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If Virtue yet no void unthankful time,
Failed of some to blast 1 her endless fame;
(A goodly mean both to deter from crime,
And to her steps our sequel to inflame);
In days of truth if Wyatt's friends then wail
(The only debt that dead of quick may claim),
That rare wit spent, employ'd to our avail,

Where Christ is taught, we led to Virtue's train.
His lively 2 face their breasts how did it freat,3
Whose cinders yet with envy they do eat.

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AN EPITAPH ON CLERE, SURREY'S FAITHFUL
FRIEND AND FOLLOWER.5

NORFOLK Sprung thee, Lambeth holds thee dead;
Clere, of the Count of Cleremont, thou hight;
Within the womb of Ormond's race thou bred,
And saw'st thy cousin crowned in thy sight.
Shelton for love, Surrey for lord thou chase 7

(Ay me! whilst life did last that league was tender);
Tracing whose steps thou sawest Kelso blaze,
Landrecy burnt, and batter'd Boulogne render.
At Montreuil gates, hopeless of all recure,

Thine Earl, half dead, gave in thy hand his will; Which cause did thee this pining death procure,"

Ere summers four times seven thou couldst fulfil. Ah! Clere, if love had booted, care, or cost, Heaven had not won, nor earth so timely lost.

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1 'Blast:' proclaim by trumpet.- 'Lively :' living. —3 Freat:' fret.Cinders' ashes. Clere: Thomas, a cousin of Anne Boleyn, and faithful follower of Surrey. He died in 1545 of a hurt received at Montreuil in Surrey's defence. Shelton: ' supposed to have been a daughter of Sir John Shelton, of Shelton, in Norfolk. Clere never married her.- Chase :' didst choose. Kelso:' Surrey's connexion with the burning of Kelso is unknown. It occurred in 1542, under Norfolk.-Procure' he received the wound of which he died, when protecting the wounded earl at the gate of Montreuil.

OF SARDANAPALUS'S DISHONOURABLE LIFE AND MISERABLE DEATH.

TH' Assyrian king, in peace, with foul desire
And filthy lusts that stain'd his regal heart;
In war, that should set princely hearts on fire,
Did yield vanquish'd for want of martial art.
The dint of swords from kisses seemed strange,
And harder than his lady's side his targe:
From glutton feasts to soldier's fare, a change;
His helmet, far above a garland's charge;
Who scarce the name of manhood did retain,
Drenched in sloth and womanish delight;

Feeble of spirit, impatient of pain,

When he had lost his honour, and his right,

(Proud, time of wealth, in storms appall'd with dread), Murther'd himself to show some manful deed.

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HOW NO AGE IS CONTENT

WITH HIS OWN ESTATE, AND HOW THE AGE OF CHILDREN IS THE HAPPIEST IF THEY HAD SKILL

TO UNDERSTAND IT.

LAID in my quiet bed in study as I were,

I saw within my troubled head a heap of thoughts appear;
And every thought did show so lively in mine eyes,
That now I sigh'd, and then I smiled, as cause of thought
did rise.

I saw the little boy, in thought how oft that he

Did wish of God to 'scape the rod, a tall young man to

be;

The young man eke that feels his bones with pains

oppress'd,

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How he would be a rich old man, to live and lie at rest; The rich old man that sees his end draw on so sore, How he would be a boy again, to live so much the

more.

Whereat full oft I smiled, to see how all these three, From boy to man, from man to boy, would chop and change degree;

And musing thus I think, the case is very strange, That man from wealth,1 to live in woe, doth ever seek to change.

Thus thoughtful as I lay, I saw my wither'd skin, How it doth show my dented chews,2 the flesh was worn so thin;

And eke my toothless chaps, the gates of my right way, That opes and shuts as I do speak, do thus unto me

say:

'Thy white and hoarish hairs, the messengers of age, That show, like lines of true belief, that this life doth

assuage,

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Bid thee lay hand, and feel them hanging on thy chin; The which do write two ages past, the third now coming

in.

Hang up therefore the bit of thy young wanton time: And thou that therein beaten art, the happiest life define.'

Whereat I sigh'd, and said: 'Farewell! my wonted joy; Truss up thy pack, and trudge from me to every little boy,

And tell them thus from me, their time most happy is, If, to their time, they reason had to know the truth of

this.'

Wealth' well-being.-Chews:' jaws.

BONUM EST MIHI QUOD HUMILIASTI ME.1

THE storms are past: the clouds are overblown;
And humble chere great rigour hath repress'd.
For the default is set a pain foreknown;

And patience graff'd in a determin'd breast; And in the heart, where heaps of griefs were grown, The sweet revenge hath planted mirth and rest. No company so pleasant as mine own.

Thraldom at large hath made this prison free.
Danger well past, remember'd, works delight.
Of ling'ring doubts such hope is sprung, pardie !2
That nought I find displeasant in my sight,
But when my glass presented unto me

The cureless wound that bleedeth day and night; To think, alas! such hap should granted be

Unto a wretch, that hath no heart to fight, To spill that blood, that hath so oft been shed, For Britain's sake, alas! and now is dead!

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EXHORTATION TO LEARN BY OTHERS'
TROUBLE.

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MY RATCLIF, when thy rechless youth offends, Receive the scourge by others' chastisement; For such calling, when it works none amends, Then plagues are sent without advertisement. Yet Solomon said, the wrongèd shall recure : But Wyatt said true, 'The scar doth aye endure.' 5 In English, 'It is good for me that thou hast afflicted me.'-' Pardie:' par Dieu. Ratclif:' Sir Humphery, one of the gentlemen pensioners.— Rechless:' reckless. The scar doth aye endure : ' these words occur in a short piece of Wyatt's, headed, 'Wyatt, being in prison, to Brian.'

THE FANCY OF A WEARIER LOVER.

THE fancy, which that I have servèd long,
That hath alway been enemy to mine ease,
Seemed of late to rue upon my wrong,

And bade me fly the cause of my misease.
And I forthwith did press out of the throng,
That thought by flight my painful heart to please
Some other way, till I saw faith more strong;

And to myself I said, 'Alas! those days
In vain were spent, to run the race so long.'

And with that thought I met my guide, that plain, 10 Out of the way wherein I wander'd wrong,

Brought me amidst the hills in base Bullayne : 2 Where I am now, as restless to remain

Against my will, full pleased with my pain.

A SATIRE AGAINST THE CITIZENS OF LONDON.3

LONDON! hast thou accused me

Of breach of laws, the root of strife?
Within whose breast did boil to see,

So fervent hot, thy dissolute life,
That even the hate of sins, that grow
Within thy wicked walls so rife,

Fancy' love.- Bullayne:' Boulogne.

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It appears, from an entry in the Privy Council book, that Surrey, along with two youthful companions, had to appear before the Council for breaking with stone-bows of certain windows.' They were confined for a month in the Tower; and as the complaint had been made at the instance of the city authorities, Surrey avenged himself by this satire. He tells the citizens that he gave them an alarm at midnight to frighten them amidst their sins.

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