And thereto hath a troth as just, As had Penelope the fair; I could rehearse, if that I would, The whole effect of Nature's plaint; When she had lost the perfite mould, The like to whom she could not paint: With wringing hands how she did cry! And what she said, I know it, I. I know she swore with raging mind, That could have gone so near her heart; And this was chiefly all her pain, Sith Nature thus gave her the praise On your behalf might well be sought, Description of Spring, wherein each Thing renews, save only the Lover. THE Soote1 season, that bud and bloom forth brings, With green hath clad the hill, and eke the vale; The nightingale, with feathers new, she sings; The turtle to her make hath told her tale. Summer is come; for every spray now springs; The hart hath hung his old head on the pale; The buck, in brake his winter coat he flings; The fishes fleet with new-repaired scale; The adder, all her slough away she flings; The swift swallow pursueth the flies smale; The busy bee, her honey now she mings;* Winter is worn, that was the flower's bale. And thus I see, among these pleasant things, Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs! Praise of certain Psalms of David, translated by THE great Macedon, that out of Persie chased I Sweet. What holy grave, what worthy sepulture' To Wyatt's psalms should Christians then pur chase? Where he doth paint the lively faith and pure, Where rulers may see in a mirror clear How Jewry bought Uriah's death full dear. In princes' hearts God's scourge imprinted deep Ought them awake out of their sinful sleep. On the Death of the same Sir Thomas Wyatt. DIVERS thy death do diversly bemoan: Some, that in presence of thy livelihed [And] some, that watched with the murderer's knife So ed. I.-Ed. 1567," sepulchre." 2 Mr Warton thinks that "probably the last lines may "contain an oblique allusion to some of the king's " amours." But I, that knew what harbour'd in that head, What virtues rare were temper'd in that breast,—— Honour the place that such a jewel bred, And kiss the ground whereas thy corse1 doth rest! Of the same. WYATT resteth here, that quick could never rest, A head, where wisdom mysteries did frame, Whose hammers beat still in that lively brain As on a stithe, 3 where that some work of fame Was daily wrought, to turn to Britain's gaf. 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, 3 * So ed. I.-Ed. 1567," the corpse.” 2 Alive. 3 An anvil, A hand, that taught what might be said in rhyme, That reft Chaucer the glory of his wit; A mark the which (unparfited, for time) Some may approach, but never none shall hit. A tongue, that serv'd in foreign realms his king, An eye, whose judgment none affect1 could blind, Whose piercing look did represent a mind A heart, where dread was never so imprest, To swell in wealth, or yield unto mischance. A valiant corps, where force and beauty met; Lived and ran the race that Nature set; Of manhood's shape where she the mold did lose. Affection. |