonlight. ‘Yes.’ She smiled, resting her body against the grass as the waves swallowed her legs. ‘Don’t you just adore the midnight?’ He nodded, his mind lost while he sat next to her torso. ‘It’s a fine time of day.’ She began humming a faint tune, neither major nor minor, lost in a sea of thoughts. As the crickets filled the emptiness of the night, she spoke up, surprising him in a multitude of ways. ‘Do you think intrigue is equal to love? Or, is fame mutual to acceptance?’ He thought for a moment, before uncovering her true intention. ‘You aren’t in love with Potter.’ She heaved a sigh, before stretching her arms like a cat. ‘I don’t think I can love. At least, the doctors say I can’t.’ His lips parted, confused and dazed. Her eyes met his, a mellow smirk ghosting her expression. ‘I’m a diagnosed sociopath.’ He could tell he looked shocked, and alarmed, and scared, and addicted. She rolled over, her wet skirt sticking to her most vulnerable places. ‘I think it’s kind of impossible to love him.’ She picked at her nails. ‘But he is an awfully good shag.’ They met every night for the next six months. 
Over the summer, Y/n broke it off with Potter. Their candle burned out, desire no longer strong enough to bind them together. The same week she left Harry, she was in the Daily Prophet, spotted having a butterbeer with none other than Draco Malfoy, notorious bad guy. What the paper hadn’t mentioned was that Malfoy had just admitted his feelings. It was a mistake. He was a little bit tipsy, she was a little bit vulnerable, they were both a little bit horny. Clumsily apparating, they found themselves undressed in his bedroom, heavy panting and desperate clutches quivering in their bones. The day school began, it was the talk of the town. She was branded with the Malfoy seal, elite gems casually dangling from her neck, with expensive robes hugging her form. The Gryffindors were furious. Granger felt betrayed, Weasleys were preparing for war, but none of them could compare to Harry. Curses occupied his thoughts at all times, ways of revenge blocking his consciousness. He felt raped of love and affection. He began to wonder if she cheated while they were an item. Over the course of the next few years, spells and hexes and insults were hurled without reason, the houses more divided than any moment in the history of Hogwarts. Yet, nothing was like the day Harry heard of the wedding.
It was all over the Prophet. World leaders, Princes, Earls, Dukes, Lords, every high prospect of society gathered to the Manor to celebrate the betrothal of Malfoy and L/n, two respected families merging to form a union. He makes a decision: he will crash attend the engagement party. But, when Harry makes a decision, it’s a balanced mixture of adventure, with a fifty percent chance of disaster.
It’s easy for Draco to spot him across the hall. He’s underdressed, overly obvious, and not the least bit prepared for a brawl. He marches to the pile of black hair, ripping him from the crowd and launching him into the adjacent billiard room. ‘What on earth are you doing here, Potter?’ He’s fuming. Harry snarls, clenching his fists and adjusting his glasses. ‘I wanted to wish you both a wonderful wedding, is all.’ Draco scoffs, gripping his wand and making a show of it, too. ‘I suggest you leave before you make a scene, like you always do-’ ‘Aren’t you curious as to why she picked you?’ His snarl softened, ‘What are you on about?’ Harry chuckled, rolling a stray ball across the mahogany pool table. ‘I’m just saying, it’s a wonder why she chose an ex-death eater over me, you know? It’s a bit odd to think about-’ ‘What are you-’ ‘And it wasn’t the sex. Because the sex was definitely good. So if I could have given her the great sex, and the good, comfortable life, why in the bloody hell would she choose you?’ Draco began shaking, out of rage, and sadness, and fear. ‘S-She loves me. She loves me, and she never loved you-’ ‘SHE CAN’T LOVE!’ The world stopped. Malfoy swallowed, his wand losing balance in his fingertips. ‘You’re wrong, she-’ ‘She doesn’t love you, Malfoy. She loves your money, and status, and your power. She can’t love you.’ Letting a tear slip, he took a step forward, face inches apart from Harry’s. ‘Leave. Now. Go, before I crucio you into oblivion.’ Although Potter left without another word, his dialogue remained floating in Draco’s head. Yet, when he saw his bride glide towards the altar, all insecure thoughts vanished with a puff. Y/n watched with a smile as her future husband sniffled with glee. She lifted a calm hand to her collarbone, faintly touching her priceless jewels, reminding herself one more that she was marrying the money, and not the man.  

waitingforeleven  asked:

Hello, my friend! For your ficlet giveaway, how about FS + THE CROWN :D (any scene/moment you want!) Thanks for doing this! <3

@whatlighttasteslike​ *heavy sigh* do I thank you or scold you for enabling me? XP I had so much fun writing this - but now it’s gonna end up being a full (if shortish) fic at some point when I finish my vastly delayed FSSV present. <3
{Much of this scene includes dialogue from the first episode.}
Anniversary Ficlet 3/8.
Rated G. FitzSimmons. “The Crown” (Queen Elizabeth & Prince Philip) AU.

The room’s familiar gilding served as no distraction for Jemma as she paced the elaborate carpet that adorned the floor. Her dress swished around her legs, and she resisted the urge to curl her fingers into the cream-colored fabric. That would not be ladylike. Voices droned on in the room across the hall, and although she knew that it would be seen as very improper for her to be present or even eavesdrop, the latter was precisely what she was trying to do. It just didn’t seem fair for her to be excluded from such an important occasion; but, that’s just how things were done, and Crown Princess Jemma Simmons was excellent at following royal protocol. She’d been an expert ever since she was a child, and she wasn’t going to stop now. Still, she paced back and forth in front of the drawing room door, managing to catch a handful of words:

…From henceforth, he will be known as Lieutenant Leopold James Fitz, Royal Navy. Leopold Fitz, I grant you and the heirs, male of your body, lawfully begotten, the dignities of Baron Greenwich, Earl of Meioneth and Duke of Edinburgh, and Knight Companion of our Most Noble Order of the Garter.”

Reserved applause sounded through the hallway, and Jemma realized that she was grinning in an entirely unseemly way, but she couldn’t convince herself to stop. When she accidentally caught the eye of a nearby butler, she quickly tried to school her face into an expression of polite contentment, and gave him a nod. Then she turned on her heel and paced back to the other side of the room, wholly impatient for the men’s congratulating to finish so that she could finally, finally see her fiancé.

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