But wilfull Will did pricke me forth,
And blinde Cupid did whippe and guyde;
Force made me take my grief in worth
My fruitleffe hope my harme did hide.
As cruel waves full oft be founde,
Against the rockes do rore and cry,
So doth my hart full oft rebound,
Against my breft ful bitterly.
I fall and fe mine own decay,

As one that beares flame in his breft;
Forgets in paine to put away,

The things that bredeth mine unreft.

The Lover excufeth bin felf of fufpected change.

THOUGH I regarded not
The promife made by me,
Or paffed not to spot
My faith and honeftie;
Yet were my fansie strange,
And wilful will to wite;
If I foughte now to change
A falkon for a kite.

All men might well difpraife
My wit and enterprise,
If I esteemed a pefe
Above a pearle in price:
Or judged the owle in fight,
The fparhauke to excell;
Which flyeth but in the night
As all men know righte well.
Or if I foughte to faile,
into the brittle porte;
Where anker hold doth faile,
To fuch as do resort;
And leave the haven fure,

Where blowes no bluftring winde;
Nor fickeeneffe in ure
So farforth as I finde.
No, think me not fo lighte,
Nor of fo churlish xinde,
Though it lay in my wighte,
My boundage to unbinde:
That I woulde leave the kinde
To hunt the ganders fo.
No, no, I have no minde
To make exchanges fo;
Nor yet to change at all,
For thinke it may not be,
That I fhoulde feke to fall
From my felicitie.
Defirous for to win,
And loth for to forgo,
Or new change to begin,
How may all this be fo?
The fire it cannot frefe,
For it is not his kinde;
Nor true love cannot lefe
The conftancye of minde:
Yet as fone fhall the fire,

Want heate to Llafe and burne,
As I in fuch defire

Have once a thought to turne,

A Careleffe Man fcorning and describing the futtle ufage of Women towards their Lovers.

WRAPT in me careleffe cloke, as I walk to and fro,

I fee how love can fhew what force there reigneth in his bow,

And how he fhoteth eke a harty hart to wound; And where he glaunceth by again, that little hurt is found.

For feldme is it fene he wounde the harts alike; The tone may rage, when tothers love is often farre to seke:

All this I fee with more, and wonder thinketh me, How he can ftrike the one fo fore, and leave the other free;

I fee that wounded wight, that fuffereth all this wrong,

How he is fed with yeas and nays, and liveth al

to long

In filence, though I kepe fuch fecretes to my felf; Yet do I fee how fhe fometime doth yelde a looke

by ftelth,

Shal find wher plaineffe femes to haunt, nothing but craft appear:

For with indifferent eyes my felf can well discerne, How fom to guide a ship in stormes feke for to take the fterne;

Whose practice it were proued in calme to ftere a barge,

Affuredly believ it well it were to great a charge: And fome I fe again fit ftill and fay but small, That coulde do ten times more then they that say they can do all;

Whofe goodly giftes are fuch, the more they understand,

The more they feke to learne and know, and take lefe charge in hand.

And to declare more plain the time fleets not fo faft,

But I can bear full well in mind the fong now fong and paft,

The auctor whereof come wrapt in a crafty cloke, With will to force a flaming fire, where he could raise no smoke;

If power and will had joined, as it appereth plaine, The truth no right had tane no place their vertues had been vain,

So that you may perceive, and I may falfly fe The innocent that giltleffe is, condempned fhould have be.

The Conftant Lover Lamenth.

SINS fortunes wrath envieth the welth
Wherein I raigned by the fight
Of that, that fed mine eyes by stelth,
With fowre, fwete, dread and delight,
Let not my griefe move you to mone,
For I will wepe and waile alone.
Spite drave me into Boreas raigne,
Where hoary froftes the fruites do bite,
When hills were spread, and every plaine
With formy winters mantle white,

And yet my dere fuch was my heate,
When others freaze then did I fweate.
And now, though on the funne I drive,
Whofe fervent flame all thinges decaies,
His beames in brightneffe may not strive,
With light of your fwete golden rayes;
Nor from my brefte this heate remove,
The frozen thoughtes graven by love.
He may the waves of the falt floode
Quench that your beautie fet on fyre,
For though myne eyes forbeare the foode,
That dyd relieve the hot defire:
Such as I was, fuch will I be,

Your owne, what woulde you more of me?

A lyon faw I late as whyte as any fnowe, Which femed well to leade the race, his pert the fame did fhowe:

Upon the gentle beast to gaze it pleased me, For ftill me thoughte he feemed well of noble bloud to be.

And as he praunced before, still seeking for a make, As who would fay, there is none here, I trowe will me forfake;

I might perceive a woolfe as white as whales bone, A fairer beafte, of fresher hue beheld I never none, Save that her lookes were coy, and froward eke her grace,

Unto the whiche this gentle beast gan him avaunce apace.

And with a becke full lowe he bowed at her feete, In humble wife, as who woulde fay, I am too farre unmeete.

But fuch a fcornfull chere wherewith the him rewarded,

Was never feene I trowe the like to fuch as well deferved.

With that the start afyde well neere a foot or twaine, And unto him thus gan she say with spyte and great difdaine,

Lyon fhe faide, if thou hadeft known my mind before,

Thou hadst not fpent thy travaile thus, nor all thy paine for lore. [me, Do way I lete thee, wete thou shalt not play with Go range about, where thou maift finde fome meter fere for thee.

With that he bet his tayle, his eyes began to flame, I might perceive his noble heart, much moved by

remove,

[love.

that refufed to Daunce with bim.

ECHE beaft can choofe his fere according to his mynde,

And eke can fhewe a friendly chere lyke to their beafly kynde;

Other there be, whofe lives do linger ftill in payne, Against their wills preferved are, that woulde

have dyed fayne.

But now I do perceive, that nought it moveth you, My good entent my gentle heart, nor yet my

kinde fo true.

But that your will is fuch, to lure me to the trade,, And other fome full many yeres to trace by craft ye made.

And thus behold our kyndes how that we differ farre,

I feek my foes, and you your frendes do threten ftill with warre.

I faune where I am fed, you flay, that fekes to you, I can devour no yelding prey, you kill where you fubdue.

My kind is to defire the honour of the feild, And you with bloud do flake your thyrfte on fuch as to you yelde:

Wherefore I woulde you wife, that for your coyed lookes,

I am no man that will be trapt, nor tangled with fuch hookes.

And though fome luft to love, where blamefull well they might,

And to fuch beaftes of current fort, that would have travail bright;

I will observe the lawe, that nature gave to me, To conquer fuch as will refift, and let the reft go

free :

Synce that amongst them all, I dare well fay is none, So farre from weal, fo full of woe, or hath more

cause to mone.

For all thinges haveing life, fometime hath quiet reft, [beast:

The bearing affe, the drawing oxe, and every other The peafant, and the poft, that ferves at all affayes, The ship boy, and the galley flave, have time to take their ease.

Save I, alas! whom care of force doth so constrayne, To wale the day, and wake the night, continually in payne.

From penfiveness to plaint, from plaint to bitter teares,

From teares, to paynfull playnt againe, and thus my life it weares.

Nothyng under the fun, that I can heare or fee, But moveth me for to bewayle my cruel deftyny. For where men do rejoyce (fince that I cannot fo) I take no pleasure in that place, it doubleth but

And in my thought I role her beauties too and fro, Her laughing chere, her lively looke, my heart that perced fo.

Her ftrangenes when I fued her fervaunt for to be, And what the fayde, and how the fmylde, when that the pitied me.

her breft.

Then comes a fodyane feare that rueth all my reft, Left abfence caule forgetfulnes to finke within [divyde, For when I thinke how farre this earth doth us Alas, me femes love throws me downe, I fele how that I flide:

But when I thinke agayne, why should I thus miftrust, [juft.

So fwete a wight, fo fad and wife, that is fo true and For loth fhe was to love, and wavering is the not, The farther off the more defyrde, thus lovers tye theyr knot;

So in difpayre and hoape plunged am I both up and downe,

As is the fhip with wind and wave, when Neptune lift to frowne.

But as the watery showers delay the raging wind, So doth good hoape cleane put away dilpayre out of my mynde;

And byddes for to ferve and fuffer patiently,
For what wot I the after weale that fortune wiles

to me.

For those that care do knowe, and tasted have of trouble,

When paffed is theyr wofull payne, eche joy shall feme them double:

And bytter fendes, she now to make me tafle the better,

The pleasant swete when that it comes to make it feem the fweter.

And fo determine 1 to ferve until my breath, Yea rather dye a thousand tinies than once to falfe my fayth.

And if my coole corps through weight of wofull Smart, [hart,

Do fayle or faint, my will it is that still she kepe my And when this carcas here to earth fhall be refard, I do bequeath my weried ghoft to ferve her afterward.

The meares to altayne bappy Life. MARTIALL the thinges that doe attayne The happy lyfe, be thefe I fynde, The riches left, not got with payne, The fruitfull grounde, the quiet mynde, The egall frend no grudge no ftrife, No charge of rule nor governaunce; Without difeafe the healthful lyfe, The houshold of continuance. The meane dyet no delicate fare, True wisdome joynde with fimpleneffe; The night difcharged of all care, Where wine the witte may not oppreffe. The faithfull wyfe without debate, Such flepe as may beguile the night, Contented with thine owne eftate, Ne wish for death, ne feare his might.

Praifes of certain Pfalmes of David translated by Sir
T. W. the elder.

THE great Macedon, that out of Perfia chafed
Darius, of whofe huge powers all Afie rong,
In the riche arke Dan Homers rimes he placed,
Wo feigned geftes of heathen princes fong,
What holy grave, what worthy fepulchre
To Wyates pfalms fhould Chriftians then purchase:
Where he doth paint the lyvely faith and pure,
The ftedfaft hope the fweete returne to grace.
Of juft David by perfite penitence,
Where rulers may fee in a myrrour clear,
The bytter fruite of falfe concupifcence,
How Jewry bought Urias death ful deare.
In princes hartes Gods fcourge emprinted depe,
Ought them awake out of their fiafull flepe.

Of the Death of the fame Sir T. W. DIVERS thy death do dyverfly bemone, Some that in prefence of thy livelihed Lurked, whofe breftes envy with hate had swolne, Yield Ccafars feares upon Pompeus hed, Some that watched with the murderers knife, With eager thyrft to drinke thy giltleffe blood, Whofe practife brake by happy end of lyfe, With envious teares to heare thy fame so good, But I, that knew what harbred in that hed What vertues rare were tempred in that brest, Honour the place that fuch a jewel tred,

And kille the ground wheras the corps doth rest,

With vapourd eyes, from whence fuch freames avayle,

As Pyramus did on Thibes breft bewayle.

Prayfe of meant and confiant efiate.

Or thy lyfe Thomas, this compaffe well marke
Not aye with full failes the hye feas to beate,
Ne by coward dred, in fhonning stormes datke,
On fhallowe fhores thy keel in perill fret.
Who fo gladly halfeth the golden meane,
Voide of daungers advisedly hath his home,
Not with lothlome mucke as a den uncleane,
Nor palace like, whereat difdayne may glome.
The lofty pyne the great wind often rives,
With violenter fwey falne turrets stepe,
Lightnings affure the high mountaines and clives,
A bart well ftayde, in overthwartes depe,

Of the fame.

WYAT refteth here, that quicke could never reft,
Whole heavenly gyftes encreafeth by disdayne,
And vertue fanke the deper in his breft.
Such profit he by envy could obtayn.

A hed, where wifdome mifteries did frame, Whole hammers bet ftyll in that lively braine, As on a ftythe, where that fome worke of fame Was dayly wrought, to turn to Britaines gayne.

A vilage fterne, and milde, where both did growe,

Vyce to contentne, in virtue to rejoyce:
Amyd great formes, whom grace affured fo,
To live upright, and fmile at fortures choyce,

A hand, that taught what might be fayd in ryme That reft Chaucer the glory of his wit. A marke, the which (unparfited, for time) Some may approche, but never none shall hit.

A tong, that ferved in forein realmes his king, Whole courteous talke to vertue did inflame, Eche noble hart, a woorthy guyde to bring **Our English youth, by travayle unto fame.

An eye whofe judgment none affect could blind, Friendes to allure and foes to reconcyle; Whofe piercing looke did represent a mynde With vertue fraught, repofed voyde of guyle.

A hart, where dreade was never fo impreft, To hyde the thought, that might the trouth avaunce lu neyther fortune loft, nor yet repreft, To fwell in welth, or yield unto mischaunce,

A valiant corps, where force and beauty met, Happy, alas! too happy, but for foes, Lived, and ran the race, that nature fet, Of manhodes shape, where the the mold did lofe. But when to the heavens that fimple foule is fled Which left with fuch, as covet Chriit to knowe, Witnefs of faith, that never fhal be dead; Sent for our health, but not received fo. Thus for our gilt, this jewel have we loft, The earth his bones, the heavens poffelle his ghoft.

Of the fame.

In the rude age when knowledge was not ryfe,
If Jove in Crete and other were that taught,
Arts to convert to profite of our lyfe,
Wend after death to have theyr temples fought,
If vertue yet no voyde unthankfull tymes,
Fayled of fome to blast her endless fame,
A goodly meane both to deterre from crime,
And to our steppes our sequele to enflame :
In dayes of truth if Wyates frendes them wayle,
The only det that dead or quick may clayme,
That rare wit fpent, employed to our avayle,
Where Chrift is taught we led to vertues trayne.
His lively face their breaftes how did it freat,
Whole cyndres yet, with envy they do cate.

Of Sardanapalus difbonorable life, and miferable death.

THASSIRIAN king in peace, with foule defyre,
And filthy luftes, that ftaynde his regall hart.
In warre that fhould fet princely heartes on fyre,
Did yeld, vanquifht for want of marcial arte,
The dynt of fwordes from kiffes femed ftrange,
And harder, than his ladies fyde, his targe,
From glutton feaftes, to fouldiers fare, a change,
His helmet, farre above a garlandes charge,
Who fcafe the name of manhood did retaine,
Drenched in flouth, and womannifat delight,
Feble of fprite, impacient of payne,
When he had loft his honour, and his right
Proud time of wealth, in ftormes appalled with
dread,

Murthered himfelfe, to fhewe fome manfull dede.

way,

That opes and fhuttes, as I do fpeak, do thus unto me fay;

The white and horish heres, the meffengers of age, That fhew like lines of true belief, that this life doth afuage,

Biddes the lay hand, and feele them hanging on thy chin.

The whiche doth write to ages paft, the third now coming in, [tyme, Hang up therefore the bitte, of thy yong wanton And thou that therein beaten art, the happiest life defyne: [toye, Whereat I fighed, and fayde, farewell my wonted Truffe up thy packe, aud trudge from me to every little boy,

And tell them thus from me, their time most hapPy is,

If to theyr time they reafon had, to know the trach of this.