Thomas Wyatt's Poetry Page

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.'

-oOo-

Some time I fled the fire that me brent
By sea, by land, by water and by wind;
And now I follow the coals that be quent,
From Dover to Calais against my mind.
Lo how desire is both sprung and spent!
And he may see that whilom was so blind,
And all his labour now he laugh to scorn,
Meshed in the briars that erst was all to-torn.

-oOo-

The Riddle

What word is that that changeth not,
Though it be turned and made in twain?
It is mine answer, God it wot,
And eke the causer of my pain.
It love rewardeth with disdain:
Yet is it loved. What would ye more?
It is my health eke and my sore.

-oOo-

Lucks, my falcon, and your fellows all,

How well pleasant it were your liberty!

Ye not forsake me that fair might ye befall.

But they that sometime liked my company

Like lice away from dead bodies they crawl.

Lo, what a proof in light adversity!

But ye, my birds, I swear by all your bells,

Ye be my friends and so be but few else

[almost certainly refers to Anne Boleyn and members of her affinite, who wore the image of a falcon on the badges that identified them]

-oOo-

If waker care, if sudden pale colour,
If many sighs, with little speech to plain,
Now Joy, now woe, if they my cheer disdain,
For hope of small, if much to fear therefore;
To haste to slack my pace less or more,
Be sign of love, then do I love again.
If thou ask whom; sure, since I did refrain
Her that did set our country in a roar,
Th'unfeigned cheer of Phyllis hath the place
That Brunet had; she hath and ever shall.
She from myself now hath me in her grace:
She hath in hand my wit, my will, my all.
My heart alone well worthy she doth stay,
Without whose help, scant do I live a day.

In Mourning wise since daily I increase,

Thus should I cloak the cause of all my grief;

So pensive mind with tongue to hold his peace'My reason sayeth there can be no relief:

Wherefore give ear, I humbly you require,

The affect to know that thus doth make me moan.

The cause is great of all my doleful cheer

For those that were, and now be dead and gone.

What thought to death desert be now their call.

As by their faults it doth appear right plain?

Of force I must lament that such a fall should light on those so wealthily did reign,

Though some perchance will say, of cruel heart,

A traitor's death why should we thus bemoan?

But I alas, set this offence apart,

Must needs bewail the death of some be gone.

As for them all I do not thus lament,

But as of right my reason doth me bind;

But as the most doth all their deaths repent,

Even so do I by force of mourning mind.

Some say, 'Rochford,
haddest thou been not so proud,

For thy great wit each man would thee bemoan,

Since as it is so, many cry aloud

It is great loss that thou art dead and gone.'

Ah! Norris, Norris, my tears begin to run

To think what hap did thee so lead or guide

Whereby thou hast both thee and thine undone

That is bewailed in court of every side;

In place also where thou hast never been

Both man and child doth piteously thee moan.

They say, 'Alas, thou art far overseen

By thine offences to be thus deat and gone.'

Ah! Weston, Weston, that pleasant was and young,

In active things who might with thee compare?

All words accept that thou diddest speak with tongue,

So well esteemed with each where thou diddest fare.

And we that now in court doth lead our life

Most part in mind doth thee lament and moan;

But that thy faults we daily hear so rife,

All we should weep that thou are dead and gone.

Brereton farewell, as one that least I knew.

Great was thy love with divers as I hear,

But common voice doth not so sore thee rue

As other twain that doth before appear;

But yet no doubt but they friends thee lament

And other hear their piteous cry and moan.

So doth eah heart for thee likewise relent

That thou givest cause thus to be dead and gone.

Ah! Mark, what moan should I for thee make more,

Since that thy death thou hast deserved best,

Save only that mine eye is forced sore

With piteous plaint to moan thee with the rest?

A time thou haddest above thy poor degree,

The fall whereof thy friends may well bemoan:

A rotten twig upon so high a tree

Hath slipped thy hold, and thou art dead and gone.

And thus farewell each one in hearty wise!

The axe is home, your heads be in the street;

The trickling tears doth fall so from my eyes

I scarce may write, my paper is so wet.

But what can hope when death hath played his part,

Though nature's course will thus lament and moan?

Leave sobs therefore, and every Christian heart

Pray for the souls of those be dead and gone.

[Thomas Wyatt mentions Rochford (George Boleyn), Henry Norris,Francis Weston & Mark Smeaton's deaths but fails to mention Anne Boleyn]

-oOo-

'Ye Olde Mule'

Ye old mule that think yourself so fair,
Leave off with craft your beauty to repair,
For it is true, without any fable,
No man setteth more by riding in your saddle.
Too much travail so do your train appair.
Ye old mule


With false savour though you deceive th'air,
Whoso taste you shall well perceive your lair
Savoureth somewhat of a Kappurs stable.
Ye old mule


Ye must now serve to market and to fair,
All for the burden, for panniers a pair.
For since gray hairs been powdered in your sable,
The thing ye seek for, you must yourself enable
To purchase it by payment and by prayer,
Ye old mule.

Farewell, Love,- and all thy laws forever,

Thy baited hooks shall tangle me no more;

Senec and Plato call me from thy lore,

To perfect wealth my wit for to endeavor.

In blind error when I did persever,

Thy sharp repulse, that pricketh aye so sore,

Hath taught me to set in trifles no store

And 'scape forth 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 all my time,

Me lusteth no longer rotten boughs to climb.

-oOo-

Who list his wealth and ease retain,

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 them 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 out of a grate,
For all favour, glory, or might,
That yet circa Regna tonat.

By proof, I say, there did I learn:
Wit helpeth not defence too yerne,
Of innocency to plead or prate.
Bear low, therefore, give God the stern,
For sure, circa Regna tonat.

AND wilt thou leave me thus ?

Say nay ! say nay ! for shame

To save thee from the blame

Of all my grief and grame.1

And wilt thou leave me thus ?

Say nay ! Say nay !

And wilt thou leave me thus ?

That hath lov'd thee so long ?

In wealth and woe among :

And is thy heart so strong

As for to leave me thus ?

Say nay ! Say nay !

And wilt thou leave me thus ?

That hath given thee my heart

Never for to depart ;

Neither for pain nor smart :

And wilt thou leave me thus ?

Say nay ! Say nay !

And wilt thou leave me thus ?

And have no more pity,

Of him that loveth thee ?

Alas ! thy cruelty !

And wilt thou leave me thus ?

Say nay ! Say nay !

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 !

My Lute Awake

My labor that thou and I shall waste
And end that I have now begun,
For when this song is sung and past,
My lute, be still, for I have done.

As to be heard where ear is none,
As lead to grave in marble stone,
My song may pierce her heart as soon.
Should we then sigh or sing or moan?
No, no, my lute, for I have done.

Proud of the spoil that thou hast got
Of simple hearts through love's shot,
By whom, unkind, thou hast them won,
Think not he hath his bow forgot,
Although my lute and I have done.

Vengance shall fall on thy disdain
That makest but game on earnest pain;
Think not alone under the sun
Unquit to cause thy lovers plain
Although my lute and I have done.

Perchance thee lie withered and old
The winter nights that are so cold,
Plaining in vain unto the moon;
Thy wishes then dare not be told.
Care then who list, for I have done.

And then may chance thee to repent
The time that thou hast lost and spnt
To cause thy lovers sigh and swoon;
Then shalt thou know beauty but lent,
And wish and want as I have done.

Now cease, my lute, this is the last
Labor that thou and I shall waste
And ended is that we begun.
Now is the song both sung and past;
My lute, be still, for I have done.

My galley chargèd with forgetfulness
Through sharp seas in winter nights doth pass
'Twene 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 hindrance,
Wreathèd with error and eke with ignorance.
The stars be hid that led me to this pain,
Drownèd is reason that should me comfort,
And I remain despairing of the port.

-oOo-

In this also see you be not idle:
Thy niece, they cousin, thy sister or thy daughter,
If she be fair, if handsome by her middle,
If thy better hath her love besought her,
Advance his cause, and he shall help thy need,
It is but love, turn it to a laughter.
But 'ware, I say, so gold thee help and speed,
that in this case thou be no so unwise
As Pandar was in such a like deed:
For he, the fool, of conscience was so nice
That he no gain would have for all his pain.

[Thomas knew the value of a sister, daughter etc who caught the King's eye & explained it to aspiring courtiers in this poem]