by Thomas Wyatt
‘He knoweth how great Atrides, that made Troy fret; 85
And Hannibal to Rome so troublous;
Whom Homer honoured, Achilles that great;
And African Scipion, the famous;
And many other, by much honour glorious;
Whose fame and acts did lift them up above; 90
I did let fall in base dishonest love.
‘And unto him, though he unworthy were,
I chose the best of many a million;
That under sun yet never was her peer
Of wisdom, womanhood, and of discretion; 95
And of my grace I gave her such a fashion,
And eke such way I taught her for to teach,
That never base thought his heart so high might reach.
‘Evermore thus to content his mistress,
That was his only frame of honesty, 100
I stirred him still toward gentleness;
And caused him to regard fidelity;
Patience I taught him in adversity:
Such virtues learned he in my great school;
Whereof repenteth now the ignorant fool. 105
‘These were the same deceits, and bitter gall,
That I have used, the torment and the anger,
Sweeter than ever did to other fall;
Of right good seed ill fruit, lo, thus I gather;
And so shall he that the unkind doth further: 110
A serpent nourish I under my wing,
And now of nature ‘ginneth he to sting.
‘And for to tell, at last, my great service;
From thousand dishonesties have I him drawen,
That by my means, him in no manner wise 115
Never vile pleasure once hath overthrowen;
Where in his deed, shame hath him always gnawen;
Doubting report that should come to her ear:
Whom now he blames, her wonted he to fear.
‘Whatever he hath of any honest custom, 120
Of her, and me, that holds he every whit:
But lo, yet never was there nightly phantom
So far in error, as he is from his wit
To plain on us: he striveth with the bit,
Which may rule him, and do him ease, and pain, 125
And in one hour make all his grief his gain.
‘But one thing yet there is, above all other:
I gave him wings, wherewith he might upfly
To honour and fame; and if he would to higher
Than mortal things, above the starry sky: 130
Considering the pleasure that an eye
Might give in earth, by reason of the love;
What should that be that lasteth still above?
‘And he the same himself hath said ere this:
But now, forgotten is both that and I, 135
That gave him her, his only wealth and bliss.’
And at this word, with deadly shriek and cry,
‘Thou gave her once,’ quod I, ‘but by and by
Thou took her ayen from me, that woe-worth thee!’
‘Not I, but price; more worth than thou.’ quod he. 140
At last, each other for himself concluded,
I trembling still, but he, with small reverence;
‘Lo, thus, as we each other have accused,
Dear lady, now we wait thine only sentence.’
She smiling, at the whisted audience, 145
‘It liketh me,’ quod she, ‘to have heard your question,
But longer time doth ask a resolution.’
COMPLAINT OF THE ABSENCE OF HIS LOVE
SO feeble is the thread, that doth the burden stay
Of my poor life; in heavy plight, that falleth in decay;
That, but it have elsewhere some aid or some succours,
The running spindle of my fate anon shall end his course.
For since the unhappy hour, that did me to depart, 5
From my sweet weal, one only hope hath stayed my life apart:
Which doth persuade such words unto my sored mind,
‘Maintain thyself, O woful wight, some better luck to find:
For though thou be deprived from thy desired sight,
Who can thee tell, if thy return be for thy more delight? 10
Or, who can tell, thy loss if thou mayst once recover,
Some pleasant hour thy woe may wrap, and thee defend and cover.’
Thus in distrust as yet it hath my life sustained;
But now, alas, I see it faint, and I by trust am trained.
The time doth fleet, and I see how the hours do bend 15
So fast, that I have scant the space to mark my coming end.
Westward the sun from out the east scant shews his light,
When in the west he hides him straight, within the dark of night;
And comes as fast, where he began his path awry,
From east to west, from west to east, so doth his journey lie. 20
The life so short, so frail, that mortal men live here;
So great a weight, so heavy charge the bodies that we bear;
That when I think upon the distance and the space,
That doth so far divide me from my dear desired face,
I know not how t’ attain the wings that I require, 25
To lift me up, that I might fly, to follow my desire.
Thus of that hope, that doth my life something sustain,
Alas, I fear, and partly feel, full little doth remain.
Each place doth bring me grief, where I do not behold
Those lively eyes, which of my thoughts were wont the keys to hold. 30
Those thoughts were pleasant sweet, whilst I enjoy’d that grace;
My pleasure past, my present pain when I might well embrace.
And for because my want should more my woe increase;
In watch, in sleep, both day and night, my will doth never cease.
That thing to wish, whereof since I did lose the sight, 35
Was never thing that might in ought my woful heart delight.
Th’ uneasy life I lead doth teach me for to mete
The floods, the seas, the lands, the hills, that doth them intermete
‘Tween me, and those shene lights that wonted for to clear
My darked pangs of cloudy thoughts, as bright as Phœbus’ sphere. 40
It teacheth me also what was my pleasant state,
The more to feel, by such record, how that my wealth doth bate.
If such record, alas, provoke the inflamed mind,
Which sprang that day that I did leave the best of me behind:
If love forget himself by length of absence let, 45
Who doth me guide, O woful wretch, unto this baited net
Where doth increase my care, much better were for me,
As dumb as stone, all things forgot, still absent for to be.
Alas, the clear crystal, the bright transplendent glass
Doth not bewray the colours hid, which underneath it has; 50
As doth th’ accumbred sprite the thoughtful throes discover,
Of fierce delight, of fervent love, that in our hearts we cover:
Out by these eyes it sheweth that evermore delight,
In plaint and tears to seek redress; and eke both day and night,
Those kinds of pleasures most wherein men so rejoice, 55
To me they do redouble still of stormy sighs the voice.
For I am one of them whom plaint doth well content,
It fits me well mine absent wealth me seems for to lament;
And with my tears to assay to charge mine eyes twain,
Like as my heart above the brink is fraughted full of pain: 60
And for because thereto, that those fair eyes to treat
Do me provoke; I will return, my plaint thus to repeat:
For, there is nothing else so toucheth me within;
Where they rule all, and I alone nought but the case, or skin:
Wherefore
I shall return to them, as well, or spring 65
From whom descends my mortal woe, above all other thing.
So shall mine eyes in pain accompany my heart,
That were the guides, that did it lead of love to feel the smart.
The crisped gold that doth surmount Apollo’s pride;
The lively streams of pleasant stars that under it doth glide; 70
Wherein the beams of love do still increase their heat,
Which yet so far touch me so near, in cold to make me sweat:
The wise and pleasant talk, so rare, or else alone,
That gave to me the courteous gift, that erst had never none;
Be far from me, alas, and every other thing 75
I might forbear with better will, than this that did me bring
With pleasant word and cheer, redress of linger’d pain,
And wonted oft in kindled will to virtue me to train.
Thus am I forced to hear, and hearken after news:
My comfort scant, my large desire in doubtful trust renews. 80
And yet with more delight to moan my woful case,
I must complain those hands, these arms that firmly do embrace
Me from myself, and rule the stern of my poor life;
The sweet disdains the pleasant wraths and eke the lovely strife,
That wonted well to tune in temper just, and meet, 85
The rage, that oft did make me err, by furor undiscreet.
All this is hid fro me, with sharp and ragged hills,
At others’ will my long abode my deep despair fulfils;
And if my hope sometime rise up by some redress,
It stumbleth straight, for feeble faint, my fear hath such excess. 90
Such is the sort of hope, the less for more desire,
And yet I trust ere that I die to see that I require:
The resting-place of love, where virtue dwells and grows,
There I desire my weary life sometime may take repose.
My Song, thou shalt attain to find that pleasant place, 95
Where she doth live, by whom I live: may chance to have this grace,
When she hath read, and seen the grief wherein I serve,
Between her breasts she shall thee put, there shall she thee reserve:
Then tell her that I come, she shall me shortly see,
And if for weight the body fail, the soul shall to her flee. 100
THE SONG OF IOPAS, UNFINISHED
WHEN Dido feasted the wand’ring Trojan knight,
Whom Juno’s wrath with storms did force in Libic sands to light;
That mighty Atlas taught, the supper lasting long,
With crisped locks on golden harp Iopas sang in song:
‘That same,’ quod he, ‘that we the World do call and name, 5
Of heaven and earth with all contents, it is the very frame.
Or thus, of heavenly powers by more power kept in one;
Repugnant kinds, in mids of whom the earth hath place alone;
Firm, round, of living things the mother, place, and nurse;
Without the which in equal weight, this heaven doth hold his course: 10
And it is call’d by name the first and moving heaven.
The firmament is placed next, containing other seven.
Of heavenly powers that same is planted full and thick,
As shining lights which we call stars, that therein cleave and stick:
With great swift sway, the first, and with his restless source, 15
Carrieth itself, and all those eight, in even continual course.
And of this world so round within that rolling case,
Two points there be that never move, but firmly keep their place:
The one we see alway, the other stands object
Against the same, dividing just the ground by line direct; 20
Which by imagination he drawen from one to t’other
Toucheth the centre of the earth, for way there is none other:
And these be call’d the poles, described by stars not bright:
Arctic the one northward we see: Antarctic the other hight.
The line, that we devise from the one to t’other so, 25
As axle is; upon the which the heavens about do go;
Which of water nor earth, of air nor fire, have kind;
Therefore the substance of those same were hard for man to find:
But they been uncorrupt, simple, and pure unmixt;
And so we say been all those stars, that in those same be fixt: 30
And eke those erring seven, in circle as they stray;
So call’d, because against that first they have repugnant way;
And smaller by-ways too, scant sensible to man;
Too busy work for my poor harp; let sing them he that can.
The widest save the first, of all these nine above, 35
One hundred year doth ask of space, for one degree to move.
Of which degrees we make in the first moving heaven,
Three hundred and threescore, in parts justly divided even.
And yet there is another between those heavens two,
Whose moving is so sly, so slack, I name it not for now. 40
The seventh heaven or the shell, next to the starry sky;
All those degrees that gathereth up, with aged pace so sly:
And doth perform the same, as elders’ count hath been,
In nine and twenty years complete, and days almost sixteen;
Doth carry in his bowt the star of Saturn old, 45
A threat’ner of all living things with drought and with his cold.
The sixth whom this contains, doth stalk with younger pace,
And in twelve year doth somewhat more than t’other’s voyage was:
And this in it doth bear the star of Jove benign,
‘Tween Saturn’s malice and us men, friendly defending sign. 50
The fifth bears bloody Mars, that in three hundred days
And twice eleven with one full year hath finish’d all those ways.
A year doth ask the fourth, and hours thereto six,
And in the same the day his eye, the Sun, therein he sticks.
The third that govern’d is by that that governs me, 55
And love for love, and for no love provokes, as oft we see,
In like space doth perform that course, that did the other.
So doth the next unto the same, that second is in order:
But it doth bear the star, that call’d is Mercury;
That many a crafty secret step doth tread, as calcars try. 60
That sky is last, and fix’d next us those ways hath gone,
In seven-and-twenty common days, and eke the third of one;
And beareth with his sway the divers Moon about;
Now bright, now brown, now bent, now full, and now her light is out:
Thus have they of their own two movings all these Seven; 65
One, wherein they be carried still, each in his several heaven:
Another of themselves, where their bodies be laid
In by-ways, and in lesser rounds, as I afore have said;
Save of them all the Sun doth stray least from the straight:
The starry sky hath but one course, that we have call’d the eight. 70
And all these movings eight are meant from west to east;
Although they seem to climb aloft, I say from east to west.
But that is but by force of their first moving sky,
In twice twelve hours from east to east, that carrieth them by and by:
But mark we well also, these movings of these seven 75
Be not above the axletree of the first moving heaven.
For they have their two poles directly the one to the other,’ &c.
Songs and Epigrams
A DESCRIPTION OF SUCH A ONE AS HE WOULD LOVE
A FACE that should content me wondrous well,
Should not be fair, but lovely to
behold;
Of lively look, all grief for to repel;
With right good grace, so would I that it should
Speak without word, such words as none can tell: 5
Her tress also should be of crisped gold;
With wit, and these perchance I might be tried,
And knit again with knot, that should not slide.
WHY LOVE IS BLIND
OF purpose Love chose first for to be blind,
For, he with sight of that, that I behold,
Vanquish’d had been, against all godly kind:
His bow your hand, and truss should have unfold;
And he with me to serve had been assign’d: 5
But, for he blind, and reckless would him hold,
And still by chance his deadly strokes bestow;
With such as see, I serve, and suffer woe.
THE LOVER BLAMETH HIS INSTANT DESIRE
DESIRE, alas, my master and my foe,
So sore alter’d thyself, how mayst thou see?
Sometime thou seekest, and drives me to and fro;
Sometime thou lead’st, that leadeth thee and me.
What reason is to rule thy subject so, 5
By forced law, and mutability?
For where by thee I doubted to have blame,
Even now by hate again I doubt the same.
AGAINST HOARDERS OF MONEY
FOR shamefast harm of great and hateful need,
In deep despair, as did a wretch go,
With ready cord out of his life to speed,
His stumbling foot did find an hoard, lo,
Of gold, I say, where he prepar’d this deed, 5
And in exchange he left the cord tho.
He that had hid the gold, and found it not,
Of that he found he shap’d his neck a knot.
DESCRIPTION OF A GUN
VULCAN begat me, Minerva me taught,
Nature my mother, craft nourish’d me year by year;
Three bodies are my food, my strength is in nought,
Anger, wrath, waste, and noise are my children dear;
Guess, friend, what I am, and how I am wrought, 5
Monster of sea, or of land, or of elsewhere:
Know me, and use me, and I may thee defend,
And if I be thine enemy, I may thy life end.
OF THE MOTHER THAT EAT HER CHILD AT THE SIEGE OF JERUSALEM