Sir Thomas Wyatt

Poems

The longlove that in my thought doth harbour

		The long love that in my thought doth harbour
		And in mine heart doth keep his residence
		Into my face presseth with bold pretence
		And therein campeth spreading his banner
5		She that me learneth to love and suffer
		And will that my trust and lust’s negligence
		Be reined by reason shame and reverence
		With his hardiness taketh displeasure
		Wherewithal unto the heart’s forest he fleeth
10		Leaving his enterprise with pain and cry
		And there him hideth and not appeareth
		What may I do when my master feareth
		But in the field with him to live and die
		For good is the life ending faithfully





		They flee from me that sometime did me seek



		They flee from me that sometime did me seek
		With naked foot stalking in my chamber
		I have seen them gentle tame and meek
		That now are wild and do not remember
5		That sometime they put themself in danger
		To take bread at my hand and now they range
		Busily seeking with a continual change



		Thanked be fortune it hath been otherwise
		Twenty times better but once in special
10		In thin array after a pleasant guise
		When her loose gown from her shoulders did fall
		And she me caught in her arms long and small
		Therewithal sweetly did me kiss
		And softly said dear heart how like you this



15		It was no dream I lay broad waking
		But all is turned thorough my gentleness
		Into a strange fashion of forsaking
		And I have leave to go of her goodness
		And she also to use newfangleness
20		But since that I so kindly am served
		I would fain know what she has deserved


		Each man me telleth I change most my device



		Each man me telleth I change most my device
		And on my faith me think it good reason
		To change propose like after the season
		For in every case to keep still one guise
5		Is meet for them that would be taken wise
		And I am not of such manner condition
		But treated after a diverse fashion
		And thereupon my diverseness doth rise
		But you that blame this diverseness most
10		Change you no more but still after one rate
		Treat ye me well and keep ye in the same state
		And while with me doth dwell this wearied ghost
		My word nor I shall not be variable
		But always one your own both firm and stable






		Whoso list to hunt I know where is an hind



		Whoso list to hunt I know where is an hind
		But as for me helas I may no more
		The vain travail hath wearied me so sore
		I am of them that farthest cometh behind
5		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
		Sithens in a net I seek to hold the wind
		Who list her hunt I put him out of doubt
10		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 Caesar’s I am
		And wild for to hold though I seem tame





		Mine own John Poyntz since ye delight to know



		Mine own John Poyntz 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
5		Of lordly looks, wrapped 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,
10		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
15		Doth touch 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 Poyntz I cannot frame my tongue to feign
20		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.
25		I cannot crouch nor kneel to do so great a wrong
		To worship them like God on earth alone
		That are as wolves these seely lambs among.
		I cannot with my word complain and moan
		And suffer nought nor smart without complaint
30		Nor turn the word that from my mouth is gone.
		I cannot speak and look like a saint
		Use wiles 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,
35		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
40		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
45		Nor call the lion of coward 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 manifold,
50		Praise Sir Thopas 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 he is pale,
55		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
60		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,
65		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,
70		And he that sufferth 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
75		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 weigh as thou mayst see
		A chip of chance more than a pound of wit.
80		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
85		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 dike full well.
		I am not now in France to judge the wine
90		With savoury 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
95		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.
100		But here I am in Kent and Christendom
		Among the Muses where I read and rhyme,
		Where if thou list my Poyntz for to come,
		Thou shalt be judge how I do spend my time.

Robert Clark

Sir Thomas Wyatt

Poems

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