Sir Thomas Wyatt, I find no peace. Sir Thomas Wyatt, My galley charged with forgetfulness

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Tyrone Joel Henry
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1 Sir Thomas Wyatt, My galley charged with forgetfulness y galley chargèd with forgetfulness Thorough 2 sharp seas, in winter nights doth pass 'Tween rock and rock; and eke 3 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. 4 An endless wind doth tear the sail apace Of forcèd sighs and trusty fearfulness. 5 A rain of tears, a cloud of dark disdain, Hath done the wearied cords great hinderance; Wreathèd with error and eke with ignorance. The stars be hid that led me to this pain. Drownèd is reason that should me consort, 6 And I remain despairing of the port. Sir Thomas Wyatt, I find no peace I find no peace, and all my war is done. I fear and hope. I burn and freeze like ice. I fly above the wind, yet can I not arise; And nought I have, and all the world I season. That loseth nor locketh holdeth me in prison And holdeth me not--yet can I scape no wise-- Nor letteth me live nor die at my device, And yet of death it giveth me occasion. Without eyen I see, and without tongue I plain. I desire to perish, and yet I ask health. I love another, and thus I hate myself. I feed me in sorrow and laugh in all my pain; Likewise displeaseth me both life and death, And my delight is causer of this strife. 1 Translated from Petrarch's Rime Through. 3 Also. 4 As though my destruction would not matter much. 5 Fear to trust. 6 Accompany.

2 Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey ALAS! So All Things Now Do Hold Their Peace ALAS! so all things now do hold their peace! Heaven and earth disturbed in no thing ; The beasts, the air, the birds their song do cease, The nightès car the stars about doth bring. Calm is the sea ; the waves work less and less : So am not I, whom love, alas! doth wring, Bringing before my face the great increase Of my desires, whereat I weep and sing, In joy and woe, as in a doubtful case. For my sweet thoughts sometime do pleasure bring ; But by and by, the cause of my disease Gives me a pang, that inwardly doth sting, When that I think what grief it is again, To live and lack the thing should rid my pain. Philip Sidney, da Astrophel and Stella I Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show, That she, dear she, might take some pleasure of my pain, Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know, Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain, I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe; Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain, Oft turning others' leaves to see if thence would flow Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sun-burned brain. But words came halting forth, wanting invention's stay; Invention, nature's child, fled step-dame Study's blows, And others' feet still seemed but strangers in my way. Thus, great with child to speak, and helpless in my throes, Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite, Fool, said my muse to me, look in thy heart and write.

3 Philip Sidney, da Astrophel and Stella III Let dainty wits cry on the sisters nine, That, bravely masked, their fancies may be told; Or Pindar's apes flaunt they in phrases fine, Enam'ling with pied flowers their thoughts of gold; Or else let them in statelier glory shine, Ennobling new-found tropes with problems old; Or with strange similes enrich each line, Of herbs or beasts with Ind or Afric hold. For me, in sooth, no Muse but one I know; Phrases and problems from my reach do grow, And strange things cost too dear for my poor sprites. How then? even thus, in Stella's face I read What love and beauty be, then all my deed But copying is, what in her Nature writes. Philip Sidney, da Astrophel and Stella 1581 V It is most true, that eyes are formed to serve The inward light; and that the heavenly part Ought to be king, from whose rules who do swerve, Rebels to Nature, strive for their own smart. It is most true, what we call Cupid's dart, An image is, which for ourselves we carve: And, fools, adore in temple of our heart, Till that good God make Church and churchman starve. True, that true beauty virtue is indeed, Whereof this beauty can be but a shade, Which elements with mortal mixture breed: True, that on earth we are but pilgrims made, And should in soul up to our country move: True, and yet true that I must Stella love.

4 Philip Sidney, da Astrophel and Stella XXXIII I might, unhappy word, oh me, I might, And then would not, or could not see my bliss; Till now, wrapt in a most infernal night, I find how heav'nly day, wretch, I did miss. Heart, rend thyself, thou dost thyself but right; No lovely Paris made thy Helen his: No force, no fraud, robbed thee of thy delight, Nor Fortune of thy fortune author is: But to myself my self did give the blow, While too much wit (forsooth) so troubled me, That I respects for both our sakes must show: And yet could not by rising morn foresee How fair a day was near, oh punished eyes, That I had been more foolish or more wise. Philip Sidney, da Astrophel and Stella LXXI Who will in fairest book of Nature know How virtue may best lodg'd in beauty be, Let him but learn of Love to read in thee, Stella, those fair lines which true goodness show. There shall he find all vices' overthrow, Not by rude force, but sweetest sovranty Of reason, from whose light those night-birds fly, That inward sun in thine eyes shineth so. And, not content to be Perfection's heir Thyself, dost strive all minds that way to move Who mark in thee what is in thee most fair. So while thy beauty draws the heart to love, As fast that virtue bends that love to good. But ah, Desire still cries: "Give me some food!"

5 Edmund Spenser, da Amoretti 1595 XV Ye tradefull Merchants, that with weary toil, Do seek most precious things to make your gain; And both the Indias of their treasures spoil, What needeth you to seek so far in vain? For lo my love doth in her self contain All this world's riches that may far be found, If saphires, lo her eyes be saphires plain, If rubies, lo her lips be rubies sound: If pearls, her teeth be pearls both pure and round; If ivory, her forhead ivory weene; If gold, her locks are finest gold on ground; If silver, her fair hands are silver sheen. But that which fairest is, but few behold, Her mind adorned with virtues manifold. Edmund Spenser, da Amoretti 1595 LIV Of this worlds theatre in which we stay, My love like the spectator ydly sits Beholding me that all the pageants play, Disguising diversly my troubled wits. Sometimes I joy when glad occasion fits, And mask in myrth lyke to a comedy: Soone after when my joy to sorrow flits, I waile and make my woes a tragedy. Yet she, beholding me with constant eye, Delights not in my merth nor rues my smart: But when I laugh she mocks, and when I cry She laughs and hardens evermore her heart. What then can move her? if nor merth nor mone, She is no woman, but a senceless stone.

6 Edmund Spenser, da Amoretti 1595 LXIII After long storms and tempests' sad assay, Which hardly I endured heretofore: In dread of death and dangerous dismay, With which my silly bark was tossed sore: I do at length descry the happy shore, In which I hope ere long for to arrive; Fair soil it seems from far and fraught with store Of all that dear and dainty is alive. Most happy he that can at last achieve The joyous safety of so sweet a rest: Whose least delight sufficeth to deprive Remembrance of all pains which him oppressed. All pains are nothing in respect to this, All sorrows short that gain eternal bliss. Edmund Spenser, da Amoretti 1595 LXIV Coming to kiss her lips, (such grace I found) Me seemed I smelled a garden of sweet flowers, That dainty odors from them threw around For damsels fit to deck their lovers' bowers. Her lips did smell like unto Gillyflowers, Her ruddy cheeks like unto Roses red: Her snowy brows like budded Bellamores, Her lovely eyes like Pinks but newly spread. Her goodly bosom like a strawberry bed, Her neck like to a bunch of Columbines: Her breast like Lillies, ere their leaves be shed, Her nipples like young blossomed Jasmines. Such fragrant flowers do give most odorous smell, But her sweet odor did them all excel.

7 Edmund Spenser, da Amoretti 1595 LXXV One day I wrote her name upon the strand, But came the waves and washed it away: Agayne I wrote it with a second hand, But came the tyde, and made my paynes his pray. "Vayne man," sayd she, "that doest in vaine assay. A mortall thing so to immortalize, For I my selve shall lyke to this decay, and eek my name bee wyped out lykewize." "Not so," quod I, "let baser things devize, To dy in dust, but you shall live by fame: My verse your vertues rare shall eternize, And in the heavens wryte your glorious name. Where whenas death shall all the world subdew, Our love shall live, and later life renew." Edmund Spenser, da Amoretti 1595 LXXVII Was it a dream, or did I see it plain, A goodly table of pure ivory: All spread with juncats, fit to entertain The greatest prince with pompous royalty. 'Mongst which there in a silver dish did lie Two golden apples of unvalued price: Far passing those which Hercules came by, Or those which Atalanta did entice. Exceeding sweet, yet void of sinful vice, That many sought yet none could ever taste, Sweet fruit of pleasure brought from paradise By love himself, and in his garden placed. Her breast that table was so richly spread, My thoughts the guests, which would thereon have fed.

8 William Shakespeare, da Sonnets XII When I do count the clock that tells the time, And see the brave day sunk in hideous night; When I behold the violet past prime, And sable curls, all silvered o'er with white; When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, Which erst from heat did canopy the herd, And summer's green all girded up in sheaves, Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard, Then of thy beauty do I question make, That thou among the wastes of time must go, Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake And die as fast as they see others grow; And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence. William Shakespeare, da Sonnets XVIII Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimmed, And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed: But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st, Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st, So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

9 William Shakespeare, da Sonnets XXVII. Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, The dear repose for limbs with travel tired; But then begins a journey in my head To work my mind, when body's work's expired: For then my thoughts--from far where I abide-- Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee, And keep my drooping eyelids open wide, Looking on darkness which the blind do see: Save that my soul's imaginary sight Presents thy shadow to my sightless view, Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night, Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new. Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind, For thee, and for myself, no quiet find. William Shakespeare, da Sonnets XXXIII Full many a glorious morning have I seen Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy; Anon permit the basest clouds to ride With ugly rack on his celestial face, And from the forlorn world his visage hide, Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace: Even so my sun one early morn did shine, With all triumphant splendour on my brow; But out, alack, he was but one hour mine, The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now. Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth; Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun staineth.

10 William Shakespeare, da Sonnets LV Not marble, nor the gilded monuments Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme; But you shall shine more bright in these contents Than unswept stone, besmear'd with sluttish time. When wasteful war shall statues overturn, And broils root out the work of masonry, Nor Mars his sword, nor war's quick fire shall burn The living record of your memory. 'Gainst death, and all oblivious enmity Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room Even in the eyes of all posterity That wear this world out to the ending doom. So, till the judgment that yourself arise, You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes. William Shakespeare, da Sonnets LXIV When I have seen by Time's fell hand defac'd The rich proud cost of outworn buried age; When sometime lofty towers I see down-raz'd, And brass eternal slave to mortal rage; When I have seen the hungry ocean gain Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, And the firm soil win of the watery main, Increasing store with loss, and loss with store; When I have seen such interchange of state, Or state itself confounded to decay; Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate That Time will come and take my love away. This thought is as a death which cannot choose But weep to have that which it fears to lose.

11 William Shakespeare, da Sonnets LXXIII That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou see'st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west; Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire, That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, As the death-bed, whereon it must expire, Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by. This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well, which thou must leave ere long. William Shakespeare, da Sonnets CXXX My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red, than her lips red: If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damasked, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound: I grant I never saw a goddess go, My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground: And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare, As any she belied with false compare.

Sonnet 75. One day I wrote her name upon the strand, But came the waves and washed it away; Again I wrote it with a second hand,

Sonnet 75. One day I wrote her name upon the strand, But came the waves and washed it away; Again I wrote it with a second hand, Sonnet 75 One day I wrote her name upon the strand, But came the waves and washed it away; Again I wrote it with a second hand, But came the tide, and made my pains his prey. Vain man, said she, that doest