Sir Thomas Wyatt
(1503-1542)
   
Sir Thomas Wyatt was a pioneer in bringing to English poetry the new forms of the Italian Renaissance, especially the Petrarchan sonnet.
   
   
   
The Long Love That in My Thought Doth Harbor Sonetto originale di Petrarca (Canzoniere, 140)
The long love that in my thought doth harbor
And in mine heart doth keep his residence,
Into my face presseth with bold pretence
And therein campeth, spreading his banner.
She that me learneth to love and suffer
And will that my trust and lust's negligence
Be reined by reason, shame, and reverence,
With his hardiness taketh displeasure.
Wherewithal unto the heart's forest he fleeth,
Leaving his enterprise with pain and cry,
And there him hideth and not appeareth.
What may I do when my master feareth
But in the field with him to live and die?
For good is the life ending faithfully.		 Amor che nel penser mio vive e regna
e 'l suo seggio maggior nel mio tène,
talor armato ne la fronte vène,
ivi si loca, et ivi pon sua insegna.
   Quella ch'amare e sofferir ne 'nsegna
e vòl che 'l gran desio, l'accesa spene,
ragion, vergogna e reverenza affrene,
di nostro ardir fra sé stessa si sdegna.
   Onde Amor paventoso fugge al core,
lasciando ogni sua impresa, e piange, e trema;
ivi s'asconde, e non appar più fòre.
   Che poss'io far, temendo il mio signore,
se non star seco in fin a l'ora estrema?
ché bel fin fa chi ben amando more.

Listen to it - audio --- http://www.luminarium.org/renlit/longlove.htm

Forget Not Yet

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 denays,
       Forget not yet.

Forget not yet, forget not this,
How long ago hath been and is
The mind that never meant amiss;
      Forget not yet.

Forget not then thine own approved,
The which so long hath thee so loved,
Whose steadfast faith yet never moved;
      Forget not this.

Is It Possible

Is it possible
        That so high debate,
    So sharp, so sore, and of such rate,
Should end so soon and was begun so late?
            Is it possible?

            Is it possible
        So cruel intent,
    So hasty heat and so soon spent,
From love to hate, and thence for to relent?
            Is it possible?

            Is it possible
        That any may find
    Within one heart so diverse mind,
To change or turn as weather and wind?
            Is it possible?

            Is it possible
        To spy it in an eye
    That turns as oft as chance on die,
The truth whereof can any try?
            Is it possible?

            It is possible
        For to turn so oft,
    To bring that lowest which was most aloft,
And to fall highest yet to light soft:
            It is possible.

            All is possible
        Whoso list believe.
    Trust therefore first, and after preve,
As men wed ladies by licence and leave.
            All is possible.

Madam, Withouten Many Words

Madam, withouten many words
    Once I am sure ye will or no;
And if ye will, then leave your bords
    And use your wit and show it so,

And with a beck ye shall me call;
    And if of one that burneth alway
Ye have any pity at all,
    Answer him fair with yea or nay.

If it be yea I shall be fain;
    If it be nay, friends as before;
Ye shall another man obtain,
    And I mine own and yours no more.

My Galley Sonetto originale di Petrarca (Canzoniere, 189)
My galley, charged with forgetfulness,
Thorough sharp seas in winter nights doth pass
'Tween 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 forced sighs and trusty fearfulness.
A rain of tears, a cloud of dark disdain,
Hath done the wearied cords great hinderance;
Wreathed with error and eke with ignorance.
The stars be hid that led me to this pain;
Drowned is reason that should me consort,
And I remain despairing of the port.		 Passa la nave mia colma d'oblio
per aspro mare, a mezza notte il verno,
enfra Scilla e Caribdi; et al governo
siede il signore, anzi 'l nimico mio; 
   a ciascun remo un penser pronto e rio
che la tempesta e 'l fin par ch'abbi a scherno;
la vela rompe un vento umido, eterno,
di sospir, di speranze, e di desio; 
   pioggia di lagrimar, nebbia di sdegni
bagna e rallenta le già stanche sarte,
che son d'error con ignoranzia attorto. 
   Celansi i duo mei dolci usati segni;
morta fra l'onde è la ragion e l'arte,
tal ch'i' 'ncomincio a desperar del porto

My Lute Awake

My lute awake! perform the last
Labour 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.

The rocks do not so cruelly
Repulse the waves continually,
As she my suit and affection;
So that I am past remedy,
Whereby my lute and I have done.

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

Vengeance 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 spent
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
Labour that thou and I shall waste,
And ended is that we begun.
Now is this song both sung and past:
My lute be still, for I have done.

They Flee From Me

They flee from me that sometime did me seek
With naked foot, stalking in my chamber.
I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek,
That now are wild and do not remember
That sometime they put themselves in danger
To take bread at my hand; and now they range,
Busily seeking with a continual change.

Thanked be fortune it hath been otherwise
Twenty times better; but once in special,
In thin array after a pleasant guise,
When her loose gown from her shoulders did fall,
And she me caught in her arms long and small;
And therewithal sweetly did me kiss
And softly said, "dear heart, how like you this?"

It was no dream: I lay broad waking.
But all is turned thorough my gentleness
Into a strange fashion of forsaking;
And I have leave to go of her goodness,
And she also, to use newfangleness.
But since that I so kindly am served
 I would fain know what she hath deserved.

What Should I Say

What should I say,
Since faith is dead,
And truth away
From you is fled?
Should I be led
With doubleness?
Nay, nay, mistress!

I promised you,
And you promised me,
To be as true
As I would be.
But since I see
Your double heart,
Farewell my part!

Though for to take
It is not my mind,
But to forsake
I am not blind
And as I find,
So will I trust:
Farewell, unjust!

Can ye say nay?
But you said
That I alway
Should be obeyed?
And thus betrayed
Or that I wist--
Farewell, unkissed.

Whoso List to Hunt

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 farthest cometh 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 Caesar's I am,
And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.

I found no peace Sonetto originale di Petrarca (Canzoniere, 134)
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 naught I have and all the world I seize on;
That looseth nor locketh holdeth me in prison,
   And holdeth me not yet can I scape nowise;
   Nor letteth me live nor die at my devise,
   And yet of death it giveth none 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 death and life,
   And my delight is causer of this strife.		 Pace non trovo, e non ho da far guerra;
e temo, e spero; et ardo, e son un ghiaccio;
e volo sopra 'l cielo, e ghiaccio in terra;
e nulla stringo, e tutto 'l mondo abbraccio.
   Tal m'ha in pregion, che non m'apre né serra,
né per suo mi ritèn né scioglie il laccio;
e non m'ancide Amore, e non mi sferra,
né mi vuol vivo né mi trae impaccio.
   Veggio senza occhi, e non ho lingua, e grido;
e bramo di perir, e cheggio aita;
et ho in odio me stesso, et amo altrui.
   Pascomi di dolor, piangendo rido;
egualmente mi spiace morte e vita:
in questo stato son, donna, per vui.
Farewell, Love
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 endeavour.
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.

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