Her strangeness when I sued her servant for to be; And what she said, and how she smiled, when that she pitied me.

Then comes a sudden fear that riveth1 all my rest, Lest absence cause forgetfulness to sink within her

breast.

For when I think how far this earth doth us divide, Alas! me-seems love throws me down; I feel how that I slide.

But then I think again, 'Why should I thus mistrust So sweet a wight, so sad and wise, that is so true

and just?

For loath she was to love, and wavering is she not; The farther off the more desired.' Thus lovers

tie their knot.

So in despair and hope plung'd am I both up and down,

As is the ship with wind and wave, when Neptune list to frown:

But as the watery showers delay the raging wind, So doth Good-hope clean put away despair out of my mind;

And bids me for to serve, and suffer patiently: For what wot I the after weal that fortune wills

to me.

For those that care do know, and tasted have of trouble,

When passed is their woful pain, each joy shall seem them double.

And bitter sends she now, to make me taste the better

To tear, to rend asunder.

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 my faith.

And if my feeble corpse, through weight of woful

smart

Do fail, or faint, my will it is that still she keep my heart.

And when this carcass here to earth shall be re

far'd,1

I do bequeath my wearied ghost to serve her afterward.

THE MEANS TO ATTAIN HAPPY LIFE.

ARTIAL, 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 delicate3 fare;
True wisdom join'd with simpleness;

Referred, to bring back.
3 Dainty, in one MS.

2 Moderate.

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.

F 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 halseth3 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.*

The lofty pine the great wind often rives;
With violenter sway fallen turrets steep;
Lightnings assault the high mountains and clives.5
A heart well stay'd, in overthwartes deep.

1 Sir Thomas Wyatt.

3 Embraceth.

5 Steep cliffs.

2 Damage.

4 Look at scornfully.

6 Adverse fortunes.

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.

PRAISE OF CERTAIN PSALMS OF DAVID,

TRANSLATED BY SIR THOMAS [WYATT]

THE ELDER.

HE great Macedon, that out of Persia chased

Darius, of whose huge power all Asia

rung;

In the rich ark1 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.1

OF THE DEATH OF SIR THOMAS WYATT.

D

IVERS 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,3

As Pyramus did on Thisbe's breast bewail.

Mr. Warton thinks that "probably the last lines may contain an oblique allusion to some of the amours of King Henry VIII."

2 Being alive.

3 Fall down.