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SIR THOMAS WYATT, the contemporary and intimate friend of the Earl of Surrey, was born at Arlington Castle, in Kent, in 1503. His family was respectable but not distinguished; and as he early evinced more than ordinary talents, his education soon became a matter of parental solicitude. In 1518, he entered St. John's College, Cambridge, but eventually left that seat of learning to enjoy the superior advantages in classical studies that the university of Oxford at that time afforded. Wyatt was graduated at the latter institution in 1523, immediately after which he turned his attention to the careful study of modern languages; and before he had reached the twenty-fourth year of his age, he was critically familiar with the French, the Italian, and the Spanish. To these intellectual attainments he added all those personal accomplishments for which the Earl of Surrey was so much celebrated; and it was not surprising, therefore, that he should have become, almost immediately after he was presented at court, a recipient of royal confidence and favor.

Wyatt was knighted by Henry the Eighth, and for a number of years almost constantly employed by that monarch upon foreign embassies. He thus enjoyed the opportunity of commingling with the more refined courts and courtiers of the continent. In 1541, he was ordered by the king to re pair to Falmouth, there to meet the ambassador of Charles the Fifth of Spain, and conduct him to the English court. Anxious to execute this mission with the greatest possible celerity, he overheated himself on the way, and thus brought on a fever of which he soon after died, being in the thirty-ninth year of his age.

The traits of similarity in genius and character between Wyatt and the Earl of Surrey were so striking that a learned critic has, in contemplating them, indulged in the following strain :-- They were men whose minds may be said to have been cast in the same mould; for they differ only in those minuter shades of character which must always exist in human nature. In their love of virtue, and their instinctive hatred and contempt of vice ;uin their freedom from personal jealousy; in their thirst after knowledge and intellectual improvement; in nice observation of nature, promptitude to action, intrepidity, and fondness for romantic enterprise; in magnificence and liberality; in generous support of others, and high-spirited neglect of themselves; in constancy and friendship, and tender susceptibility of affections of a still warmer nature, and in every thing connected with sentiment and principle, they were one and the same; but when these qualities branch out into particulars, they will be found in some respects to differ. . In Wyatt's complaints, we hear a strain of manly grief which commands attention; and we listen to it with respect for the sake of him that suffers. Surrey's distress is painted in such natural terms, that we make it our own, and recognize in his sorrows, emotions which we are conscious of having felt ourselves.'*

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The Songs and Sonnets of Wyatt, though somewhat conceited, are not

* Dr. Nott.

without refinement, and a very considerable share of poetic feeling; and he has the honor to be the first writer who attempted to turn the Psalms of David into English metre. His poems were originally published in 1565, along with those of the Earl of Surrey; and from this copy we select the following songs, and the stanza which follows them:

THE LOVER'S LUTE CAN NOT BE BLAMED, THOUGH IT SING OF HIS LADY'S UNKINDNESS.

Blame not my Lute! for he must sound

Of this or that as liketh me;

For lack of wit the Lute is bound

To give such tunes as pleaseth me;
Though my songs be somewhat strange,
And speak such words as touch my change,
Blame not my Lute!

My Lute, alas! doth not offend,

Though that perforce he must agree
To sound such tunes as I intend

To sing to them that heareth me;
Then though my songs be somewhat plain,
And toucheth some that use to feign,
Blame not my Lute!

My Lute and strings may not deny,
But as I strike they must obey;
Break not them then so wrongfully,
But wreak thyself some other way;
And though the songs which I indite,
Do quit thy change with rightful spite,
Blame not my Lute!

Spite asketh spite, and changing change,
And falsed faith, must needs be known;
The faults so great, the case so strange;
Of right it must abroad be blown:
Then since that by thine own desert
My songs do tell how true thou art,
Blame not my Lute!

Blame but thyself that hath misdone,
And well deserved to have blame;

Change thou thy way, so evil begone,

And then my Lute shall sound that same;

But if till then my fingers play

By thy desert their wonted way,

Blame not my Lute!

Farewell! unknown; for though thou break
My strings in spite with great disdain,
Yet have I found out for thy sake,
Strings for to string my Lute again:
And if perchance this silly rhyme,
Do make thee blush at any time,

Blame not my Lute!

THE RE-CURED LOVER EXULTETH IN HIS FREEDOM, AND VOWETH TO REMAIN FREE UNTIL DEATH.

I am as I am, and so will I be;

But how that I am none knoweth truly.
Be it ill, be it well, be I bond, be I free,
I am as I am, and so will I be.

I lead my life indifferently;

I mean nothing but honesty;

And though folks judge full diversely,
I am as I am, and so will I die.

I do not rejoice, nor yet complain,

Both mirth and sadness I do refrain,

And use the means since folks will feign;
Yet I am as I am, be it pleasant or pain.

Divers do judge as they do trow,
Some of pleasure and some of woe,
Yet for all that nothing they know;
But I am as I am, wheresoever I go.

But since judgers do thus decay,
Let every man his judgment say;
I will take it in sport or play,

For I am as I am, whosoever say nay.

Who judges well, will God them send;
Who judges evil, God them amend;
To judge the best therefore intend,
For I am as I am, and so will I end.

Yet some there be that take delight,
To judge folk's thought for envy and spite;
But whether they judge me for wrong or rigl
I am as I am, and so do I write.

Praying you all, that this do read,
To trust it as you do your creed;
And not to think I change my weed,
For I am as I am, however I speed.

But how that is I leave to you;
Judge as you list, false or true,

Ye know no more than afore ye knew,

Yet I am as I am, whatever ensue.

And from this mind I will not flee,

But to you all that misjudge me,

I do protest as ye may see,

That I am as I am, and so will be.

THAT PLEASURE IS MIXED WITH EVERY PAIN.

Venomous thorns that are so sharp and keen,

Bear flowers, we see, full fresh and fair of hue,

Poison is also put in medicine,

And unto man his health doth oft renew.

The fire that all things eke consumeth clean,
May hurt and heal: then if that this be true,
I trust some time my harm may be my health,
Since every woe is joined with some wealth.

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THOMAS TUSSER, another poet of the age of Henry the Eighth, though in genius much inferior to either the Earl of Surrey or Sir Thomas Wyatt, was of an ancient family, and was born in 1523, but at what place is unknown. He received a liberal education, and commenced life at court, under the tronage of Lord Paget; but not being adapted to a court life, he turned his attention to farming, and for a number of years pursued that course of life, successively in Sussex, Ipswich, Essex, Norwich, and other places. Not succeeding in that calling, he left it and followed other occupations, among which was that of a chorister, and it is said, a fiddler. As might be expected of one so inconstant, he did not prosper in the world, but died poor in London, in 1580, in the fifty-eighth year of his age.

Tusser's poem, entitled a Hundreth Good Points of Husbandrie, which was first published in 1557, contains a series of practical directions for farming, expressed in simple and inelegant, though not always, dull verse. It has, however, the honor of being the first regular didactic poem in the language. From this poem we select the two following extracts :——

HOUSEWIFELY PHYSIC.

Good huswife provides, ere a sickness do come,
Of sundry good things in her house to have some.
Good aqua composita, and vinegar tart,
Rose-water and treacle to comfort thine heart.
Cold herbs in her garden, for agues that burn,
That over-strong heat to good temper may turn.
White endive, and succory, with spinach enow;

All such with good pot herbs, should follow the plough.
Get water of fumitory, liver to cool,

And others the like, or else lie like a fool.

Conserves of barbary, quinces and such,
With sirops that easeth the sickly so much.
Ask Medicus' counsel, ere medicine ye take,
And honour that man for necessity's sake.

Though thousands hate physic, because of the cost,
Yet thousands it helpeth, that else should be lost.
Good broth, and good keeping, do much now and than

Good diet, with wisdom, best comforteth man.

In health, to be stirring shall profit thee best;

In sickness, hate trouble; seek quiet and rest.
Remember thy soul; let no fancy prevail;
Make ready to God-ward; let faith never quail:
The sooner thyself thou submittest to God,
The sooner he ceaseth to scourge with his rod.

MORAL REFLECTIONS ON THE WIND.

Though winds do rage as winds were wood,1
And cause spring-tides to raise great flood;
And lofty ships leave anchor in mud,
Bereaving many of life and of blood;
Yet, true it is, as cow chews cud,

And trees, at spring, doth yield forth bud,
Except wind stands as never it stood,

It is an ill wind turns none to good.

ANDREW BOURD, physician to Henry the Eighth, was contemporary with Tusser, and was the author of the following lines, which form an inscription under the picture of an Englishman, naked, with a roll of cloth in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other. The poem is chiefly valuable at present time as indicating the English spirit of that age.

CHARACTERISTIC OF AN ENGLISHMAN.

I am an Englishman, and naked I stand here,
Musing in my mind what garment I shall wear,
For now I will wear this, and now I will wear that,
Now I will wear I can not tell what:

All new fashions be pleasant to me,

I will have them whether I thrive or thee:

Now I am a fisher, all men on me look
What should I do but set cock on the hoop?
What do I care if all the world me fail,

I will have a garment reach to my tail.
Then I am a minion, for I wear the new guise,
The next year after I hope to be wise-
Not only in wearing my gorgeous array,

For I will go to learning a whole summer's day;

I will learn Latin, Hebrew, Greek and French,
And I will learn Dutch sitting on my bench.
I do fear no man, each man feareth me;

I overcome my adversaries by land and by sea:

I had no peer if to myself I were true;
Because I am not so diverse times do I rue:
Yet I lack nothing, I have all things at will,
If I were wise, and would hold myself still,

And meddle with no matters but to me pertaining,
But ever to be true to God and my king.
But I have such matters rolling in my pate,
That I will and do-I can not tell what.
No man shall let me, but I will have my mind,
And to father, mother, and friend, I'll be unkind.
I will follow mine own mind, and mine old trade;
Who shall let me? The devil's nails are unpared.
Yet above all things new fashions I love well,
And to wear them my thrift I will sell.

In all this world I shall have but a time:

Hold the cup, good fellow, here is thine and mine!

1 Mad.

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