SIR THOMAS WYATT.

1503-1542.

It is a disputed point among the biographers of Wyatt, whether his amatory poems were the result of a real attachment, or merely poetical exercises. Some maintain that they are Petrarchian studies; others consider them life-sketches, drawn from his heart, and coloured by his love for Anne Boleyn. The weight of proof should rest with the latter; but unfortunately there can be no proof in the case: there was none in the time of the parties themselves, and there can be none now. When Anne Boleyn fell into disfavour with her capricious and tyrannical husband, who was casting about for a way to elevate Jane Seymour in her place, she was charged with having been unfaithful to him, and it was whispered that she was guilty of criminal intercourse with Wyatt. So, at least, Hearne says, though no evidence of such a charge exists. It was not made at her trial, for Wyatt's name is said not to have been mentioned in it. Certain it is that Henry never for a moment believed it, for after her death, no man in England stood higher in his good graces than Wyatt. That Wyatt was intimate with Anne Boleyn, does not admit of a doubt. She was the cousin of his friend Surrey, and her brother, Lord Rochfort, and himself, were fast friends. He probably met her for the first time when she was maid of honour to Queen Katharine, and as they were both about the same age, with the same taste for music and poetry, it was natural that he should admire her, and write verses to her. That she admired him and his verses, even in her darkest days, is shown by the fragment of a letter, in the Cotton collection, written by Sir William Kingston, and containing an account of all that she said and did in the Tower. She retained Wyatt's sister about her person, as her favourite and confidential attendant, and shortly before laying her head on the block, gave her, as a memento, a little manuscript prayerbook, set in gold and black enamel. This relic was preserved for a long time in the Wyatt family, as was also the tradition of Wyatt's attachment to Anne Boleyn. They rebutted all aspersions on her character after her death, and one of them, in his younger years, gathered many particulars concerning her, to refute the slanders which were then afloat. All this proves nothing, I am aware; but weighed in connection with Wyatt's poems, by those who can read between the lines, it is pretty strong circumstantial evidence. For my own part, I believe that Wyatt, at one time, loved Anne Boleyn. My

friend Boker, I see, is of the same opinion, for in his touching tragedy, "ANNE BOLEYN," he puts the following lines in the mouth of Wyatt:

"O Anne, Anne,

The world may banish all regard for thee,

Mewing thy fame in frigid chronicles,

But every memory that haunts my mind

Shall cluster round thee still. I'll hide thy name

Under the coverture of even lines,

I'll hint it darkly in familiar songs,

I'll mix each melancholy thought of thee

Through all my numbers: so that heedless men

Shall hold my love for thee within their hearts,
Not knowing of the treasure."

Wyatt's poems were first published in 1557, fifteen years after his death, in a work called Tottel's Miscellany, the earliest collection of the kind in the language.

THE LOVER PRAYETH HIS OFFERED HEART TO BE RECEIVED.

How oft have I, my dear and cruel foe,

With my great pain to get some peace or truce,

Given you my heart; but you do not use

In so high things, to cast your mind so low.

If any other look for it, as you trow,

Their vain weak hope doth greatly them abuse:

And that I thus disdain, that you refuse;

It was once mine, it can no more be so.

If

you

it chafe, that it in you can find,

In this exile, no manner of comfort,

Nor live alone, nor where he is called resort;

He may wander from his natural kind.

So shall it be great hurt unto us twain,
And yours the loss, and mine the deadly pain.

THE LOVER FORSAKETH HIS UNKIND LOVE.

My heart I gave thee, not to do it pain,
But to preserve, lo, it to thee was taken.

I served thee, not that I should be forsaken;

But, that I should receive reward again,

I was content thy servant to remain;

And not to be repaid on this fashion.

Now, since in thee there is none other reason,
Displease thee not, if that I do refrain.
Unsatiate of my woe, and thy desire;
Assured by craft for to excuse thy fault:
But, since it pleaseth thee to feign default,
Farewell, I say, departing from the fire.

For he that doth believe, bearing in hand,

Plougheth in the water, and soweth in the sand.

THE LOVER, DESPAIRING TO ATTAIN UNTO HIS LADY'S GRACE, RELINQUISHETH THE PURSUIT.

Whoso list to hunt? I know where is an hind!

But as for me, alas! I may no more,

The vain travail hath wearied me so sore;

I am of them that furthest come behind.

Yet may I by no means my wearied mind
Draw from the deer; but as she fleeth afore,
Fainting I follow: I leave off therefore,
Since in a net I seek to hold the wind.
Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt
As well as I, may spend his time in vain;
And graven with diamonds in letters plain,

There is written her fair neck round about:

"Noli me tangere; for Cæsar's I am,
And wild for to hold, though I seem tame."

THE DESERTED LOVER CONSOLETH HIMSELF WITH REMEMBRANCE THAT ALL WOMEN ARE BY NATURE FICKLE.

Divers doth use, as I have heard and know,
When that to change their ladies do begin,
To mourn, and wail, and never for to lynn ;

Hoping thereby to 'pease their painful woe.
And some there be that when it chanceth so

That women change, and hate where love hath been,
They call them false, and think with words to win
The hearts of them which otherwhere doth grow.
But as for me, though that by chance indeed
Change hath outworn the favour that I had,
I will not wail, lament, nor yet be sad,
Nor call her false that falsely did me feed;

But let it pass, and think it is of kind

That often change doth please a woman's mind.

THE LOVER CURSETH THE TIME WHEN FIRST HE FELL IN LOVE.

When first mine eyes did view and mark

Thy fair beauty to behold,

And when my ears listened to hark
The pleasant words, that thou me told;
I would as then I had been free

From ears to hear, and eyes to see.
And when my lips 'gan first to move,
Whereby my heart to thee was known,
And when my tongue did talk of love
To thee, that hast true love down thrown;
I would my lips and tongue also
Had then been dumb, no deal to go.
And when my hands have handled aught
That thee hath kept in memory,
And when my feet have gone and sought
To find and get thee company,

I would each foot a hand had been,
And I each foot a hand had seen.
And when in mind I did consent,
To follow this my fancy's will,
And when my heart did first relent
To taste such bait, my life to spill,

I would my heart had been as thine,
Or else thy heart had been as mine.

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 thee 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,

Of him that loveth thee?

Alas, thy cruelty!

And wilt thou leave me thus?

Say nay! say nay!

THE FORSAKEN LOVER CONSOLETH HIMSELF WITH REMEMBRANCE

OF PAST HAPPINESS.

Spite hath no power to make me sad,
Nor scornfulness to make me plain.

It doth suffice that once I had,

And so to leave it is no pain.

Let them frown on that least doth gain,
Who did rejoice must needs be glad;
And though with words thou ween'st to reign,
It doth suffice that once I had.