The rock doth not so cruelly
Repulse the waves continually,
As she my suit and affection;
So that I am past remedy:

Whereby my lute and I have done.

Proud of the spoil that thou has got,
Of simple hearts, thorough love's shot
By whom, unkind, thou hast them won;
Think not he hath his bow forgot,
Although my lute and I have done.

Vengeance may fall on thy disdain,
That maketh game of earnest pain!
Trow not alone under the sun,
Unquit to cause thy lovers's plain,
Although my lute and I have done

May chance thee lie withered and old;
The winter nights that are so cold,

Plaining in vain unto the moon:

Thy wishes then dare not be told;

Care then who list, for I have done.

And then may chance thee to repent
The time that thou hast lost and spent,

To cause thy lovers sigh and swoon:
Then shalt thou know beauty but lent,
And wish and want, as I have done.

Now cease my lute! this is the last
Labour, that thou and I shall waste,
And ended is that I begun;

Now is this song both sung and

past:

My lute! be still, for I have done,

"This," says Dr. Nott, "is one of the most beautiful Odes in our language. It is as beautifully arranged in all its parts as any of the odes of Horace. The lute, to which the Ode is addressed, corresponded nearly to the modern guitar. It was the instrument to which almost all the amatory compositions of our early Poets were sung; whence they are properly called songs, corresponding to the Italian cantata. Every person of good education played upon the lute. It was the lover's constant companion; and to its strings he attempered all his hopes and fears, his joys and sorrows."

He ruleth not, though he reign over realms, who is subject to his own lusts.

If thou wilt mighty be, flee from the rage

Of cruel will; and see thou keep thee free
From the foul yoke of sensual bondage.

For though thy empire stretch to Indian sea,
And for thy fear trembleth the farthest Thulé,
If thy desire have over thee the power,
Subject then art thou, and no governor!

If to be noble and high, thy mind be moved,
Consider well thy ground and thy beginning;
For he that hath each star in heaven fixed,

And gives the moon her horns and her eclipsing,
Alike hath made thee noble in his working;

So that wretched no way may thou be
Except foul lust and vice do conquer thee.

All were it so, thou had a flood of gold,
Unto thy thirst yet should it not suffice;
And though with Indian stones, a thousand fold
More precious than can thyself devise:
Y-charged were thy back, thy covetice
And busy biting yet should never let
Thy death, nor do thy wretched life profet.

"In this fine moral ode, the sentiments are highly dignified and just; the versification has that grave and solemn flow of harmony which is peculiar to Wyatt's composition. The whole is formed on three detached passages in Boethius de Consolatione."

An earnest suit to his unkind Mistress not to forsake him.
And wilt thou leave me thus?
Say nay, say nay for shame!
To save me from the blame
Of all my grief and grame.
And wilt thou leave me thus?
Say nay, say nay.

And wilt thou leave me thus?
That hath loved thee so long,
In wealth and woe among:
And is thy heart so strong
As for to leave me thus,

Say nay, say nay!

And wilt thou leave me thus?
That hath given thee my heart
Never for to depart;

Neither for pain nor smart ;

And wilt thou leave me thus?

Say nay, say nay!

And wilt thou leave me thus?
And have no more pity,

On him that loveth thee?
Alas! thy cruelty!

And wilt thou leave me thus?

Say nay, say nay

!

The Poet sheweth how he is forsaken of Fortune, who

sometime favoured him.

They flee from me, that sometime did me seek,
With naked foot stalking in my chamber,
I have seen them gentle, tame and meek,
That now are wild and do not remember
That sometime they put themselves in danger
To take bread at my hand; and now they range,
Busily seeking with continual change.

Thanked be Fortune, it hath been otherwise
Twenty times better; but once in special,
In thin array, after a pleasing guise

When her loose gown from her shoulders did fall;

And she me caught in her arms long and small,
Therewithall sweetly she did me kiss

And softly said: "Dear heart how like

you

It was no dream, I lay broad waking,
But all is turned through my gentleness,
Into a strange fashion of forsaking;

And I have leave to go of her goodness,
And she also to use new-fangleness;
But since that I so kindly now am served,
I fain would know what she hath deserved.

this ?"

This is an original ode, and highly characteristic of Wyatt's peculiar manner. The personification of Fortune, with her loose gown falling from her shoulders, is one of the most pleasing images in the whole compass of his poetry.The propriety of the salute, depends in a great measure, on a circumstance which grew out of the manners of the days of chivalry, and which is now forgotten. Whenever a lady accepted the service of a knight, or acknowledged a person as her servant or lover, she gave him a kiss, voluntarily offered on her

part, and this was considered to be an inviolable bond of obligation. The kiss being thus given, the lover was formally recognised under the title of "Servant d'Amour."-See Chaucer's Troilus and Cressida, B. 111."

The Lover prayeth not to be disdained, refused, mistrusted, nor forsaken.

Disdain me not without desert,
Nor leave me not so suddenly;
Since well ye wot that in my heart,
I mean ye not but honestly.

Refuse me not without cause why,
Nor think me not to be unjust;

Since that by lot of fantacy,

This careful knot needs knit I must.

Mistrust me not, though some there be,
That fain would spot my stedfastness;
Believe them not, since that ye see
The proof is not as they express.

Forsake me not 'till I deserve,

Nor hate me not, 'till I offend;
Destroy me not 'till that I swerve;

But since ye know what I intend.

Disdain me not that am your own;

Refuse me not, that am so true;

Mistrust me not, 'till all be known;
Forsake me not now for some new.

D