by Thomas Wyatt
And if she take it again, she cares not.
Construe what this is, and tell not;
For I am fast sworn I may not.
THAT SPEAKING OR PROFFERING BRINGS ALWAY SPEEDING
SPEAK thou and speed where will or power ought helpeth;
Where power doth want, will must be won by wealth:
For need will speed, where will works not his kind;
And gain thy foes thy friends shall cause thee find:
For suit and gold, what do not they obtain? 5
Of good and bad the tryers are these twain.
T. WYATT OF LOVE
LIKE as the wind with raging blast
Doth cause each tree to bow and bend;
Even so do I spend my time in waste,
My life consuming unto an end.
For as the flame by force doth quench the fire, 5
And running streams consume the rain;
Even so do I myself desire
To augment my grief and deadly pain.
Whereas I find that what is what,
And cold is cold by course of kind, 10
So shall I knit an endless knot;
Such fruit in love, alas! I find.
When I foresaw those crystal streams,
Whose beauty doth cause my mortal wound,
I little thought within those beams 15
So sweet a venom for to have found.
I feel and see my own decay;
As one that beareth flame in his breast,
Forgetful thought to put away
The thing that breedeth my unrest. 20
Like as the fly doth seek the flame,
And afterward playeth in the fire,
Who findeth her woe, and seeketh her game,
Whose grief doth grow of her own desire.
Like as the spider doth draw her line, 25
As labour lost so is my suit;
The gain is hers, the loss is mine:
Of evil-sown seed such is the fruit.
Satires
OF THE MEAN AND SURE ESTATE, WRITTEN TO JOHN POINS
MY mother’s maids, when they do sew and spin,
They sing a song made of the fieldish mouse:
That for because her livelode was but thin,
Would needs go see her townish sister’s house.
She thought herself endured to grievous pain, 5
The stormy blasts her cave so sore did souse;
That when the furrows swimmed with the rain,
She must lie cold and wet, in sorry plight;
And worse than that, bare meat there did remain
To comfort her, when she her house had dight; 10
Sometime a barley corn, sometime a bean;
For which she laboured hard both day and night,
In harvest time, while she might go and glean.
And when her store was stroyed with the flood,
Then wellaway, for she undone was clean: 15
Then was she fain to take, instead of food;
Sleep if she might, her hunger to beguile.
‘My sister,’ quod she, ‘hath a living good;
And hence from me she dwelleth not a mile.
In cold and storm, she lieth warm and dry 20
In bed of down; the dirt doth not defile
Her tender foot, she labours not as I.
Richly she feeds, and at the rich man’s cost;
And for her meat she needs not crave nor cry;
By sea, by land, of delicates the most, 25
Her cater seeks, and spareth for no peril:
She feeds on boil’d meat, baked meat, and roast,
And hath therefore no wit of charge nor travail.
And when she list, the liquor of the grape
Doth glad her heart till that her belly swell.’ 30
And at this journey makes she but a jape,
So forth she goes, trusting of all this wealth
With her Sister her part so for to shape,
That if she might there keep herself in health,
To live a lady, while her life do last. 35
And to the door now is she come by stealth;
And with her foot anon she scrapes full fast.
Th’ other for fear durst not well scarce appear;
Of every noise so was the wretch aghast.
At last she asked softly who was there; 40
And in her language as well as she could,
‘Peep,’ quod the other, ‘Sister, I am here.’
‘Peace,’ quod the town-mouse, ‘why speakest thou so loud?’
And by the hand she took her fair and well.
‘Welcome,’ quod she, ‘my Sister, by the rood.’ 45
She feasted her, that joy it was to tell
The fare they had, they drank the wine so clear;
And as to purpose now and then it fell,
So cheered her with, ‘How, Sister, what cheer?’
Amid this joy befell a sorry chance, 50
That wellaway, the stranger bought full dear
The fare she had. For as she look’d askance,
Under a stool she spied two steaming eyes
In a round head, with sharp ears. In France
Was never mouse so fear’d, for the unwise 55
Had not yseen such a beast before.
Yet had nature taught her after her guise
To know her foe, and dread him evermore.
The town mouse fled, she knew whither to go;
The other had no shift, but wonders sore; 60
Fear’d of her life, at home she wished her tho,
And to the door, alas, as she did skip,
The heaven it would, lo, and eke her chance was so
At the threshold her sely foot did trip;
And ere she might recover it again, 65
The traitor cat had caught her by the hip,
And made her there against her will remain,
That had forgot her power, surety, and rest,
For seeking wealth, wherein she thought to reign.
Alas, my Poins, how men do seek the best, 70
And find the worst, by error as they stray;
And no marvel, when sight is so opprest,
And blinds the guide, anon out of the way
Goeth guide and all in seeking quiet life.
O wretched minds, there is no gold that may 75
Grant that you seek, no war, no peace, no strife:
No, no, although thy head were hoop’d with gold,
Serjeant with mace, with halbert, sword, nor knife,
Cannot repulse the care that follow should.
Each kind of life hath with him his disease: 80
Live in delights even as thy lust would,
And thou shalt find, when lust doth most thee please,
It irketh straight, and by itself doth fade.
A small thing is it that may thy mind appease?
None of you all there is, that is so mad, 85
To seek for grapes on brambles or on briers:
Nor none I trow, that hath a wit so bad,
To set his hay for coneys over rivers;
Nor ye set not a drag-net for a hare.
And yet the thing, that most is your desire, 90
You do mis-seek with more travail and care.
Make plain thine heart, that it be not knotted
With hope or dread, and see thy will be bare
From all affects, whom vice hath never spotted.
Thyself content with that is thee assigned, 95
And use it well that is to thee allotted;
Then seek no more out of thyself to find
The thing that thou hast sought so long before:
For thou shalt feel it sticking in thy mind.
Made, if ye list to continue your sore, 100
Let present pass, and gape on time to come,
And deep thyself in travail more and more.
Henceforth, my Poins, this shall be all and sum;
T
hese wretched fools shall have nought else of me;
But, to the great God, and to his doom, 105
None other pain pray I for them to be;
But when the rage doth lead them from the right,
That looking backward Virtue they may see,
Even as she is, so goodly fair and bright:
And whilst they clasp their lusts in arms across, 110
Grant them, good Lord, as thou mayst of thy might,
To fret inward, for losing such a loss.
OF THE COURTIER’S LIFE, WRITTEN TO JOHN POINS
MINE own John Poins, since ye delight to know
The causes why that homeward I me draw,
And fly the press of Courts, where so they go;
Rather than to live thrall under the awe
Of lordly looks; wrapped within my cloak; 5
To will and lust learning to set a law:
It is not that because I scorn or mock
The power of them, whom fortune here hath lent
Charge over us, of right to strike the stroke:
But true it is that I have always meant 10
Less to esteem them than the common sort,
Of outward things that judge in their intent
Without regard what inward doth resort.
I grant, sometime of glory that the fire
Doth touch my heart. Me list not to report 15
Blame by honour, and honour to desire.
But how may I this honour now attain,
That cannot dye the colour black a liar?
My Poins, I cannot frame my tune to feign,
To cloak the truth, for praise without desert 20
Of them that list all vice for to retain.
I cannot honour them that set their part
With Venus, and Bacchus, all their life long;
Nor hold my peace of them, although I smart
I cannot crouch nor kneel to such a wrong; 25
To worship them like God on earth alone,
That are as wolves these sely lambs among.
I cannot with my words complain and moan,
And suffer nought; nor smart without complaint:
Nor turn the word that from my mouth is gone. 30
I cannot speak and look like as a saint;
Use wiles for wit, and make deceit a pleasure
Call craft counsel, for lucre still to paint.
I cannot wrest the law to fill the coffer,
With innocent blood to feed myself fat, 35
And do most hurt, where that most help I offer.
I am not he, that can allow the state
Of high Cæsar, and damn Cato to die,
That with his death did scape out of the gate
From Cæsar’s hands, if Livy doth not lie; 40
And would not live where liberty was lost;
So did his heart the common wealth apply.
I am not he, such eloquence to boast,
To make the crow in singing as the swan;
Nor call the lion of coward beasts the most; 45
That cannot take a mouse as the cat can:
And he that dieth for hunger of the gold,
Call him Alexander; and say that Pan
Passeth Apollo in music manifold:
Praise Sir Topas for a noble tale, 50
And scorn the story that the Knight told:
Praise him for counsel that is drunk of ale;
Grin when he laughs, that beareth all the sway,
Frown when he frowns, and groan when he is pale
On others’ lust to hang both night and day. 55
None of these points could ever frame in me:
My wit is nought, I cannot learn the way.
And much the less of things that greater be,
That asken help of colours to devise:
To join the mean with each extremity, 60
With nearest virtue aye to clothe the vice:
And, as to purpose likewise it shall fall,
To press the virtue that it may not rise:
As drunkenness good fellowship to call;
The friendly foe, with his fair double face, 65
Say he is gentle, and courteous therewithal;
Affirm that Favel hath a goodly grace
In eloquence: and cruelty to name
Zeal of justice, and change in time and place:
And he that suffereth offence without blame, 70
Call him pitiful; and him true and plain,
That raileth rechless unto each man’s shame.
Say he is rude, that cannot lie and feign;
The lecher a lover; and tyranny
To be the right of a prince’s reign: 75
I cannot I, no, no, it will not be.
This is the cause that I could never yet
Hang on their sleeves that weigh, as thou mayst see,
A chip of chance more than a pound of wit:
This maketh me at home to hunt and hawk; 80
And in foul weather at my book to sit;
In frost and snow, then with my bow to stalk;
No man doth mark whereso I ride or go:
In lusty leas at liberty I walk;
And of these news I feel nor weal nor woe; 85
Save that a clog doth hang yet at my heel.
No force for that, for it is order’d so,
That I may leap both hedge and dyke full well.
I am not now in France, to judge the wine;
With savoury sauce those delicates to feel: 90
Nor yet in Spain, where one must him incline,
Rather than to be, outwardly to seem.
I meddle not with wits that be so fine;
Nor Flander’s cheer lets not my sight to deem
Of black, and white; nor takes my wits away 95
With beastliness; such do those beasts esteem,
Nor I am not, where truth is given in prey
For money, poison, and treason; of some
A common practice, used night and day.
But I am here in Kent and Christendom, 100
Among the Muses, where I read and rhyme;
Where if thou list, mine own John Poins, to come,
Thou shalt be judge how I do spend my time.
HOW TO USE THE COURT AND HIMSELF THEREIN, WRITTEN TO SIR FRANCIS BRIAN
A SPENDING hand that alway poureth out,
Had need to have a bringer-in as fast;
And on the stone that still doth turn about,
There groweth no moss: these proverbs yet do last;
Reason hath set them in so sure a place, 5
That length of years their force can never waste.
When I remember this, and eke the case
Wherein thou standst, I thought forthwith to write,
Brian, to thee, who knows how great a grace
In writing is, to counsel man the right. 10
To thee therefore, that trots still up and down,
And never rests; but running day and night
From realm to realm, from city, street, and town;
Why dost thou wear thy body to the bones?
And mightst at home sleep in thy bed of down: 15
And drink good ale so nappy for the nones;
Feed thyself fat; and heap up pound by pound.
Likest thou not this? No. Why? For swine so groins
In sty; and chaw dung moulded on the ground;
And drivel on pearls, with head still in the manger: 20
So of the harp the ass doth hear the sound:
So sacks of dirt be fill’d. The neat courtier
So serves for less than do these fatted swine.
Though I seem lean and dry, withouten moisture,
Yet will I serve my prince, my lord and thine; 25
And let them live to feed the paunch that list;
So I may live to feed both me and mine.
By God, well said. But what and if thou wist
How to bring in, as fast as thou dost spend,
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br /> That would I learn. And it shall not be miss’d 30
To tell thee how. Now hark what I intend:
Thou knowest well first, whoso can seek to please,
Shall purchase friends, where truth shall but offend
Flee therefore truth, it is both wealth and ease.
For though that truth of every man hath praise, 35
Full near that wind goeth truth in great misease.
Use Virtue, as it goeth now-a-days,
In word alone, to make thy language sweet:
And of thy deed yet do not as thou says;
Else be thou sure, thou shalt be far unmeet 40
To get thy bread; each thing is now so scant,
Seek still thy profit upon thy bare feet.
Lend in no wise, for fear that thou do want,
Unless it be as to a calf a cheese:
But if thou can be sure to win a cant 45
Of half at least. It is not good to leese.
Learn at the lad, that in a long white coat,
From under the stall, withouten lands or fees,
Hath leapt into the shop; who knows by rote
This rule that I have told thee here before. 50
Some time also rich age begins to dote;
See thou when there thy gain may be the more:
Stay him by the arm whereso he walk or go;
Be near alway, and if he cough too sore,
What he hath spit tread out; and please him so. 55
A diligent knave that picks his master’s purse
May please him so, that he, withouten mo’,
Executor is: And what is he the worse?
But if so chance, thou get nought of the man,
The widow may for all thy pain disburse: 60
A riveled skin, a stinking breath; what then?
A toothless mouth shall do thy lips no harm;
The gold is good: and though she curse or ban,
Yet where thee list thou mayst lie good and warm;
Let the old mule bite upon the bridle, 65
Whilst there do lie a sweeter in thy arm.
In this also see that thou be not idle,
Thy niece, thy cousin, sister, or thy daughter,
If she be fair, if handsome be her middle,
If thy better hath her love besought her, 70
Avance his cause, and he shall help thy need:
It is but love, turn thou it to a laughter.
But ware, I say, so gold thee help and speed,
That in this case thou be not so unwise
As Pander was in such a like deed; 75
For he, the fool of conscience, was so nice,
That he no gain would have for all his pain: