Geues me a pang, that inwardly dothe sting,
When that I thinke what griefe it is againe,
To hue and lacke the thing should ridde my paine.
P145: Ponmi ove’l sole occide i fiori e l’erba
12. Vow to loue faithfully howsoever he be rewarded
Set me wheras the sunne doth parche the grene,
Or where his beames do not dissolue the yse:
In temperate heate where he is felt and sene:
In presence prest of people madde or wise.
Set me in hye, or yet in lowe degree:
In longest night, or in the shortest daye:
In clearest skye, or where clowdes thickest be:
In lusty youth, or when my heeres are graye.
Set me in heauen, in earth, or els in hell,
10 In hyll, or dale, or in the fomyng flood:
Thrall, or at large, aliue where so I dwell:
Sicke, or in health: in euyll fame, or good.
Hers will I be, and onely with this thought
Content my selfe, although my chaunce be nought.
P11: Lassare il velo o per sole o per ombra
13. Complaint that his ladie after she knew of his loue kept her face alway hidden from him
I neuer sawe my Ladye laye apart
Her cornet blacke, in colde nor yet in heate,
Sith first she knew my griefe was growen so great,
Which other fansies driueth from my hart
That to my selfe I do the thought reserue,
The which vnwares did wounde my wofull brest:
But on her face mine eyes mought neuer rest,
Yet, sins she knew I did her loue and serue
Her golden tresses cladde alway with blacke,
10 Her smilyng lokes that hid thus euermore,
And that restraines whiche I desire so sore.
So dothe this cornet gouerne me alacke:
In somer, sunne: in winters breath, a frost:
Wherby the light of her faire lokes I lost.
SIR THOMAS WYATT (c. 1503–42)
Courtier, statesman and poet in the court of Henry VIII, Sir Thomas Wyatt travelled to Italy in 1527 where he became fascinated by the poetry of Petrarch. He was the first to write sonnets in English and the first to attempt to deal poetically with the intricacies of Petrarch’s canzoni (P37 and P360). He is the most important crafter of English verse in the early sixteenth century. His translation of Ρ190 is perhaps an autobiographical attempt to memorialize his purported affair with Anne Boleyn. For Tottel’s regularizing of his poetry in the Miscellany, see the Introduction, pp. xix–xx. The Egerton Manuscript at the British Library is Wyatt’s autograph copybook (BL2711) and his translations of Ρ190 and Ρ199 are taken from it.
P140: Amor, che nel penser mio vive e regna
37. The louer for shamefastnesse hideth his desire within his faithfull hart
The longe loue, that in my thought I harber,
And in my hart doth kepe his residence,
Into my face preaseth with bold pretence,
And there campeth, displaying his banner.
She that me learns to loue, and to suffer,
And willes that my trust, and lustes negligence
Be reined by reason, shame, and reuerence,
With his hardinesse takes displeasure.
Wherwith loue to the hartes forest he fleeth,
10 Leauyng his enterprise with paine and crye,
And there him hideth and not appeareth.
What may I do? when my maister feareth,
But in the field with him to Hue and dye,
For good is the life, endyng faithfully.
P82: Io non fu’ d’amar voi lassato unquanco
38. The louer waxeth wiser, and will not die for affection
Yet was I neuer of your loue agreued,
Nor neuer shall, while that my life doth last:
But of hatyng my self, that date is past,
And teares continual sore haue me weried.
I will not yet in my graue be buried,
Nor on my tombe your name haue fixed fast,
As cruel cause, that did my sprite sone hast.
From thunhappy boones by great sighes stirred.
Then if an hart of amorous fayth and will
10 Content your minde withouten doyng grief:
Please it you so to this to do relief.
If otherwise you seke for to fulfill
Your wrath: you erre, and shal not as you wene,
And you your self the cause therof haue bene.
P258: Vive faville uscian de’ duo hex lumi
40. The louer describeth his being striken with sight of his loue
The liuely sparkes, that issue from those eyes,
Against the which there vaileth no defence,
Haue perst my hart, and done it none offence,
With quakyng pleasure, more then once or twise.
Was neuer man could any thing deuise,
Sunne beames to turne with so great vehemence
To dase mans sight, as by their bright presence
Dased am I, much like vnto the gise
Of one striken with dint of lightenyng,
10 Blind with the stroke, and errying here and there.
So call I for helpe, I not when, nor where,
The payne of my fall paciently bearyng.
For streight after the blase (as is no wonder)
Of deadly noyse heare I the fearfull thunder.
P169: Pien d’un vago penser che me desvia
41. The waueryng louer wylleth, and dreadeth, to moue his desire
Such vain thought, as wonted to mislead me
In desert hope by well assured mone,
Makes me from company to Hue alone,
In folowyng her whom reason bids me fle.
And after her my hart would faine be gone:
But armed sighes my way do stop anone,
Twixt hope and dread lockyng my libertie.
So fleeth she by gentle crueltie.
Yet as I gesse vnder disdainfull brow
10 One beame of ruth is in her cloudy loke:
Which comfortes the mind, that erst for fear shoke.
That bolded straight the way then seke I how
To vtter forth the smart I bide within:
But such it is, I not how to begyn.
P102: Cesare, poi che ’l traditor d’Egitto
45. Of others fained sorrow, and the louers fained mirth
Cesar, when that the traytour of Egypt
With thonorable hed did him present,
Coueryng his hartes gladnesse, did represent
Plaint with his teares outward, as it is writ.
Eke Hannibal, when fortune him outshyt
Clene from his reigne, and from all his entent,
Laught to his folke, whom sorow did torment,
His cruel despite for to disgorge and quit.
So chanceth me, that euery passion
10 The minde hideth by colour contrary,
With fayned visage, now sad, now mery.
Wherby, if that I laugh at any season:
It is because I haue none other way
To cloke my care, but vnder sport and play.
P19: Son animali al mondo de sí altera
47. How the louer perisheth in his delight, as the flie in the fire
Some fowles there be, that haue so perfit sight
Against the sunne their eies for to defend:
And some, because the light doth them offend,
Neuer appeare, but in the darke, or night.
Other reioyce, to se the fire so bryght,
And wene to play in it, as they pretend:
But find contrary of it, that they intend.
Alas, of that sort may I be, by right.
For to withstand her loke I am not able:
10 Yet can I not hide me in no dark place:
So foloweth me remembrance of that face:
That with my
teary eyn, swolne, and vnstable,
My desteny to beholde her doth me lead:
And yet I knowe, I runne into the glead.
P49: Perch’io t’abbia guardato di menzogna
48. Against his tong that failed to vtter his sutes
Because I still kept thee fro lyes, and blame,
And to my power alwayes thee honoured,
Vnkind tongue, to yll hast thou me rendred,
For such desert to do me wreke and shame.
In nede of succour most when that I am,
To aske reward: thou standst like one afraied,
Alway most cold: and if one word be sayd,
As in a dreame, vnperfit is the same.
And ye salt teares, agaynst my wyll eche nyght,
10 That are wyth me, when I would be alone:
Then are ye gone, when I should make my mone.
And ye so ready sighes, to make me shright,
Then are ye slacke, when that ye should outstart.
And onely doth my loke declare my hart.
P134: Pace non trovo e non ò da far guerra
49. Description of the contrarious passions in a louer
I find no peace, and all my warre is done:
I feare, and hope: I burne, and frese like yse:
I flye aloft, yet can I not arise:
And nought I haue, and all the worlde I season.
That lockes nor loseth, holdeth me in pryson,
And holdes me not, yet can I scape no wise:
Nor lettes me lyue, nor dye, at my deuise,
And yet of death it geueth me occasion.
Without eye I se, without tong I playne:
10 I wish to perysh, yet I aske for helth:
I loue another, and thus I hate my selfe.
I fede me in sorow, and laugh in all my payne.
Lo, thus displeaseth me both death and life.
And my delight is causer of this strife.
P189: Passa la nave mia colma d’oblio
50. The louer compareth his state to a shippe in perilous storme tossed on the sea
My galley charged with forgetfulnesse,
Through sharpe seas, in winter nightes doth passe,
Twene rocke, and rocke: and eke my fo (alas)
That is my lord, stereth with cruelnesse:
And euery houre, a thought in readinesse,
As though that death were light, in such a case.
An endlesse wynd doth teare the sayle apace
Of forced sighes, and trusty fearfulnesse.
A rayne of teares, a clowde of darke disdayne
10 Haue done the weried coardes great hinderance,
Wrethed with errour, and wyth ignorance.
The starres be hidde, that leade me to this payne.
Drownde is reason that should be my comfort:
And I remayne, dispearyng of the port.
P173: Mirando’l sol de’ begli occhi sereno
51. Of douteous loue
Avisyng the bright beames of those fayre eyes,
Where he abides that mine oft moistes and washeth:
The weried mynd streight from the hart departeth,
To rest within hys worldly Paradise,
And bitter findes the swete, vnder this gyse.
What webbes there he hath wrought, well he perceaueth
Wherby then with him self on loue he playneth,
That spurs wyth fire, and brydleth eke with yse.
In such extremity thus is he brought:
10 Frosen now cold, and now he standes in flame:
Twixt wo, and welth: betwixt earnest, and game:
With seldome glad, and many a diuers thought:
In sore repentance of hys hardinesse.
Of such a roote lo cometh frute frutelesse.
P360: Quell’antico mio dolce empio signore
64. Wiates complaint vpon Loue, to Reason: with Loues answer
Myne olde dere enmy, my froward maister,
Afore that Quene, I causde to be accited,
Which holdeth the diuine part of our nature,
That, like as golde, in fire he mought be tryed.
Charged with dolour, there I me presented
With horrible feare, as one that greatly dredeth
A wrongfull death, and iustice alway seketh.
And thus I sayd: once my left foote, Madame,
When I was yong, I set within his reigne:
10 Wherby other than fiersly burning flame I neuer felt,
But many a greuous pain. Torment I suffred, angre, and disdain:
That mine oppressed pacience was past,
And I mine owne life hated, at the last.
Thus hitherto haue I my time passed
In pain and smart. What wayes profitable:
How many pleasant dayes haue me escaped,
In seruing this false lyer so deceauable?
What wit haue wordes so prest, and forceable,
That may conteyn my great mishappinesse,
20 And iust complaintes of his vngentlenesse?
So small hony, much aloes, and gall,
In bitternesse, my blinde life hath ytasted.
His false semblance, that turneth as a ball:
With fair and amorous daunce, made me be traced,
And, where I had my thought, and mynde araced,
From earthly frailnesse, and from vayn pleasure,
Me from my rest he toke, and set in errour:
God made he me regard lesse, than I ought,
And to my self to take right litle hede:
30 And for a woman haue I set at nought
All other thoughtes: in this onely to spede.
And he was onely counseler of this dede:
Whettyng alwayes my youthly frayle desire
On cruell whetston, tempered with fire.
But (Oh alas) where, had I euer wit?
Or other gift, geuen to me of nature?
That sooner shalbe changed my weried sprite:
Then the obstinate wyll, that is my ruler.
So robbeth he my fredom with displeasure,
40 This wicked traytour, whom I thus accuse:
That bitter life hath turned in pleasant vse.
He hath me hasted, thorough diuers regions:
Through desert wodes, and sharp hye mountaines:
Through fro ward people, and through bitter passions:
Through rocky seas, and ouer hilles and plaines:
With wery trauell, and with laborous paynes:
Alwayes in trouble and in tediousnesse:
All in errour, and dangerous distresse,
But nother he, nor she, my tother fo,
50 For all my flight, dyd euer me forsake:
That though my timely death hath been to slow
That me as yet, it hath not ouertake:
The heauenly goddes of pity doe it slake.
And, note they this his cruell tiranny,
That fedes him, with my care, and misery.
Since I was his, hower rested I neuer,
Nor loke to do: and eke the waky nightes
The banished slepe may in no wise recouer.
By guile, and force, ouer my thralled sprites,
60 He is ruler: since which bel neuer strikes,
That I heare not as sounding to renue
My plaintes. Himself, he knoweth, that I say true.
For, neuer wormes olde rotten stocke haue eaten:
As he my hart, where he is resident,
And doth the same with death dayly threaten.
Thence come the teares, and thence the bitter torment:
The sighes: the wordes, and eke the languishment:
That noy both me, and parauenture other.
Iudge thou: that knowest the one, and eke the tother.
70 Mine aduersair, with such greuous reproofe,
Thus he began. Heare Lady, thother part:
That the plain troth, from which he draweth aloofe,
This vnkinde man may shew, ere that I
part.
In his yong age, I toke him from that art,
That selleth wordes, and makes a clatteryng Knight:
And of my wealth I gaue him the delight.
Now shames he not on me for to complain,
That held him euermore in pleasant gain,
From his desyre, that might haue been his payn.
80 Yet therby alone I brought him to some frame:
Which now, as wretchednes, he doth so blame:
And towarde honor quickned I his wit:
Where: as a daskard els he mought haue sit.
He knoweth, how grete Atride that made Troy freat,
And Hanniball, to Rome so troubelous:
Whom Homer honored, Achilles that great,
And Thaffricane Scipion the famous:
And many other, by much nurture glorious:
Whose fame, and honor did bring them aboue:
90 I did let fall in base dishonest loue.
And vnto him, though he vnworthy were:
I chose the best of many a Milion:
That, under sonne yet neuer was her pere,
Of wisdom, womanhod, and of discrecion:
And of my grace I gaue her such a facion,
And eke such way I taught her for to teache,
That neuer base thought his hart so hye might reche,
Euermore thus to content his maistresse,
That was his onely frame of honesty,
100 I stirred him still, toward gentlenesse:
And causde him to regard fidelity.
Pacience I taught him in aduersity.
Such vertues learned, he in my great schole:
Wherof repenteth, now the ignorant foole.
These, were the same deceites, and bitter gall,
That I haue vsed, the torment, and the anger:
Sweter, then euer dyd to other fall,
Of right good sede yll frute loe thus I gather.
And so shall he, that the vnkinde dothe further,
110 A Serpent nourish I vnder my wing:
And now of nature, ginneth he to styng.
And for to tell, at last, my great seruise.
From thousand dishonesties haue I him drawen:
That, by my meanes, him in no maner wyse.
Neuer vile pleasure once hath ouerthrowen.
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