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With chear as though one should another whelme, Where we haue fought, and chased oft with dartes; With siluer droppes the meade yet spred for ruthe, In active games of nimblenes and strength,

Where we did straine, trayned with swarmes of youth,

Our tender limmes, that yet shot vp in lenth :
The secrete groues which oft we made resounde,
Of pleasaunt playnt, and of our ladies praise,
Recording oft what grace ech one had founde,
What hope of spede, what drede of long delayes:
The wilde forest, the clothed holtes with grene,
With rayns auailed and swift ybreathed horse;
With crie of houndes and mery blastes betwene,
Where we did chase the fearful harte of force.
The wide vales eke, that harborde vs eche nighte,
Wherwith (alas) reuiueth in my brest

The swete accorde, such slepes as yet delight,
The pleasant dreames, the quiet bed of rest:
The secrete thoughtes imparted with such trust,
The wanton talke, the diuers change of play,
The friendship sworne, eche promise kept so

Wherwith we past the winter night away.

And with this thought, the bloud forsakes the face,
The teares berayne my chekes of deadly hewe,
The whyche as sone as sobbing sighes, alas,
Upsupped have, thus I my plaint renewe:
O place of blisse! renuer of my woes,
Giue me accompt, where is my noble fere;
Whom in thy walles thou dost ech night enclose;
To other leefe, but unto me most dere:

Eccho, alas, that doth my sorrow rewe,
Returns therto a hollowe sounde of playnte.

Thus I alone, where all my fredome grewe,
In prison pine with bondage and restrainte,
And with remembrance of the greater greefe,
To banish the lesse, I find my chief releefe.


GEYE place, ye louers, here before,

That spent your bostes and bragges in vain,
My ladies beawty passeth more

The best of yours, I dare well sayen,
Then doth the sunne the candle light;
Or brightest day the darkest night,

And therto hath a troth as just,
As had Penelope the faire,
For what she sayth, ye may it trust,
As by it writing sealed were:
And virtues hath she many moe,
Than I with pen have skill to showe.

I could reherse if that I would,
The whole effect of Natures plaint,
When she had lost the perfite mould,
The like to whome she could not paint :
With wringyng hands, how she did cry,
And what she said, I know it, I.

I knowe she swore with raging minde
Her kingdome onely set apart;
There was no losse, by lawe of kinde,
That could haue gone so nere her hart;
And this was chefely all her paine,
She could not make the like againe.

Sith Nature thus gaue her the praise, To be the chefest worke she wrought; In faith me thinke some better wayes, On your behalfe might well be sought, Then to compare (as you haue done) To matche the candle withe the sunne.


As oft as I behold and see

The soueraigne beautie that me bound,
The nier my comfort is to me,
Alas! the fresher is my wound.

As flame doth quench by rage of fire,
And running stremes consume by raine;
So doth the sight, that I desire,
Appease my grief and deadly paine.

First when I saw those christal streames,
Whose beauty made my mortall wounde,
I little thought within her beames,
So swete a venom to haue found.

But wilfull will did pricke me forth,
And blinde Cupide did whippe and guide;
Force made me take my griefe in worth:
My fruteless hope my harme did hide.

As cruel waves full oft be found,
Against the rockes to rore and cry;
So doth my hart full oft rebound,
Agaynst my brest full bitterly.

I fall and se mine own decay,
As one, that beares flame in his brest;
Forgets in paine to put away,

The thinge that bredith mine unrest.


DIVERS thy death do diversly bemone,
Some that in presence of thy livelyhed
Lurked, whose brestes envy with hate had swolne,
Yeld Ceasars teares upon Pompius hed.
Some that watched with the murdrers knife,
With eger thirst to drinke thy giltlesse blood,
Whose practise brake by happy end of life,
With envious teares to heare thy fame so good.
But I, that knewe what harbred in that hed,
What vertues rare were tempred in that brest,
Honour the place that such a jewel bred,

And kisse the ground wheras the corse doth rest, With vapord eyes, from whence such streames avail,

As Pyramus did on Thisbes brest bewail.


WYAT resteth here, that quick could never rest,
Whose heavenly giftes encreaseth by disdain,
And vertue sank the deper in his brest,
Such profit he by enuy could obtain.

A hed, where wisdom misteries did frame,
Whose hammers bet still in that liuely braine,
As on a stythe; where that some worke of fame
Was dayly wrought, to turne to Britaines gaine.

A visage, sterne, and milde; where both did growe,
Vice to contemne, in vertue to rejoyce :
Amid great stormes, whom grace assured so,
To liue vpright, and smile at fortunes choyce.

A hand that taught what might be said in rime;
That reft Chaucer the glory of his wit.
A mark, the which (vnparfited, for time)
Some may approach, but neuer none shall hit.

A tong, that serued in forein realmes his king; Whose courteous talke to vertue did enflame Eche noble hart; a worthy guide to bring Our English youth, by trauail vnto fame.

An eye, whose judgment none affect could blinde, Frendes to allure, and foes to reconcile; Whose persing looke did represent a minde With vertue fraught, reposed, voyd of gile.

A hart, where dreade was neuer so imprest, To hide the thought, that might the trouth auance; In neyther fortnne loft, nor yet represt,

To swel in welth, or yield vnto mischance.

A valiant corps, where force and beauty met, Happy, alas! to happy, but for foes;

Liued, and ran the race that nature set;

Of manhodes shape, where she the mold did lose.

But to the heavens that simple soule is fled; Which left with such, as couet Christ to know, Witness of faith, that neuer shal be ded; Sent for our helth, but not receiued so. Thus for our gilt, this jewel haue we lost; The earth his bones, the heavens possesse his ghost.

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