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A THOUSAND AND
Of his statùre he was of even length, And wonderly deliver and great of strength;
And he had been some time in chevachie In Flandres, in Artois, and in Picardy, And borne him well, as of so little space, In hope to standen in his lady's grace
Embroidered was he, as it were a mead All full of freshé flowers white and red. Singing he was or fluting all the day: He was as fresh as is the month of May. Short was his gown, with sleevés long
Well could he sit on horse, and fairé ride. He couldé songés well make, and indite, Joust, and eke dance, and well pourtray
So hot he loved, that by nightertale He slept no more than doth the nightin. gale.
Courteous he was, lowly and serviceable, And carved before his father at the table.
And musing thus, I think, the case is COMPLAINT OF THE ABSENCE
OF HIS LOVE.
That man from wealth, to live in wo, doth ever seke to change.
Thus thoughtfull as I lay, I sawe my withered skyn,
How it doth shew my dented chewes, the flesh was worn so thin,
And eke my totheless chaps, the gates of my right way,
That opes and shuttes, as I do speak, do thus unto me say: The white and horish heres, the messengers of age,
That shew like lines of true belief, that this life doth assuage, Biddes the lay hand, and feele them hanging on thy chin.
The whiche doth write to ages past, the third now coming in;
Hang up therefore the bitte, of thy yong wanton tyme,
And thou that therein beaten art, the happiest life defyne. Whereat I sighed, and sayde, farewell my wonted toye, Trusse up thy packe, and trudge from me, to every little boy,
And tell them thus from me, their time most happy is,
If to theyr time they reason had, to know the truth of this.
[SIR THOMAS WYATT. 1503-1554-] A DESCRIPTION OF SUCH A ONE AS HE COULD LOVE.
A FACE that should content me wonderous well,
Should not be fatt, but lovely to behold, Of lively look all griefe for to repell With right good grace so would I that it should. Speak without word, such words as none can tell ;
Her tress also should be of crisped gold. With wit and these, perchaunce I might be tryde And knit againe with knot that should not slide.
To lyft me up that I might fly to follow my desyre.
Thus of that hope that doth my lyfe some.
Those lively eyes which of my thoughts,
My pleasure past, my present pain, when
In watch and sleep both day and night
Was never thing that mought in ought iny wofull hart delight.
Th' ancasy life I lead doth teach me for to mete,
The floods, the seas, the land, the hills, that doth them intermete, Twene me and those shene lights that wonted for to clere,
My darked pangs of cloudy thoughts as bright as Phebus sphere;
It teacheth me also, what was my pleasant state,
Out by these eyes, it sheweth that ever. more delight;
In plaint and teares to seek redress, and eke both day and night.
Those kindes of pleasures most wherein men soe rejoice,
To me they do redouble still of stormy sighes the voice.
For, I am one of them, whom plaint doth well content,
As doth the accumbred sprite the thoughtfull throwes discover, Of teares delyte of fervent love that in our hartes we cover,
The crisped gold that doth surmount Appolloe's pride,
The lively streames of pleasant starrs that under it doth glyde,
Wherein the beames of love doe still increase theire heate,
Which yet so far touch me to near in cold to make me sweat,
The wise and pleasant take, so rare or else alone,
Where doth encrease my care, much better were for me,
As dumm as stone all things forgott, still absent for to be.
Alas the clear christall, the bright tran-I splendant glasse,
Doth not bewray the colours hid which underneath it hase.
That gave to me the curties gyft, that earst had never none.
far from me alas, and every other thing,
might forbear,with better will, then this that did me bring.
With pleasand woord and cheer, redress of lingred payne,
And wonted oft in kindled will, to vertue me to trayne.
Thus am I forc'd to hear and hearken after news,
My comfort scant, my large desire in
I must complaine these hands, those
The sweet disdaynes, the pleasant wrathes,
The rage, that oft did make me err by
All this is hid from me with sharp and
At others will my long abode, my depe THE AGED LOVER RENOUNCETH dyspayr fulfills.
And of my hope sometime ryse up by
It stumbleth straite for feable faint my
And yet I trust e're that I dye, to see
The resting-place of love, where virtue
Where she doth live by whom I live, may
Between her brests she shall thee put,
Wherefore come death and let me dye.
Come gentle death, the ebbe of care,
And if for waight the body fayl, the soul shall to her flee.
THE longer life the more offence
I LOTHE that I dyd love,
My muse doth not delight
The wrinkles in my browe,
Say lymping age will lodge hym now,
THE LONGER LIFE THE MORE The cough, the cold, the gasping breath
Doth byd me to provyde
Methinkes I hear the clarke
My lustes they do me leave,
For age with stealing steppes