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And thereto hath a troth as just,
As had Penelope the fair;
As it by writing sealed were:
I could rehearse, if that I would,
When she had lost the perfite mould,
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;
Sith Nature thus gave her the praise
In faith, methink, some better, ways
Than to compare, as ye have done,
To match the candle wi'ii the sun.
Description of Spring, wherein each thing renews, save only the lover.
The soote* season, that bud and bloom fortli 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; x
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
The great Macedon, that out of Persie chased
In the rich ark dan Homer's rhymes he placed,
Who feigned gests of heathen princes sung.
* Sweet. * Mingles.
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 perjite penitence:
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. x
On the death of the same Sir Thomas Wyatt.
Divers thy death do diversly bemoan:
Lurked, whose breasts envy with hate had swoln,
[And] some, that watched with the murderer's knife
Whose practice brake by happy end of life,
* So ed. I.—Ed. 1567, " sepulchre."
» Mr. Warton thinks that "probably the last lines may "contain an oblique allusion to some of the king's « amours."
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.
Wyatt resteth here, that quick* could never rest,
And virtue sank the deeper in his breast;
A head, where wisdom mysteries did frame,
As on a stithe,3 where that some work of fame
A visage stern and mild ; where both did grow
Amid great storms whom grace assured so
To live upright, and smile at Fortune's choice.
* So ed I.—Ed. 1567," the corpse". "Alive. 'Ananvil.
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,
Each noble heart; a worthy guide to bring
An eye, whose judgment none affect * could blind,
Whose piercing look did represent a mind
A heart, where dread was never so imprest,
To hide the thought that might the truth avance;
In neither fortune loft, nor yet represt,
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