When passed is their woful pain, each joy shall seem them double.
And bitter sends she now, to make me taste the
The pleasant sweet, when that it comes, to make it seem the sweeter.
And so determine I to serve until my breath;
Yea, rather die a thousand times, than once to false
And if my feeble corpse, through weight of woful
Do fail, or faint, my will it is that still she keep my
And when this carcass here to earth shall be refar'd, I do bequeath my wearied ghost to serve her after
THE MEANS TO ATTAIN HAPPY LIFE.
MARTIAL, the things that do attain
The happy life, be these, I find:
The riches left, not got with pain;
The fruitful ground, the quiet mind:
The equal friend, no grudge, no strife;
No charge of rule, nor governance;
Without disease, the healthful life;
The household of continuance:
The mean diet, no delicate fare;
True wisdom join'd with simpleness;
The night discharged of all care,
Where wine the wit may not oppress:
The faithful wife, without debate;
Such sleeps as may beguile the night.
Contented with thine own estate;
Ne wish for Death, ne fear his might.
PRAISE OF MEAN AND CONSTANT ESTATE
Or thy life, Thomas,1 this compass well mark:
Not aye with full sails the high seas to beat;
Ne by coward dread, in shunning storms dark,
On shallow shores thy keel in peril freat.
Whoso gladly halseth2 the golden mean,
Void of dangers advisedly hath his home;
Not with loathsome muck as a den unclean,
Nor palace like, whereat disdain may glome.3
The lofty pine the great wind often rives;
With violenter sway fallen turrets steep;
Lightnings assault the high mountains and clives.*
A heart well stay'd, in overthwartes 5 deep.
Hopeth amends; in sweet, doth fear the sour.
God that sendeth, withdraweth winter sharp.
Now ill, not aye thus; once Phoebus to low'r,
With bow unbent, shall cease; and frame to harp.
His voice in strait estate appear thou stout;
And so wisely, when lucky gale of wind
All thy puft sails shall fill, look well about;
Take in a reef: haste is waste, proof doth find.
1 Sir Thomas Wyatt.
8 Look at scornfully.
5 Adverse fortunes.
2 Embraceth.
4 Steep cliffs.
PRAISE OF CERTAIN PSALMS OF DAVID.
TRANSLATED BY SIR THOMAS [WYATT] THe elder.
THE great Macedon, that out of Persia chased
Darius, of whose huge power all Asia rung;
In the rich ark Dan Homer's rhymes he placed,
Who feigned gests of heathen princes sung.
What holy grave, what worthy sepulture,
To Wyatt's Psalms should Christians then pur
chase?
Where he doth paint the lively faith, and pure,
The steadfast hope, the sweet return to grace,
Of just David, by perfect penitence;
Where Rulers may see in a mirror clear,
The bitter fruit of false concupiscence;
How Jewry bought Urias' death full dear.
In Princes' hearts God's scourge imprinted deep,
Ought them awake out of their sinful sleep.
OF THE DEATH OF SIR THOMAS WY. TT.
DIVERS thy death do diversely bemoan:
Some, that in presence of thy livelihed
Lurked, whose breasts envy with hate had swoln,
Yield Cæsar's tears upon Pompeius' head.
Some, that watched with the murd'rer's knife,
With eager thirst to drink thy guiltless blood,
Whose practice brake by happy end of life,
With envious tears to hear thy fame so good.
But I, that knew what harbour'd in that head;
What virtues rare were tempered in that breast,
Honour the place that such a jewel bred,
And kiss the ground whereas the corpse doth rest;
With vapour'd eyes: from whence such streams
availe,1
As Pyramus did on Thisbe's breast bewail.
WYATT resteth here, that quick could never rest:
Whose heavenly gifts increased by disdain;
And virtue sank the deeper in his breast:
Such profit he by envy could obtain.
A head, where wisdom mysteries did frame;
Whose hammers beat still in that lively brain,
As on a stithe,2 where that some work of fame
Was daily wrought, to turn to Britain's gain.
A visage stern, and mild; where both did grow
Vice to contemn, in virtue to rejoice:
Amid great storms, whom grace assured so,
To live upright, and smile at fortune's choice.
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