The wide vales, eke, that harbour'd us each night,
Wherewith, alas, reviveth in my breast

The sweet accord, such sleeps as yet delight,
The pleasant dreams, the quiet bed of rest:

The secret thoughts imparted with such trust, The wanton talk, the divers change of play," The friendship sworn, each promise kept so just Wherewith we past the winter nights1 away.

O place of bliss, renewer of my woes!

Give me account where is my noble fere,2 Whom in thy walls thou dost each night enclose To other leefe, 3 but unto me most dear!

The Means to attain happy Life.

[Translated from Martial.]

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;

un down, in opposition to the chasse à tirer, in which it is

shot.

* Ed. 1567,"night."

3 Dear to others, to all

2 Companion.

The egall1 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.

A Praise of his Love, wherein he reproveth them that compare their Ladies with his.

GIVE place, ye lovers, here before

That spent your boasts and brags in vain!

My lady's beauty passeth more

The best of yours, I dare well sayne,
Than doth the sun the candle light,

Or brightest day the darkest night:

2 So ed. I.-Ed. 1567, "Content

1 Equal. "thyself with thine estate."

And thereto hath a troth as just,

As had Penelope the fair;
For what she saith, ye may it trust,
As it by writing sealed were:
And virtues hath she many moe
Than I with pen have skill to show.

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,
Her kingdom only set apart,
There was no loss by law of kind

That could have gone so near her heart;

And this was chiefly all her pain,
She could not make the like again.

Sith Nature thus gave her the praise
To be the chiefest work she wrought;

In faith, methink, some better ways

On your behalf might well be sought,
Than to compare, as ye have done,
To match the candle with the sun.

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;

2

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
Sir Thomas Wyatt, the elder.

THE great Macedon, that out of Persie chased
Darius, of whose huge power all Asie rung,
In the rich ark dan Homer's rhymes he placed,
Who feigned gests of heathen princes sung.
2 Mingles.

1 Sweet.

t

What holy grave, what worthy sepulture *

To Wyatt's psalms should Christians then purchase?

Where he doth paint the lively faith and pure,
The stedfast hope, the sweet return to grace
Of just David by perfite penitence:

Where rulers may see in a mirror clear
The bitter fruit of false concupiscence;

How Jewry bought Uriah's death full dear. In princes' hearts God's scourge imprinted deep Ought them awake out of their sinful sleep.2

On the Death of the same Sir Thomas Wyatt.

DIVERS thy death do diversly bemoan:

Some, that in presence of thy livelihed Lurked, whose breasts envy with hate had swoln, Yield Cæsar's tears upon Pompeius' head!

[And] some,

that watched with the murderer'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!

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."