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Prisoner in Windsor, he recounteth his pleasure there


[Abridged from 54 lines.] So cruel prison how could betide, alas,

As proud Windsor! where I, in lust and joy, With a king's son my




pass In greater feast than Priam's sons of Troy:

Where each sweet place returns a taste full sower! The large green courts, where we were wont to

hove, With eyes cast up

into the maiden's tower, And easy sighs, such as folk draw in love.

The stately seats, the ladies bright of hue,

The dances short, long tales of great delight, With words and looks that tygers could but rue;

Where each of us did plead the other's right.

The palm-play, where, despoiled for the game,

With dazed eyes, oft we by gleams of love, Have miss'd the ball, and got sight of our dame;

To bait her eyes which kept the leads above.

The gravel ground, with sleeves tied on the helm, On foaming horse, with swords, and friendly


With cheer as though one should another whelm : Where we have fought, and chased oft with


The secret groves, which oft we made resound

Of pleasant plaint, and of our ladies' praise, Recording oft what grace each one had found,

What hope of speed, what dread of long delays.

The wild forest, the clothed holts with green,

With reins avaled,' and swift ybreathed horse, With cry of hounds, and merry blasts between,

Where we did chase the fearful hart of force.

The wide vales, eke, that harbour'd us each night,

Wherewith, alas, reviveth in my breast The sweet accord, such sleeps as yet delight,

The pleasant dreams, the quiet bed of rest :

The secret thoughts imparted with such trust,

The wanton talk, the divers change of play, The friendship sworn, each promise kept so just,

Wherewith we past the winter night away

· Reins dropped.

• Chasse à forcer, Fr. is the chace in which the game is run down, in opposition to the chasse à tirer, in which it is shot. VOL. II.


O place of bliss, renewer of my woes !

Give me account where is my noble fere,' Whom in thy walls thou dost each night enclose,

To other leefe, but unto me most dear.

On the death of Sir Thomas Wyatt.

Divers thy death do diversly bemoan:

Some, that in presence of thy livelihed Lurked, whose breasts envy with hate had swoln,

Yield Cæsar's tears upon Pompeius' head!

And some,

that watched with the murderer's knife, With eager thirst to drink thy guiltless blood, Whose practice brake that happy end of life,

With envious tears to hear thy fame so good!

But I, that knew what harbour'd in that head,

What virtues rare were temper'd in that breast: Honour the place that such a jewel bred, : And kiss the ground whereas the corpse doth


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The means to attain happy Life.

[Translated from Martial.]

MARTIAL, the things that do attain'

The happy life, be these I find : The riches left, not get with pain ;

The fruitful ground; the quiet mind;

The egal friend; no grudge, no strife;

No charge of rule nor governance; Without disease the healthful life ;

The household of continuance;

The mean diet; no delicate fare;

True wisdom join'd with simpleness ; The night discharged of all care,

Where wine the wit may not oppress:

The faithful wife, without debate;

Such sleep as may beguile the night : Contented with thine own estate,

Ne wish for death, ne fear his might, A praise of his Love, wherein he reproveth them that


their ladies with his.

Give place, ye lovers, here before

That spent your boasts and brags in vain ;
My lady's beauty passeth more

The best of yours, I dare well saine,
Than doth the sun the candle light,
Or brightest day the darkest night.

And thereto hath a troth as just,

As had Penelope the fair ;
For what she saith, ye may it trust,

As it by writing sealed were:
And virtues hath she many moe
Than I with pen have skill to show.

I could rehearse, if that I would,

The whole effect of Nature's plaint;
When she had lost the perfect mould,

The like to whom she could not paint :
With wringing hands how she did cry!
And what she said, I know it, I:

I know she swore, with raging mind,

Her kingdom only set apart,

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