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To sob and sigh it were but vain,

Since there is none that doth it reek ;
Alas! thou dost prolong thy pain;

Why sighest thou then, and wilt not break?

Then in her sight to move her heart
Seek on thyself, thyself to wreak,

That she may know thou sufferest smart ;
Sigh there thy last, and therewith break!

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;
With gladsome cheer all grief for to expel :

With sober looks, so would I that it should Speak without words, such words as none can tell ; The tress also should be of crisped gold.

With wit, and these might chance I might be tied, And knit again the knot that should not slide.

The Lover's Lute cannot be blamed though it sing of his Lady's unkindness.

Blame not my Lute! for he must sound

Of this or that as liketh me;

For lack of wit the Lute is bound

To give such tunes as pleaseth me;
And though my songs be somewhat strange,
And speak such words as touch thy change,

My lute and strings may not deny,
But as I strike they must obey;
Break not them then so wrongfully,

But wreak thyself some other way;
And though the songs which I indite,
Do quit thy change with rightful spite,

Blame not my lute!

Spite asketh spite, and changing change,
And falsed faith must needs be known,
The fault so great the case so strange,
Of right it must abroad be blown:
Then since that by thine own desert,
My songs do tell how true thou art,

Blame not my Lute!

Blame but thyself that hast misdone,

And well deserved to have blame;

Change thou thy way, so ill begone,

And then my Lute shall sound that same :

But if till then my fingers play,

By thy desert their wonted way;

Blame not my Lute!

Farewell! unknown; for though thou break
My strings in spite with great disdain,
Yet have I found out for thy sake,
Strings for to string my lute again :
And if perchance this silly rhyme,
Do make thee blush at any time,

Blame not my Lute!

"Wyatt appears to have written this piece as a counterpart to his beautiful little ode My Lute awake!'

[page 20.] It is probable that the ode had been felt as a satire by the Lady to whom it was directed, and that she had found fault with Wyatt in consequence. This produced the ode now before us. It is extremely ingenious, and possesses considerable merit. The versification is harmonious and elegant throughout. It bears evident marks of being one of Wyatt's late.compositions."

TO JOHN POYNZ.*

Of the Courtier's Life.

Mine own John Poynz, since you delight to know
The causes why that homeward I me draw,
And flee the press of courts, whereso they go,† -
Rather than live in thrall, under the awe
Of lordly looks, wrapped within my cloak,
To wit 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 ever meant
Less to esteem them than the common sort,

Of outer things that judge in their intent,
Without regard that doth inward resort,‡

* John Poynz was descended from the younger branch of an honourable family long settled in Gloucestershire, He appears to have been an attendant upon the court, but what particular office he bore is not known. His portrait occurs among the Holbein Heads, from which he appears to have had a remarkably expressive and intelligent countenance. He died in 1558, without issue.

+ The court, in Wyatt's time, was seldom stationary, but made regular progresses, in the summer time particularly.

The meaning here is obscure, it seems to be--I do not scorn or deride the powerful, but yet, I esteem them less than the common sort of men do, who judge more by outward appearances than by real intrinsic merit,

I grant sometime that of glory the fire Doth touch my heart; and me lust not report Blame by honour, and honour to desire. But how may I this honour now attain.

What cannot dye the colour of black a liar? My Poynz, I cannot frame my tongue to feign; To cloak the truth for praise, without desert, Of them, that lust all vices to retain.

I cannot honour them that set their part With Venus or Bacchus all their life long; Nor hold my peace of them, although I smart. I cannot crouch, nor kneel to such a wrong, To worship them as God on earth alone, That are like wolves, these silly 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. I cannot speak with look right as a saint;

Use wiles for wit, and make deceit a pleasure; And call craft counsel; for profit still to paint.* I cannot wrest the law to fill the coffer, With innocent blood to feed myself fat. And do most hurt where that most help I offer. I am not he, that can allow the state Of high Cæsar, and doom Cato to die, That by his death did 'scape out of the gate From Cæsar's hands, if Livy doth not lie, And would not live where liberty was lost:

So did his heart the common weal apply. I am not he, such eloquence to boast,

* "To paint," means to deceive-to give a false colour to any thing.

To make the crow in singing as the swan ;
Nor call the Lion of coward beasts the most,
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 many fold;

To praise Sir Topas for a noble tale,
And scorn the story that the knight told;*

Praise him for Counsel that is drunk with ale; Grin when he laughs that beareth all the sway; Frown when he frowns, and groan when he is pale; On other's lust to hang both night and day. None of these points would ever frame in me; My wit is nought, I cannot learn the way. And much the less of things that greater be, That asketh help of colours of device, To join the mean with each extremity; With the near virtue to cloak alway the vice; And, as to purpose likewise it shall fall,

Το

press the virtue that it may not rise.

As, drunkenness good fellowship to call;
The friendly foe, that hath a double face,
Say he is gentle and courteous therewithall;
And say 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,

Call him pitiful; and him true and plain,

That raileth reckless unto each man's shame;

Two of Chaucer's Tales are here alluded to. ↑ "Favel" means flattery.