But I,-that knew what harbour'd in that head, What virtues rare were temper'd in that breast,— Honour the place that such a jewel bred,

And kiss the ground whereas thy corse doth rest!

Of the same.

2

WYATT resteth here, that quick could never rest,
Whose heavenly gifts increased by disdain,
And virtue sank the deeper in his breast;
Such profit he by envy could obtain.

A head, where wisdom mysteries did frame,

Whose hammers beat still in that lively brain As on a stithe, 3 where that some work of fame Was daily wrought, to turn to Britain's gain.

A visage stern and mild; where both did grow
Vice to contemn, in virtue to rejoice:
Amid great storms whom grace assured so

To live upright, and smile at Fortune's choice.

So ed. I.-Ed, 1567," the corpse." 2 Alive. An anvil.

A hand, that taught what might be said in rhyme, That reft Chaucer the glory of his wit;

A mark the which (unparfited, for time)

Some may approach, but never none shall hit.

A tongue, that serv'd in foreign realms his king,
Whose courteous talk to virtue did inflame
Each noble heart; a worthy guide to bring
Our English youth by travel unto fame.

I

An eye, whose judgment none affect could blind,

Friends to allure, and foes to reconcile ;

Whose piercing look did represent a mind
With virtue fraught, reposed, void of guile.

A heart, where dread was never so imprest,
To hide the thought that might the truth avance;
In neither fortune loft, nor yet represt,

To swell in wealth, or yield unto mischance.

A valiant corps, where force and beauty met;

Happy, alas! too happy, but for foes;

Lived and ran the race that Nature set;

Of manhood's shape where she the mold did

lose.

*

1 Affection.

Description of the restless State of a Lover, with Suit to his Lady to rue on his dying Heart.

THE sun hath twice brought forth his tender green,
Twice clad the earth in lively lustiness;
Once have the winds the trees despoiled clean,
And once again begins their cruelness;

Since I have hid under my breast the harm,
That never shall recover healthfulness.

The winter's hurt recovers with the warm;
The parched green restored is with shade:
What warmth, alas! may serve for to disarm
The frozen heart that mine in flame hath made?

What cold again is able to restore

My fresh green years, that wither thus and fade?

And like as time list to my cure apply,

So doth each place my comfort clean refuse. All thing alive that see'th the heavens with eye With cloak of night may cover and excuse

Itself from travel of the day's unrest,

Save I, alas, against all others use,

• Ed. 1567,

"inflame."

VOL. II.

E

That then stir up the torments of my breast,

And curse each star as causer of my fate; And when the sun hath eke the dark opprest, And brought the day, it doth nothing abate

The travels of mine endless smart and pain, For then, as one that hath the light in hate,

I wish for night more covertly to plain,

And me withdraw from every haunted place, Lest by my cheer my chance appear too plain; And, in my mind, I measure pace by pace,

To seek the place where I myself had lost.

Lo, if I seek, how I do find my sore,

And if I flee, I carry with me still

The venom'd shaft which doth his force restore By haste of flight, and I may plain my fill

Unto myself, unless this careful song

Print in your heart some parcel of my teen,'

For I, alas, in silence all too long,

Of mine old hurt yet feel the wound but green.

Rue on my life, or else

your cruel

wrong

Shall well appear, and by my death be seen!

I Sorrow, grief.

Complaint of a Lover rebuked.

Love, that liveth and reigneth in my thought,
That built his seat within my captive breast,
Clad in the arms wherein with me he fought,
Oft in my face he doth his banner rest.
She that me taught to love, and suffer pain,
My doubtful hope and eke my hot desire
With shamefac'd cloak to shadow and restrain,
Her smiling grace converteth straight to ire.
And coward Love then to the heart apace

Taketh his flight, whereas he lurks and plains His purpose lost, and dare not shew his face:

For my lord's guilt thus faultless 'bide I pains. Yet from my lord shall not my foot remove. Sweet is his death, that takes his end by Love.