fluence. His wit in early life was as agreeable to the King as his talents for business were afterwards useful; yet he lived to feel and declare, “ that all is vanity and vexation of spirit.” His important services to the state abroad could not save him from the malevolence of Bonner. Few persons ever sought to make the natural jealousy and cruelty of Henry the instrument of their private malice without succeeding. But in the case of Wyatt the attempt failed. Either Henry, whose moods were as capricious as the caged savage beast, which will at one time suffer the caresses of his keeper, and at another growl and threaten, or turn and rend him, refused to be cheered on to the prey, or the jury were less subservient than usual ; for Wyatt was acquitted, and retired to his country-seat, where he passed the short remainder of his life in study and in the business of a country gentleman. He died in his thirty-ninth year of a malignant fever, caught by overheating and fatiguing himself in riding to meet the Spanish ambassador at Dover, By the historian of English poetry, he is pronounced the first polished satirist in the language; and of his conversational talents, it is recorded that he promoted the Reformation by a jest, and contributed to the downfal of Wol. sey by a humorous story. The well-timed courtly jest, to which is attached such important consequences, made when the King affected to have scruples of conscience about his divorce from Queen Catherine, was this excla. mation," Lord! that a man cannot repent him of his sin without the Pope's leave !” And when the ruin of Wolsey was already determined, “ Sir Thomas,” in the words of his old biographer, “ups with a story of the curs baiting the butcher's dog." Wolsey was the son of a butcher.

TO HIS MISTRESS.

FORGET not yet the tried intent
Of such a truth as I have meant ;
My great travail so gladly spent,
Forget not yet!

Forget not yet when first began
The weary life, ye know since whan,
The suit, the service, none tell can ;
Forget not yet!

Forget not yet the great assays,
The cruel wrong, the scornful ways,
The painful patience in delays,
Forget not yet !

Forget not !-Oh! forget not this,
How long ago hath been, and is
The mind that never meant amiss,
Forget not yet!

Forget not then thine own approv’d,
The which so long hath thee so lov'd,
Whose steadfast faith yet never movid,
Forget not this !

OF HIS RETURNE FROM SPAINE.

Tagus farewell, that westward with thy stremes, Turnes up the graines of gold already tried ;

For I with spurre and saile go seke the Temmes, Gainward the Sunne that sheweth her welthy

pride; And to the town that Brutus sought by dreames, Like bended mone that leaues her lusty side,

My king, my countrey I seke, for whom I live,
O mighty love the windes for this me give.

OF THE MEAN AND SURE ESTATE.

[From Seneca's Chorus]

STOND who so list upon the slipper wheele
Of hie estate, and let me here reioyce,
And use my life in quietnesse eche dele,
Unknowen in court that hath the wanton toyes,
In hydden place my time shall slowly passe,
And when my yeres be past withouten noyse,
Let me die old after the common trace ;
For gripes of death doth he too hardly pass;

That knowen is to all, but to himself, alas !
He dyeth unknowen, dased with dreadfull face.

OF THE COURTIER'S LIFE.

MYNE own John Poins, since ye delite to know
The causes why that homeward I me draw,
And flee the prease of courtes, where so they go,
Rather than to liue thrall vnder the awe
Of lordly lokes, wrapped within my cloke ;
To will and lust learning to set a lawe:
It is not, that because I scorne or mocke

The power of them whom fortune here hath lent
Charge over vs, of right to strike the stroke ;
But true it is, that I haue always ment
Lesse to esteme them, then the common sort,
Of outward thinges that judge in théyr entent
Without regarde what inward doth resort.
I graunt, some time of glory that the fire,
Doth touch my hart. Me list not to report
Blame by honour, and honour to desire.
But how may I this honour now attaine,
That cannot dye the colour blacke a lier ?
My Poins, I cannot frame my tune to faine,
To cloke the truth, for praise without desert
Of them that list all vice for to retaine.
I cannot honour them, that set their part
With Venus and Bacchus all theyr life long.
Nor hold my peace of them, although I smart.
I cannot crouche nor knele to such a wronge ;
To worship them like God on earth alone,
That are as wolves these sely lambes among.
I cannot with my wordes complayne and mone,
And suffer nought; nor smart without complaint ;
Nor turne the word that from my mouth is gone,
I cannot speake and loke like as a saint.
Use wyles for wit, and make desceit a pleasure,
Call craft counsaile, for lucre still to paint,
I can not wrest the law to fill the coffer ;
With innocent bloud to fede my self fatte,
And do most hurt, where that most helpe I offer.
I am not he, that can allow the state,
Of hie Ceaser, and damne Cato to dye,
That with his death did scape out of the gate,
From Ceasars hands, if Livy doth not lie.
And would not live where liberty was lost ;

So did his hart the common wealth apply.
I am not he, suche eloquence to bost,
To make the crow in singing, as the swanne ;
Nor call the lion of coward beastes the most,
That can not take a mouse, as the cat can ;
And he that dyeth for honger of the golde,
Call him Alexander, and say that Pan
Passeth Apollo in musike manifolde,
Praise syr Topas for a noble tale,
And scorne the story that the knight tolde ;
Praise him for counsell, that is dronke of ale ;
Grinne when he laughes, that beareth all the sway,
Frowne when he frownes, and grone when he is

pale ;
On others lust to hang both night and day.
None of these pointes would ever frame in me.
My wit is nought, I can not learne the way.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

BORN 1533-DIED 1603.

TAE following ditty, or sonnet, of the Virgin Queen, is of no

great value save as a curiosity, and from the secret feelings which dictated it. The reader may be amused to see how these verses are be-praised by Puttenham, the writer of the “ Arte of English Poesie,” the first regular critic

known in England. “ I find none example in English metre so well maintain

ing this figure (the Exargasia or the Gorgeous) as that dittie of her Majestie's owne making, passing sweet and harmonical,—which figure being, as its very original name purporteth, the most beautifull and gorgeous of all