Sir Thomas Wyatt

Christian Beck

15 Sir Thomas Wyatt

The long love that in
my thought doth harbor

From fairest creatures we desire increase,

That thereby beauty’s rose might never die,

But as the riper should by time decease,

His tender heir might bear his memory:

But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes,

Feed’st thy light’s flame with self-substantial fuel,

Making a famine where abundance lies,

Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel:

Thou that art now the world’s fresh ornament,

And only herald to the gaudy spring,

Within thine own bud buriest thy content,

And, tender churl, mak’st waste in niggarding:

Pity the world, or else this glutton be,

To eat the world’s due, by the grave and thee.

Whoso list to hunt

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.’

Farewell, Love

FairwellL, Love, and all thy laws for ever ;

Thy baited hooks shall tangle me no more.

Senec, and Plato, call me from thy lore,

To perfect wealth, my wit for to endeavour ;

In blind error when I did persever,

Thy sharp repulse, that pricketh aye so sore,

Taught me in trifles that I set no store ;

But scaped forth thence, since, liberty is lever

Therefore, farewell ! go trouble younger hearts,

And in me claim no more authority :

With idle youth go use thy property,

And thereon spend thy many brittle darts :

For, hitherto though I have lost my time,

Me list no longer rotten boughs to clime.

I find no peace

I find no peace, and all my war is done ;

I fear and hope, I burn, and freeze like ice ;

I fly aloft, yet can I not arise;

And nought I have, and all the world I seize on,

That locks nor loseth, holdeth me in prison,

And holds me not, yet can I scape no wise:

Nor lets me live, nor die, at my devise,

And yet of death it giveth me occasion.

Without eye I see ; without tongue I plain :

I wish to perish, yet I ask for health ;

I love another, and thus I hate myself ;

I feed me in sorrow, and laugh in all my pain.

Lo, thus displeaseth me both death and life,

And my delight is causer of this strife.

My galley

My galley chargèd with forgetfulness

Thorough sharp seas, in winter nights doth pass

‘Tween rock and rock; and eke mine enemy, alas,

That is my lord, steereth with cruelness,

And every oar a thought in readiness,

As though that death were light in such a case.

An endless wind doth tear the sail apace

Of forcèd sighs and trusty fearfulness.

A rain of tears, a cloud of dark disdain,

Hath done the wearied cords great hinderance;

Wreathèd with error and eke with ignorance.

The stars be hid that led me to this pain.

Drownèd is reason that should me consort,

And I remain despairing of the port.

Divers doth use

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.

What vaileth truth?

What ‘vaileth truth, or by it to take pain ?

To strive by steadfastness for to attain

How to be just, and flee from doubleness ?

Since all alike, where ruleth craftiness,

Rewarded is both crafty, false, and plain.

Soonest he speeds that most can lie and feign :

True meaning heart is had in high disdain.

Against deceit and cloaked doubleness,

What ‘vaileth truth, or perfect steadfastness ?

Deceived is he by false and crafty train,

That means no guile, and faithful doth remain

Within the trap, without help or redress :

But for to love, lo, such a stern mistress,

Where cruelty dwells, alas, it were in vain.

What ‘vaileth truth !

Madam, withouten many words

As an unperfect actor on the stage,

Madam, withouten many words,

Once I am sure you will, or no :

And if you will, then leave yourbourds,

And use your wit, and shew it so,

For, with a beck you shall me call ;

And if of one, that burns alway,

Ye have pity or ruth at all,

Answer him fair, with yea or nay.

If it be yea, I shall be fain ;

If it be nay—friends, as before ;

You shall another man obtain,

And I mine own, and yours no more.

They flee from me

They flee from me, that sometime did me seek,

With naked foot stalking within mychamber:

Once have I seen them gentle, tame, and meek,

That now are wild, and do not once remember,

That sometime they have put themselves in danger

To take bread at my hand ; and now they range

Busily seeking in continual change.

Thanked be Fortune, it hath been otherwise

Twenty times better ; but once especial,

In thin array, after a pleasant guise,

When her loose gown did from her shoulders fall,

And she me caught in her arms long and small,

And therewithal sweetly did me kiss,

And softly said, ‘ Dear heart, how like you this ?’

It was no dream ; for I lay broad awaking:

But all is turn’d now through my gentleness,

Into a bitter fashion of forsaking;

And I have leave to go of her goodness;

And she also to use new fangleness.

But since that I unkindly so am served:

How like you this, what hath she now deserved ?

Forget not yet

Forget not yet the tried intent

Of such a truth as I have meant ;

My great travail so gladly spent,

Forget not yet !

Forget not yet when first began

The weary life ye know, since whan

The suit, the service none tell can ;

Forget not yet !

Forget not yet the great assays,

The cruel wrong, the scornful ways,

The painful patience in delays,

Forget not yet !

Forget not ! oh ! forget not this,

How long ago hath been, and is

The mind that never meant amiss

Forget not yet !

Forget not then thine own approv’d,

The which so long hath thee so lov’d,

Whose steadfast faith yet never mov’d :

Forget not this !

Blame not my lute

Blame not my Lute ! for he must sound

Of this or that as liketh me ;

For lack of wit the Lute is bound

To give such tunes as pleaseth me ;

Though my songs be somewhat strange,

And speak such words as touch thy change,

Blame not my Lute !

My Lute ! alas ! doth not offend,

Though that perforce he must agree

To sound such tunes as I intend,

To sing to them that heareth me ;

Then though my songs be somewhat plain,

And toucheth some that use to feign,

Blame not my Lute !

My Lute and strings may not deny

But as I strike they must obey ;

Break not them then so wrongfully,

But wreak thyself some other way ;

And though the songs which I indite

Do quit thy change with rightful spite,

Blame not my Lute !

Spite asketh spite, and changing change,

And falsèd faith must needs be known ;

The fault so great, the case so strange ;

Of right it must abroad be blown :

Then since that by thine own desart

My songs do tell how true thou art,

Blame not my Lute !

Blame but thyself that hast misdone,

And well deservèd to have blame ;

Change thou thy way, so evil begone,

And then my Lute shall sound that same ;

But if ’till then my fingers play,

By thy desert their wonted way,

Blame not my Lute !

Farewell ! unknown ; for though thou break

My strings in spite with great disdain,

Yet have I found out for thy sake,

Strings for to string my Lute again :

And if, perchance, this sely rhyme

Do make thee blush, at any time,

Blame not my Lute !

Stand whoso list

Stand, whoso list, upon the slipper wheel

Of high estate ; and let me here rejoice,

And use my life in quietness each dele,*

Unknown in court that hath the wanton toys :

In hidden place my time shall slowly pass,

And when my years be past withouten noise,

Let me die old after the common trace ;

For gripes of death doth he too hardly pass,

That knowen is to all, but to himself, alas,

He dieth unknown, dasèd with dreadful face.

Who list his wealth
and ease retain

Who list his wealth and ease retain,

Himself let him unknown contain.

Press not too fast in at that gate

Where the return stands by disdain:

For sure, circa regna tonat.

The high mountains are blasted oft

When the low valley is mild and soft.

Fortune with Health stands at debate.

The fall is grievous from aloft.

And sure, circa regna tonat.

These bloody days have broken my heart.

My lust, my youth did then depart,

And blind desire of estate.

Who hastes to climb seeks to revert.

Of truth, circa regna tonat.

The Bell Tower showed me such sight

That in my head sticks day and night.

There did I learn of of a grate

For all favor, glory, or might,

That yet circa regna tonat.

By proof, I say, there did I learn:

Wit helpeth not defense to yerne,

Of innocence to plead or prate.

Bear low, therefore, give God the stern,

For sure, circa regna tonat.

Mine own John Roins

Mine own John Poynz, since ye delight to know

The cause why that homeward I me draw,

And flee the press of courts, whereso they go,

Rather than to live thrall under the awe

Of lordly looks, wrappèd within my cloak,

To will and lust learning to set a law:

It is not for because I scorn or mock

The power of them, to whom fortune hath lent

Charge over us, of right, to strike the stroke.

But true it is that I have always meant

Less to esteem them than the common sort,

Of outward things that judge in their intent

Without regard what doth inward resort.

I grant sometime that of glory the fire

Doth twyche my heart. Me list not to report

Blame by honour, and honour to desire.

But how may I this honour now attain,

That cannot dye the colour black a liar?

My Poynz, I cannot from me tune to feign,

To cloak the truth for praise without desert

Of them that list all vice for to retain.

I cannot honour them that sets their part

With Venus and Bacchus all their life long;

Nor hold my peace of them although I smart.

I cannot crouch nor kneel to do so great a wrong,

To worship them, like God on earth alone,

That are as wolves these sely lambs among.

I cannot with my word complain and moan,

And suffer nought, nor smart without complaint,

Nor turn the word that from my mouth is gone.

I cannot speak and look like a saint,

Use willes for wit, and make deceit a pleasure,

And call craft counsel, for profit still to paint.

I cannot wrest the law to fill the coffer

With innocent blood to feed myself fat,

And do most hurt where most help I offer.

I am not he that can allow the state

Of him Caesar, and damn Cato to die,

That with his death did scape out of the gate

From Caesar’s hands (if Livy do not lie)

And would not live where liberty was lost;

So did his heart the common weal apply.

I am not he such eloquence to boast

To make the crow singing as the swan;

Nor call the liond of cowardes beasts the most

That cannot take a mouse as the cat can;

And he that dieth for hunger of the gold

Call him Alexander; and say that Pan

Passeth Apollo in music many fold;

Praise Sir Thopias for a noble tale,

And scorn the story that the Knight told;

Praise him for counsel that is drunk of ale;

Grin when he laugheth that beareth all the sway,

Frown when he frowneth and groan when is pale;

On others’ lust to hang both night and day:

None of these points would ever frame in me.

My wit is nought—I cannot learn the way.

And much the less of things that greater be,

That asken help of colours of device

To join the mean with each extremity,

With the nearest virtue to cloak alway the vice;

And as to purpose, likewise it shall fall

To press the virtue that it may not rise;

As drunkenness good fellowship to call;

The friendly foe with his double face

Say he is gentle and courteous therewithal;

And say that favel hath a goodly grace

In eloquence; and cruelty to name

Zeal of justice and change in time and place;

And he that suffer’th offence without blame

Call him pitiful; and him true and plain

That raileth reckless to every man’s shame.

Say he is rude that cannot lie and feign;

The lecher a lover; and tyranny

To be the right of a prince’s reign.

I cannot, I; no, no, it will not be!

This is the cause that I could never yet

Hang on their sleeves that way, as thou mayst see,

A chip of chance more than a pound of wit.

This maketh me at home to hunt and to hawk,

And in foul weather at my book to sit;

In frost and snow then with my bow to stalk;

No man doth mark whereso I ride or go:

In lusty leas at liberty I walk.

And of these news I feel nor weal nor woe,

Save that a clog doth hang yet at my heel.

No force for that, for it is ordered so,

That I may leap both hedge and dyke full well.

I am not now in France to judge the wine,

With saffry sauce the delicates to feel;

Nor yet in Spain, where one must him incline

Rather than to be, outwardly to seem:

I meddle not with wits that be so fine.

Nor Flanders’ cheer letteth not my sight to deem

Of black and white; nor taketh my wit away

With beastliness; they beasts do so esteem.

Nor I am not where Christ is given in prey

For money, poison, and treason at Rome—

A common practice used night and day:

But here I am in Kent and Christendom

Among the Muses where I read and rhyme;

Where if thou list, my Poinz, for to come,

Thou shalt be judge how I do spend my time.

Source:

Wyatt, Thomas. The Works of Sir Thomas Wyatt. Luminarium. Web. 12 Apr. 2016. <http://www.luminarium.org/renlit/wyattbib.htm>

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The long love that in my thought doth harbor

Whoso list to hunt

Farewell, Love

I find no peace

My galley

Divers doth use

What vaileth truth?

Madam, withouten many words

They flee from me

Forget not yet

Blame not my lute

Stand whoso list

Who list his wealth and ease retain

Mine own John Roins

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The long love that in
my thought doth harbor

Who list his wealth
and ease retain