This sonnet is a translation from one of Petrarch's beginning

Passa la nave mia colma d'obblio.

It is perhaps the most correctly finished of all Wyatt's sonnets, and will not suffer by comparison with any similar composition of that age.

The Courtier's Life.

In courts to serve decked with fresh

array,

Of sugar'd meats feeling the sweet repast;
The life in banquets, and sundry kind of play,
Amid the press of lordly looks to waste;

Hath with it joined oft times such bitter taste,
That whoso joys such kind of life to hold
In prison joys, fettered with chains of gold.

Of the mean and sure estate.

Stand whoso list, upon the slippery top
Of high estate; and let me here rejoice,
And use my quiet without let or stop,

Unknown in court that hath such brackish joys.

In hidden place so let my days forth pass,

I

That when my years be done withouten noise,

may die aged after the common trace.

For him death gripeth right hard by the crop,

That is much known of others, and of himself, alas!
Doth die unknown dased with dreadful face,

"This is a translation of the following lines of Seneca's Thyestes.

Stet quicunque volet potens

Aulæ culmine lubrico:

The reader perhaps need not be reminded, that the above passage from Seneca has been frequently imitated in our language. If Wyatt's were compared with any of the more modern translations, it would not be found inferior to the best."

Of dissembling words.

Throughout the world, if it were sought,
Fair words enough a man shall find;
They be good cheap; they cost right nought;
Their substance is but only wind :—
But well to say, and so to mean,

That sweet accord is seldom seen.

That the eye betrayeth always the secret affections of the heart.

And if an eye may save or slay,

And strike more deep than weapon long;

And if an eye by subtle play,

May move one more than any tongue;

How can ye say that I do

wrong

Thus to suspect without desert?
For the eye is traitor to the heart.

To frame all well, I am content
That it were done unweetingly;
But yet I say, who will assent,
To do but well, do nothing why
That men should deem the contrary;
For it is said by men expert,

That the eye is traitor to the heart.

But yet alas! that look, all soul,

That I do claim of right to have, Should not, methinks, go seek the school, To please all folk, for who can crave Friendlier thing than heart witsave By look to give in friendly part;

And my suspect is without blame;

For as ye say, not only I

But others more have deemed the same;

Then sure it is not jealousy,

If subtle look of reckless eye

Did range too far, to make me smart;

For the eye is traitor to the heart.

But I your friend shall take it thus,

Since you will so, as stroke of chance;

And further leave for to discuss,

Whether the stroke did stick or glance; Excuse who can let him advance Dissembled looks, but for my part, My eye must still betray my heart.

And of this grief ye shall be quit,
In helping truth stedfast to go.
The time is long that truth did sit

Feeble and weak, and suffering woe;
Cherish him well, continue so;

Let him not from your heart depart;
Then fears not the eye to shew the heart.

The Lover despairing relinquisheth the pursuit.

Whoso list to hunt! I know where is a hind!
But as for me, alas! I may no more,
The vain pursuit hath wearied me so sore,
I am of them that furthest come behind.
Yet may I by no means my wearied mind

Draw from the deer; but as she fleeth afore
Fainting I follow; I leave off therefore,
Since in a net I seek to hold the wind.
Who list to hunt, I put him out of doubt
As well as I, may spend his time in vain!
Graven with diamonds in letters plain,
There is written her fair neck round about
"Noli me tangere; for Cæsar's I am
And wild for to hold, though I seem tame."

The probable connection of this sonnet with Wyatt's passion for Anne Boleyn, has been before observed. It is a translation from the Italian of Romanello, who himself imitated his countryman Petrarch. The translation with the exception of the last line, is so close, as to admit of a doubt if any particular object was present in the author's mind when he wrote it.

He hopeth hereafter for better chance.

He is not dead that sometime had a fall;

The Sun returns that was beneath a cloud; And when fortune hath spit out all her gall,

I trust good luck to me shall be allowed. For I have seen a ship into haven fall—

After the storm hath broke both mast and shroud. And eke the willow that stoopeth with the wind, Doth rise again, and greater wood doth bind.

The mournful Lover to his heart, with complaint that it will not break.

Comfort thyself, my woeful heart,
Or shortly on thyself thee wreak;

For length redoubleth deadly smart;

Why sighest thou, heart! and wilt not break?

To waste in sighs were piteous death;

Alas! I find thee faint and weak.

Enforce thyself to lose thy breath,

Why sighest thou, heart! and wilt not break?

Thou knowest right well that no redress

Is thus to pine; and for to speak,

Perdie! it is remediless;

Why sighest hou then, and wilt not break?

It is too late for to refuse

The yoke, when it is on thy neck!

To shake it off, vaileth not to muse,

Why sighest thou then, and wilt not break?