THE ALDINE EDITION 
 
 OF THE BRITISH 
 
 POETS 
 
 r 
 
 THE FOEMS OP HENRY HOWARD 
 EARL OF SURREY 
 
THE 
 
 POEMS OF HENRY HOWARD 
 
 EARL OF SURREY 
 
 
 LONDON" 
 
 BELL AND DALDY YORK STREET 
 
 COVENT GARDEN 
 
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 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 HE present work, although substan- 
 tially a reprint of the Aldine edition 
 of " The Poetical Works of the Earl 
 of Surrey/' published in 1831, has been 
 critically and carefully revised, and some ad- 
 ditional notes appended explanatory of words now 
 become obsolete. The Poems have been collated 
 with the edition of the " Songs and Sonnets," 
 edited by Bishop Percy and George Steevens, as 
 well as by the recent reprint of the first edition of 
 "Totters Miscellany," by John Payne Collier, 
 Esq., whose ready kindness is acknowledged for the 
 loan of the sheets of that rare work. The text of 
 the two books of " Virgil's iEneid," has also been 
 revised by the accurate edition of William Eolland, 
 Esq. published by the Roxburgh e Club. 
 
 In the Memoir of the Earl of Surrey, some of 
 the statements of his heroic career have been cor- 
 rected, and other particulars relating to him sup- 
 plied, which had escaped the researches of Dr. 
 Nott and his later biographers. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 Page 
 DESCRIPTION of the restless State of a 
 Lover, with Suit to his Lady, to rue on 
 his dying Heart ..... 1 
 Description of Spring, wherein each 
 thing renews, save only the Lover . 3 
 Description of the restless State of a Lover . . 4 
 Description of the fickle Affections, Pangs, and Slights 
 
 of Love 6 
 
 Complaint of a Lover that defied Love, and was by 
 Love after the more tormented .... 9 
 
 Complaint of a Lover rebuked . . . . .12 
 
 Complaint of the Lover disdained . . . .12 
 
 Description and Praise of his Love Geraldinc . ,13 
 The Prailty and Hurtfulness of Beauty . . .14 
 A Complaint by Night of the Lover not beloved . 1 5 
 How each thing, save the Lover in Spring, re viveth to 
 Pleasure . . . . . . . .15 
 
 A Tow to love faithfully, howsoever he be rewarded 16 
 Complaint that his Lady, after she knew his Love, 
 
 kept her face always hidden from him . . .17 
 Request to his Love to join Bounty with Beauty . IS 
 Prisoned in Windsor, he recounteth his Pleasure there 
 passed 10 
 
VJ11 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 The Lover cornforteth himself with the Worthiness of 
 
 his Love 21 
 
 Complaint of the Absence of her Lover being upon the 
 
 Sea 22 
 
 Complaint of a dying Lover refused upon his Lady's 
 
 unjust mistaking of his Writing . . . .24 
 Complaint of the Absence of her Lover, being upon 
 
 the Sea 28 
 
 A Praise of his Love, wherein he reproveth them that 
 compare their Ladies with his . . . .31 
 
 To his Mistress 32 
 
 To the Lady that scorned her Lover . . .33 
 
 A Warning to the Lover, how he is abused by his 
 
 Love ■■ . . . .34 
 
 The forsaken Lover describeth and forsaketh Love . 36 
 The Lover describeth his restless State . . .37 
 The Lover excuseth himself of suspected Change . 39 
 A careless Man scorning and describing the subtle 
 
 Usage of Women toward their Lovers . . .41 
 An Answer in the behalf of a Woman. Of an uncer- 
 tain Author 43 
 
 The constant Lover lamenteth .... 45 
 
 A Song written by the Earl of Surrey of a Lady that 
 
 refused to dance with him . . . . .47 
 The faithful Lover declareth his Pains and his uncer- 
 tain Joys, and with only Hope recomforteth some- 
 what his woeful Heart 53 
 
 The Means to attain happy Life . . . .56 
 Praise of mean and constant Estate . . . .57 
 Praise of certain Psalms of David. Translated by Sir 
 
 Thomas [Wyatt] the elder 58 
 
 Of the Death of Sir Thomas Wyatt .... 59 
 
 Of the Same 60 
 
 Of the Same 61 
 
 An Epitaph on Clere, Surrey's faithful Friend and 
 
 Follower 62 
 
 On Sardanapalus's dishonourable Life and miserable 
 Death . . 63 
 
CONTENTS. IX 
 
 Page 
 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 . . . . . .61 
 
 Bonum est mihi quod humiliasti me . . . .06 
 
 Exhortation to learn by others' Trouble . . .67 
 The Fancy of a wearied Lover . . . .67 
 
 A Satire against the Citizens of London . . .68 
 The Lover describeth his whole state unto his Love, 
 and promising her his faithful good will, assure th 
 himself of hers again ...... 71 
 
 ECCLESIASTES. 
 
 Chapter I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
 
 A PARAPHRASE OF SOME OP THE PS 
 
 Prologue 
 
 Psalm LXXXYIII. 
 
 Prologue 
 
 Psalm LXXIII. . 
 
 LV. . 
 
 VIII. . 
 
 The Second Book of Virgil's .^Eneid 
 The Fourth Book of Virgil's Mneid 
 
 " My fearful hope from me is lied " 
 "Your fearful hope cannot prevail " 
 
 80 
 83 
 87 
 91 
 91 
 
 L3IS OP DAVID. 
 
 . 98 
 
 . 98 
 
 . 101 
 
 . 102 
 
 . 106 
 
 . 108 
 
 112 
 
 147 
 
 177 
 179 
 
^^^M 
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 ^LAS ! so all things now do hold their peace, 15 
 
 Although I had a check, 33. 
 
 As oft as I behold, and see, 37. 
 
 Brittle beauty, that Nature made so frail, 14< 
 But now the wounded Queen, with heavy care, 147. 
 Divers thy death do diversely bemoan, 59. 
 Each beast can choose his fere according to his mind, 47. 
 From Tuscano came my Lady's worthy race, 13. 
 From pensive fancies then I gan my heart revoke, 83. 
 Girt in my guiltless gown, as I sit here and sow, 43. 
 Give ear to my suit, Lord ! from ward hide not thy face, 106. 
 Give place, ye lovers, here before, 31. 
 Good ladies ! ye that have your pleasures in exile, 28. 
 If care do cause men cry, why do not I complain, 53. 
 If he that erst the form so lively drew, 32. 
 I never saw my Lady lay apart, 17. 
 In Cyprus springs, whereas dame Venus dwelt, 12 a 
 
 In winter's just return, when Boreas gan his reign, 24. 
 
 I, Solomon, David's son, King of Jerusalem, 80. 
 
 Laid in my quiet bed, in study as I were, 64= 
 
 Like to the steerless boat that swerves with every wind, 87. 
 
 London! hast thou accused me, 68. 
 
 Love, that liveth and reigneth in my thought, 12. 
 
 Martial, the things that do attain, 56. 
 
 My Ratclif, when thy rechless youth offends, 67. 
 
Xll INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 My fearful hope from me is fled, 177. 
 
 Norfolk sprung thee, Lambeth holds thee dead, 62. 
 
 Of thy life, Thomas, this compass well mark, 57. 
 
 happy dames that may embrace, 22. 
 
 O loathsome place ! where I. 36. 
 
 O Lord ! upon whose will dependeth my welfare, 98. 
 
 Set me whereas the sun doth parch the green, 16. 
 
 Since fortune's wrath envieth the wealth, 45. 
 
 So cruel prison how could betide, alas, 19. 
 
 Such wayward ways hath Love, that most part in dis- 
 cord, 6. 
 
 The sun hath twice brought forth his tender green, 1. 
 
 Th' Assyrian king, in peace, with foul desire, 63. 
 
 The soote season, that bud and bloom forth brings, 3. 
 
 The golden gift that Nature did thee give, 18 
 
 The great Macedon, that out of Persia chased, 58. 
 
 The storms are past ; the clouds are overblown, 66. 
 
 The fancy which that I have served long, 67. 
 
 The Sun, when he hath spread his rays, 71. 
 
 The sudden storms that heave me to and fro, 101. 
 
 They whisted all, with fixed face attent, 112. 
 
 Though I regarded not, 39. 
 
 Though, Lord, to Israel thy graces plenteous be, 102. 
 
 Thy name, O Lord, how great, is found before our sight, 
 108. 
 
 Too dearly had I bought my green and youthful years, 34. 
 
 When youth had led me half the race, 4. 
 
 When Summer took in hand the Winter to assail, 9. 
 
 When Windsor walls sustain'd my wearied arm, 15. 
 
 When raging love with extreme pain. 21. 
 
 When I bethought me well, under the restless Sun, 91. 
 
 When that repentant tears hath cleansed clear from ill, 94. 
 
 Where rechless youth in an unquiet breast, 98. 
 
 Wrapt in my careless cloak, as I walk to and fro, 41. 
 
 Wyatt resteth here, that quick could never rest, 60 
 
 Your fearful hope cannot prevail, 179. 
 
MEMOIR OF HENRY HOWARD, 
 EARL OF SURREY. 
 
 " I write of him whose fame for aye endures." 
 
 Turbervile's Epitaph on Surrey, 
 
 [ISTINGUISHED alike by his 
 talents and rank, Henry Howard 
 Earl of Surrey has attracted 
 considerable attention; and as the 
 first writer who attempted to refine 
 our language, and to rescue English poetry from 
 the grossness for which the productions of his 
 predecessors are remarkable, he is worthy of the 
 extraordinary research which his latest biogra- 
 pher has displayed in collecting particulars re- 
 specting his history. Dr. Nott affords a very 
 creditable example of industry, and it is no slight 
 praise to say that he appears to have exhausted 
 every available source of information. The fol- 
 lowing Memoir has, therefore, been drawn up 
 almost entirely from materials collected by Dr. 
 Nott; an admission which it would be disinge- 
 nuous to withhold : but considerable difference 
 
XIV MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 will be found with respect to the inferences 
 which that writer has drawn from some of the 
 facts he has brought to light ; and it is from this 
 circumstance that these sheets derive their claim 
 to attention. The most interesting of the letters 
 which occur in the appendix to Dr. Nott's edi- 
 tion are here introduced into the Memoir, and 
 though the present narrative is destitute of those 
 pleasing speculations which distinguish that 
 biographer's Life of Surrey, the loss may, per- 
 haps, be borne with, when it is remembered 
 that it is as dangerous for a biographer as for an 
 historian to indulge his imaginative powers. 
 
 Although the Earl of Surrey owes but little of 
 the respect which is felt for his memory to the 
 adventitious splendour of his birth, it is necessary 
 to speak of his genealogy with some minuteness, 
 because it was from circumstances arising out 
 of his pedigree that he became one of the victims 
 of Henry the Eighth. 
 
 Doubts have been expressed as to the remote 
 antiquity of the family of Howard ; but it is be- 
 yond dispute that they descend from Sir William 
 Howard, the Chief Justice of the Common Pleas 
 in the reigns of Edward the First and Second, 
 whose son, Sir John, was a Knight Banneret as 
 early as 1307. His great great grandson, Sir 
 Robert Howard, married Margaret Mowbray, 
 daughter of Thomas, Duke of Norfolk and Earl 
 Marshal, whose mother was Elizabeth, daughter 
 and heiress of John, Lord Segrave, the grand- 
 daughter and heiress of Thomas de Brotherton, 
 Earl of Norfolk, a younger son of King Edward 
 
EARL OF SURREY. XV 
 
 the First. Sir John Howard, K.G., the eldest 
 son of Sir Robert by the Lady Margaret Mow- 
 bray, was created a Baron in 1470 ; and on the 
 extinction of the Mowbrays, Dukes of Norfolk, 
 about the year 1480, he became, in right of his 
 mother, the eldest coheir of that house, which 
 entitled him to quarter whatever arms were borne 
 by them, a fact, as will afterwards appear, of 
 some importance. Sir John Howard was raised 
 to the dukedom of Norfolk by Richard the 
 Third, who at the same time created his eldest 
 son, Thomas, Earl of Surrey. These titles were 
 forfeited after the battle of Bosworth, in which 
 the " Jocky of Norfolk" gallantly fell in the 
 cause of his sovereign and benefactor. 
 
 Thomas Howard, his son, was restored to the 
 earldom of Surrey in 1489; and in reward of 
 his services at Flodden Field he was created 
 Duke of Norfolk, in February, 1514. Dying in 
 1524, he was succeeded by his son Thomas, third 
 Duke of Norfolk, who was twice married — first 
 to Anne, daughter of King Edward the Fourth, 
 by whom he had no issue that survived their 
 childhood, and secondly to Elizabeth Stafford, 
 eldest daughter of Edward, Duke of Bucking- 
 ham, by whom he was father of the Poet. His 
 second marriage, which proved an unhappy one, 
 took place soon after Easter in 1 512; the Duchess 
 was twenty years younger than her husband, 
 and was then the object of an attachment, which 
 was reciprocal, to the Earl of Westmorland. 
 
 The exact date of the birth of the Earl of 
 Surrey has not been ascertained, but it may be 
 
XVI MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 assigned to some time between 1516 and 1518 ; 
 nor has it been determined where it occurred, 
 though many circumstances render it probable 
 that it took place either at Framlingham or Ten- 
 dring Hall, in Suffolk. 1 
 
 It seems probable that Surrey was educated, 
 if not wholly, at least in part, by an eminent 
 scholar of the name of John Clerke, who having 
 passed some time on the Continent, where he 
 acquired a perfect acquaintance with the French 
 and the Italian languages, was afterwards re- 
 ceived into the Duke of Norfolk's family, and 
 lived with him in the house as his secretary, 
 until the time of the Duke's attainder and im- 
 prisonment. Clerke's work, "De Mortuoruin 
 Resurrectione, et Extremo Judicio," 4to, 1545, 
 is dedicated to Surrey, 2 and his "Treatise of 
 Nobility/' 12mo, 1543, to his father, the Duke 
 of Norfolk. In the latter work Clerke mentions 
 with the highest commendations many transla- 
 tions done by Surrey, from the Latin, Italian, 
 French, and Spanish languages. But these, it 
 is probable, were nothing more than juvenile 
 
 1 In an account of the fare of Henry Howard in the nur- 
 sery at Tendring Hall, there appears to be for his breakfast 
 throughout the year, " a racke or chyne of mutton, and a 
 eheckyn," except on Fridays and Saturdaj^s, when it is " a 
 dysshe of butter-mylke and six eggs." (Catering Book of 
 Thomas, Earl of Surrey, third Duke of Norfolk, for 1523, a 
 MS. in the possession of Sir Thomas Phillipps.) This book 
 proves that Surrey was in his youth always at home with 
 the other children. 
 
 2 A copy of this work in the British Museum has the 
 following manuscript note : — " The author of this tract was 
 preceptor to Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, to whom it is 
 dedicated." 
 
EARL OF SURREY. XVll 
 
 exercises. It appears that Gierke practised ne- 
 cromancy, which may account for Surrey's faith 
 in judicial astrology. 
 
 Bred up in the country, Surrey acquired an 
 early fondness for active pursuits. As he ad- 
 vanced in years the taste continued, but its direc- 
 tion was changed. He excelled in the joust and 
 the tournament, and the dangers of an assault 
 suited his ardent temperament. On the accession 
 of his father to the Dukedom in 1524, he went 
 to reside at Kenninghall, and in 1526 was ap- 
 pointed cupbearer to Henry the Eighth. By an 
 extract from the register of Butley Priory, in 
 Suffolk, it appears that on the 23rd of July, 
 1529, the Duke of Norfolk paid a visit to Tho- 
 mas Manning (alias Sudbury) the prior of that 
 house, accompanied by the Earl of Surrey, who 
 is described as having then his own proper 
 attendants. The occasion of the visit was the 
 sale of Staverton Park, which the prior then 
 bought of the Duke. 
 
 From a letter copied from the original among 
 the papers of the Abbey of Bury, it would 
 appear that the Earl, during his residence at 
 Kenninghall, was in great pecuniary distress. 
 It is written with more than common urgency 
 to John Reeve, alias Melford, the head of a 
 wealthy monastery, soon itself to be broken in 
 pieces, and its treasures scattered to the winds. 
 
 " My Lord, 
 " Notwithstanding that aforetime I have bor- 
 rowed of you to the sum of xxx 11 pound sterling 
 b 
 
XVlll MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 having not yet repaid it, yet by very need and 
 extreme necessity, I am again constrained, my 
 known good Lord, at this present, affectuously 
 to desire you to shew yourself so much my cor- 
 dial friend, as to lend some over and above xx u 
 pound, in such haste as I may have it here 
 to-morrow by viii of the clock, for such is my 
 present need and thought [sadness]. My Lord, 
 for your such kindness to be shown towards [me], 
 it lieth not in my power to offer the like recom- 
 pense. Yet, my Lord, ye shall so bind me to 
 be your inward and affectuall friend whiles I 
 live, and your money, first and last, to be 
 honestly repaid to you again with hearty thanks, 
 which if I were so ingrate (which God defend !) 
 to deny ye, might and may it well believe, my 
 Lord, my father will not so see your hearty 
 kindness uncontented. And thus, my very good 
 Lord, with hearty request of this my desire I 
 leave you to God. Displease you not so, though 
 my Lord being out of the country in this my 
 necessity, I rather attempt to assay [prove] you 
 his ancient friend than other farther off. From 
 Kenninghall, this St. Peter's, yours assuredly 
 during his life. "H.Surrey. 
 
 " To his very good Lord and Friend, my 
 Lord Abbot of Birry give these." 
 
 Endorsed : " My Lord of Surre xx 11 , and be- 
 sides that xxx 11 ." 1 
 
 On the 13th of February, 1532, Surrey, now 
 1 Addit. MS. Brit, Museum, No. 24,493, fol. 234. 
 
EARL OF SURREY. XIX 
 
 in his sixteenth year, was contracted in marriage 
 to Lady Frances Vere, daughter of John, the 
 fifteenth Earl of Oxford. They were married 
 at Pentecost of the same year, but probably did 
 not live together till about the spring of 1535. 
 
 In the month of October, 1532, when Henry 
 VIII. went to France, in order to hold an in- 
 terview with Francis I, he was attended by 
 many of his peers, and among them the Duke 
 of Richmond and the Earl of Surrey. " The 
 xj. day of October Henry the Eighth, Kynge 
 of England, landed at Caleis, with the Duke of 
 Richmond, his bastard sonne, the Duke of Nor- 
 folke, lorde tresorer of England, the Erie of Sur- 
 rey," etc. 1 After the royal conference the Duke 
 of Richmond, accompanied by Surrey, proceeded 
 to Paris, to prosecute their studies, where they 
 remained for nearly twelve months. " In 1533, 
 the xxv. of September, the Duke of Richmond, 
 bastard sonne of King Henry the Eighth, and 
 the Erie of Surrey, came to Caleys owt of 
 Fraunce, where they had been almoste xij 
 monthes."* 2 During their residence at the 
 French court, it appears they returned to Eng- 
 land for a few weeks, for it is stated that the 
 Earl of Surrey carried the fourth sword at the 
 coronation of Queen Anne Boleyn in June, 
 1533. On May 17, 1534, the Duke of Rich- 
 mond is recorded to have been the sovereign's 
 lieutenant at the feast of the Order of the Garter 
 kept at Windsor. 
 
 1 The Chronicle of Calais, p. 41, 1846, printed for the 
 Camden Society. 2 Ibid. p. 164, 
 
XX - MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 After the coronation the young Queen used 
 her influence in promoting the marriage of the 
 Duke of Richmond with Lady Mary Howard, 
 Surrey's only sister ; and the King, with whom 
 the Howards were then in high favour, cordially 
 assented to the match. As the parties were re- 
 lated within the forbidden degrees of consanguin- 
 ity, a dispensation was indispensable. The young 
 Duke was placed at Windsor, whilst his bride 
 continued to live with her father. It was at 
 this time that Surrey again became the com- 
 panion of " a king's son," as he describes him- 
 self in that beautiful poem which he wrote some 
 years after, during a temporary confinement in 
 Windsor Castle. Speaking of this period of his 
 life, he says : — 
 
 " Proud Windsor, where T, in lust and joy, 
 With a King's son, my childish years did pass, 
 In greater feast than Priam's sons of Troy. 
 Where each sweet place returns a taste full sour, 
 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 tigers could but rue ; 
 Where each of us did plead the other's right." ! 
 
 On the 10th of March, 1536, Surrey's eldest 
 son Thomas was born, and his nativity, calcu- 
 lated by the Earl's direction, still exists; and, 
 which is somewhat singular, foretold some un- 
 defined misfortune to the father. On the 18th 
 of October following, lie received the honour of 
 1 Seep. 19. 
 
EARL OF SURREY. « XXI 
 
 knighthood, and soon afterwards took a con- 
 spicuous part in public affairs. At the trial of 
 his kinswoman, the unfortunate Anne Boleyn, 
 he was present as the representative of the Earl 
 Marshal, his father having presided by virtue 
 of his office of Lord Treasurer. Within a few 
 months of her execution the tyrannical disposi- 
 tion of Henry the Eighth was manifested towards 
 Surrey's uncle, Lord Thomas Howard, who was 
 committed to the Tower for having married the 
 Lady Margaret Douglas without the King's 
 permission. After being confined for two years 
 he died of a broken heart, an event which made 
 a deep impression upon the poet, who adverts to 
 it in one of his poems. 1 
 
 But he experienced a heavier calamity on the 
 22nd of July of the same year by the death of 
 his friend and brother-in-law, the Duke of Rich- 
 mond, of whom he speaks, with the greatest 
 affection in a poem written some time after his 
 decease. 2 
 
 It is here necessary to advert to Surrey's 
 supposititious passion for the fair Geraldinej his 
 affection for whom takes rank in the chronicles 
 of love with those of Abelard and Heloise ? of 
 Petrarch and Laura, of Tasso and Leonora. 
 This circumstance has imparted a romantic in- 
 terest to his life ; but his love for Geraldine can 
 only be regarded as a poetical exaggeration — an 
 affection of the imagination — the day-dream of 
 an ardent fancy. 
 
 Many of his biographers have considered that 
 1 See p. 50. 2 See p. 20. 
 
XXll - MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 the lady thus designated was the object of a real 
 attachment, and so strongly was Dr. Nott im- 
 pressed with this opinion, that he has ventured 
 to place an address to Geraldine as the title of 
 nearly all the Earl's sonnets, not only without 
 any authority, but in contradiction to the first 
 and every other edition of his works. This 
 gratuitous assumption has led that writer into 
 serious errors, and has deemed many lines in 
 various poems to be illustrative of the history 
 of Surrey's passion for Geraldine, which evi- 
 dently refer to a different person. 
 
 One poem, and one poem only, can, upon 
 anything like evidence, be supposed to have 
 been addressed to the lady mentioned by the 
 name of Geraldine : — 
 
 " From Tuscane came my Lady's worthy race." } 
 
 It was not till the year 1750 that any attempt 
 was made to identify this celebrated woman ; 
 that is, to name a lady of the family of Fitz- 
 gerald in whom met all the circumstances which 
 surrounded the Earl of Surrey's Geraldine. In 
 that year poor Collins published " A Supplement 
 to the Four Volumes of the Peerage of Eng- 
 land," containing an account of the Fitzgerald 
 family. There, in speaking of the issue of 
 Gerald, the ninth Earl of Kildare, he states that 
 he married first a daughter of Lord Zouch of 
 Codnor, by whom he had a numerous issue, 
 which lady died on October 6, 1517 ; and in 
 1519 he married, secondly, Lady Margaret Gray, 
 1 See p. 13. 
 
EARL OF SURREY. XXlli 
 
 fourth daughter of Thomas, Marquis of Dorset, 
 by whom he had two sons and three daughters. 
 He then states, without any reserve, that Lady 
 Elizabeth, the second of these three daughters, 
 was the lady who was the Geraldine of the Earl 
 of Surrey. 
 
 A few years after, the attention of Horace 
 Walpole was directed to this question, and he 
 came, by his own independent consideration, to 
 the same conclusion at which Collins had ar- 
 rived, and which he announced, in 1758, in his 
 " Catalogue of Royal and Noble Authors." He 
 gives a kind of proof by comparison of what 
 Surrey has told us, with what is known of Lady 
 Elizabeth Fitzgerald, namely the Tuscan descent 
 of Geraldine, the Irish Earl, the mother of royal 
 extraction, her being first seen at Hunsdon, 
 which was a nursery of the princesses Mary and 
 Elizabeth, with whom it is probable she was 
 brought up; that he fell in love with her at 
 Hampton, and was separated from her by his 
 residence at Windsor. 
 
 ( If we are to suppose that Surrey's passion is 
 to be taken as a reality, and not merely a poet's 
 fiction, we shall find the subject perplexed with 
 difficulties. The Lady Elizabeth was a mere 
 child, not more than twelve years old. Surrey 
 was then married, and, for aught that appears to 
 the contrary, was living happily with his wife, 
 whose birth was equal to his own. It betrays 
 too little sagacity to suppose that a young mar- 
 ried nobleman would have publicly avowed a 
 passion for the daughter of a powerful earl, con- 
 
XXIV MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 nected with the highest families in the realm, 
 and who was then living under the especial pro- 
 tection of her cousin the Princess Mary. 
 
 It is remarkable, that, whilst so extravagant 
 a deduction has been drawn from one solitary 
 sonnet, no notice has been hitherto taken of a 
 poem, " The Complaint of the absence of her 
 Lover, being upon the Sea," which bears striking 
 marks of being dictated by the affection which 
 subsisted between him and his Countess. 1 
 
 Connected with the story of Surrey's vaunted 
 affection for Gerald ine is that absurd fable of 
 his travels in Italy, to proclaim, in the true 
 spirit of chivalry, the unparalleled charms of his 
 mistress, and to defend the cause of her beauty 
 with the weapons of knight errantry. The whole 
 legend first appeared in a work entitled, u The 
 Unfortunate Traveller, or Life of Jack Wilton," 
 written by the notable Thomas Nash, and pub- 
 lished in 1594. It has since been credited and 
 endorsed by Drayton, Winstanley, Anthony a 
 Wood, Gibber, Walpole, and Warton ; but 
 finally exploded by Dr. Nott, who has demon- 
 strated that this famed tournament is a fiction, 
 and that Surrey was never in Italy. 
 
 On the 12th of November, 1537, Surrey at- 
 tended, as one of the principal mourners, the 
 funeral procession of Queen Anne Seymour 
 from Hampton to Windsor, for interment in 
 St. George's Chapel. He was also present at 
 court on the following New Year's Day, and 
 presented the king with three gilt bowls and a 
 
 1 See pp. 28-31. 
 
EAEL OF SURREY. XXV 
 
 cover. It was early in the year 1539, when the 
 negociations were commencing for the matri- 
 monial treaty between Henry VI 1 1, and Anne 
 of Cleves, that the following amusing colloquy 
 took place between George Constantyne and 
 John Barlow, Dean of Westbury, respecting 
 the gallant Surrey, now in the twenty-second 
 year of his age. 
 
 " George. If there should be any pledges 
 sent into Cleves, in good faith I would the Earl 
 of Surrey should be one of them. 
 
 u Dean. It is the most foolish proud boy 
 that is in England. 
 
 " George. What, man, he hath a wife and a 
 child, and ye call him boy ? 
 
 u Dean. By God's mercy methink he ex- 
 ceedeth. 
 
 " George. What then? he is wise for all 
 that, as I hear. And as for pride, experience will 
 correct well enough. No marvel though a young 
 man, so noble a man's son and heir apparent be 
 proud, for we be too proud ourselves without 
 those qualities. But I would wish that lie 
 should be one to be sent thither, for that he 
 should there be fully instructed in God's word 
 and of experience. For if the Duke of Norfolk 
 were as fully persuaded in it as he is in the con- 
 trary, he should do much good, for he is an 
 earnest man, a bold man and witty, in all his 
 matters. 
 
 " Dean. It is true, and ye say well in that." l 
 
 In the spring of 1539 Surrey's second son, 
 1 Archcsologia, vol. xxiii. p. 62. 
 
XXVI MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 Henry, afterwards created Earl of Northampton, 
 was born, and it is clear that our poet at this 
 time maintained the state and dignity of a noble- 
 man in everything. Hence we find him on the 
 1st of May, 1540, with the knightly gallants 
 of the court, distinguishing himself at the jousts 
 and tournaments held at Durham House in 
 honour of the king's marriage with Anne of 
 Cleves, " where lie behaved himself with admi- 
 rable courage, and great skill in the use of his 
 arms." 1 Towards the close of that year Surrey 
 accompanied the forces which were sent to put 
 Guisnes into a state of defence, in case of a 
 rupture with France, when he commenced his 
 military career ; his stay there was, however, 
 very short. 
 
 Early in 1541, Sir Edmund Knevett struck 
 the Earl's friend and attendant, Thomas Clere, 
 within the precincts of the court. For this 
 offence the usual punishment of the loss of the 
 right hand was pronounced; but at Surrey's 
 intercession, according to Dr. Nott, Knevett 
 was pardoned, Hollingshed, however, says 
 that Knevett obtained the king's grace himself, 
 by begging that his left hand might be taken, 
 and his right spared to render future service to 
 his majesty. In September of the same year, 
 Surrey and his father were appointed Stewards 
 of the University of Cambridge. 
 
 On February 12th, 1542, the second of the 
 five queens of Henry the Eighth, Catherine 
 Howard, was sent to the block in the Tower; 
 
 1 Dngd ale's Baronage, ii. 275. 
 
EARL OF SURREY. xxvil 
 
 but as a proof that the king still cherished some 
 regard for the queen's family, on St. George's 
 day of the same year Surrey received one of the 
 highest favours which his sovereign could con- 
 fer, by being elected a Knight of the Garter. 
 
 Peculiarly susceptible of affront or injury, 
 Surrey never hesitated a moment in resenting 
 whatever appeared to affect his honour. A few 
 months afterwards w r e find him again involved 
 in a quarrel with a gentleman of the name of 
 John a Leigh, whom he challenged, and the 
 dispute has, without a shadow of proof, been 
 attributed by Dr. Nott to Leigh's being his rival 
 in Geraldine's affections ! Be the cause, how- 
 ever, what it might, Surrey was evidently in 
 fault, for he was sent a prisoner to the Fleet, 
 being allowed two servants to attend upon him, 
 but not permitted to entertain any friends at his 
 table. The following letter was written during 
 his confinement, and is of much interest. It was 
 addressed to the Privy Council, and entreated 
 them to obtain his liberation, or at least to inter- 
 cede that he might be removed to a less noi- 
 some prison : — - 
 
 " My very good Lords, 
 " After my humble commendations to your 
 Lordships; these presents shall be to advertise 
 you, that albeit I have of late severally required 
 each of you, by my servant Pickering, of your 
 favour ; from whom as yet I have received no 
 other comfort than my passed folly hath de- 
 served ) I have yet thought it my duty again, as 
 
XXV111 MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 well to renew my suit, as humbly to require you 
 rather to impute this error to the fury of reckless 
 youth, than to a will not conformable and con- 
 tented, with the quiet learning of the just reward 
 of my folly ; for as much as I so suddenly and 
 quickly did procure and attempt to seek for 
 friendship, and entreat for my deliverence : as 
 then not sufficiently pondering nor debating with 
 myself, that a prince offended hath none redress 
 upon his subject but condign punishment, with- 
 out respect of person. Yet, let my youth un- 
 practised in durance obtain pardon : (although 
 for lack of strength it yield not itself wholly to 
 his gentle chastisement,) whilst the heart is re- 
 solved in patience to pass over the same, in satis- 
 faction of mine errors. 
 
 u And, my Lords, if it were lawful to persuade 
 by the precedent of other young men reconciled, 
 I would affirm that this might sound to me a 
 happy fault: by so gentle a warning to learn 
 how to bridle my heady will : which in youth is 
 rarely attained without adversity. Where, might 
 I without vaunt lay before you the quiet con- 
 versation of my passed life; which (unstained 
 with any unhonest touch, unseeming in such a 
 man as it hath pleased God and the King to 
 make me,) might perfectly promise new amend- 
 ment of mine offence. Whereof, if you doubt 
 in any point, I shall humbly desire you, that 
 during mine affliction, (in which time malice is 
 most ready to slander the innocent) there may 
 be made an whole examination of my life : 
 wishing, for the better trial thereof, to have the 
 
EARL OF SURREY. XXIX 
 
 time of my durance redoubled; and so (declared 
 as well tried, and unsuspected) by your media- 
 tions to be restored to the King's favour; than, 
 condemned in your grave heads, without answer 
 or further examination to be quickly delivered : 
 this heinous offence always unexcused, where- 
 upon I was committed to this noisome prison ; 
 whose pestilent airs are not unlike to bring some 
 alteration of health. 
 
 " Wherefore, if your good Lordships judge 
 me not a member rather to be clean cut away, 
 than reformed ; it may please you to be suitors 
 to the King's Majesty on my behalf; as w r ell 
 for his favour, as for my liberty: or else, at the 
 least, if his pleasure be to punish this oversight 
 with the forbearing his presence, (which unto 
 every loving subject, specially unto me, from a 
 Prince cannot be less counted than a living 
 death,) yet it would please him to command me 
 into the country, to some place of open air, with 
 like restraint of liberty, there to abide his Grace's 
 pleasure. 
 
 " Finally, albeit no part of this my trespass in 
 any way to do me good, I should judge me 
 happy if it should please the King's Majesty to 
 think, that this simple body rashly adventured 
 in the revenge of his own quarrel, shall be with- 
 out respect always ready to be employed in his 
 service ; trusting once so to redouble this error, 
 which may be well repeated but not revoked. 
 Desiring your good Lordships that like as my 
 offence hath not been, my submission may like- 
 wise appear: which is all the recompense that I 
 
XXX MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 may well think my doings answer not. Your 
 grave heads should yet consider, that neither am 
 I the first young man that hath enterprised such 
 things as he hath afterward repented." 
 
 He continued a prisoner until the 7th of Au- 
 gust, when he was released upon his recognizance 
 in ten thousand marks not to offer any further 
 offence, by w r ord or deed, to Leigh or to any of 
 his friends. War being soon afterwards de- 
 clared against Scotland, Lord Surrey accom- 
 panied the expedition into that kingdom under 
 his father, the Duke of Norfolk, but it is not 
 known what rank he bore in the army. It is 
 evident, from his epitaj)h on his friend Clere, 
 that he was present at the burning of Kelsal, 
 but on breaking up the English forces soon 
 afterwards, the Earl returned to London. 
 
 An affair occurred early in the year 1543 
 which is remarkable for two reasons, the one as 
 proving the impetuosity of Surrey's temper; 
 the other that he was at this time encouraging 
 perilous expectations respecting the anticipated 
 regency, as the health of the king was rapidly 
 declining. A party of gentlemen, of whom 
 Surrey was one, amused the long hours of a 
 winter night by a riot in London. They pa- 
 raded the streets with stone bows, they broke 
 the windows of houses and churches, shot pellets 
 among the queans upon the Bankside, and then 
 disappeared among the unlighted alleys of the 
 city. In the morning they were traced to the 
 house of a Master Arundel in Laurence Lane. 
 
EARL OF SURREY. xxxi 
 
 The rank of the offenders led to an inquiry by 
 the Privy Council, and the examination of the 
 witnesses, especially of Mrs. Arundel's servants, 
 showed that Surrey allowed himself to be re- 
 garded by his friends as more than the hero of a 
 midnight disturbance. 1 
 
 On the 1st of April, 1543, the Earl was sum- 
 moned before the Privy Council, and charged 
 with two offences: having eaten flesh in Lent, 
 and having w r alked about the streets of the city 
 at night in a " lewd and unseemly manner," and 
 breaking several windows with a stone bow. To 
 the first charge he replied, that he had a license; 
 but to the latter he pleaded guilty, and submitted 
 himself to such punishment as might be thought 
 proper, whereupon he was again sent to the 
 
 1 Froude's History of England, iv. 252, where is also 
 printed from the MS. State Paper Office, Domestic, vol. xiv. 
 the following examination of Mistress Arundel. She said, 
 " that the Earl of Surrey and other young noblemen fre- 
 quented her house, eating meat in Lent, and committing 
 other improprieties. Further, she saith, how at Candlemas 
 they went out with stone bows at nine o'clock at night, and 
 did not come back till past midnight, and the next day there 
 was a great clamour of the breaking of many glass windows 
 both of houses and churches, and shooting at men that night 
 in the street ; and the voice was that those hurts were done 
 by my Lord and his company. Whereupon she gave com- 
 mandment unto all her house that they should say nothing 
 of my Lord's going out in form specified. Item, she said, 
 that that night, or the night before, they used the same 
 stone bows, rowing on the Thames ; and Thomas Cleer told 
 her how they shot at the queans on the Bankside. Mistress 
 Arundel also, looking one day at Lord Surrey's arms, said 
 the arms were very like the King's arms; and said further, 
 she thought he would be King, if aught but good happened 
 to the King and Prince." 
 
xxxn MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 Fleet. 1 Daring his confinement Surrey grati- 
 fied his spleen against the citizens, whose com- 
 plaint produced his imprisonment, by giving an 
 account of the transaction in the poem entitled, 
 "A Satire against the Citizens of London/'" in 
 which he wittily says that his conduct was in- 
 tended as a punishment for their crimes. His 
 companions in the outrage, Pickering and the 
 young Wyatt, were also both sent to prison : the 
 former to the Porter's Lodge, and the latter to 
 the Counter. 
 
 Surrey's imprisonment was of short duration, 
 for in October following his father sent him to 
 Sir John Wallop, the commander of the army 
 with which Henry had assisted the Emperor. 
 He joined the allied camp before Landrecy, near 
 Boulogne, being attended by his faithful ser- 
 vants Clere and Blage. Wallop thus announced 
 his arrival to the king : — 
 
 " Yesterday Blage, who arrived here with my 
 Lord of Surrey, went with Mr. Carew to see the 
 trench, and escaped very hardly from a piece of 
 ordnance that was shot towards him. My said 
 Lord I brought about a great part of the town 
 to view the same ; and in his return was some- 
 what saluted. Their powder and shot they do 
 bestow amongst us plentifully, and sometime doth 
 hurt. My said Lord's coming unto this camp 
 was very agreeable unto the Duke, and great 
 Master, declaring a great amity and friendship 
 that your Majesty beareth to the Emperor. I 
 
 1 Privy Council Book of the Reign of Henry VIII. 
 
 2 See page 63. 
 
EARL OF SURREY. xxxm 
 
 was very glad that my said Lord intended to 
 go unto Fernando's camp, informing him, as 
 they offered him sufficient conduct, and the 
 great Master himself to bring him half way 
 there." 
 
 In various letters from Sir John Wallop, 
 Surrey's assiduity and skill in acquiring military 
 knowledge are mentioned in terms of the highest 
 panegyric. The siege was raised early in No- 
 vember, and, the army having gone into winter 
 quarters, the Earl returned to England. It is 
 supposed that he employed himself for some time 
 afterwards in constructing his beautiful seat of 
 Mount Surrey, at St. Leonard's, near Norwich, 
 on the site of an ancient cell of Benedictine 
 friars. 
 
 It was about the time when Surrey was en- 
 gaged in finishing his magnificent building that 
 he received into his family the celebrated Ha- 
 drian Junius as a physician, assigning him 
 apartments at Kenninghall, with a yearly salary 
 of fifty angels. Near this time, too, the poet 
 Churchyard seems to have entered the Earl's 
 service, as one of his pages, where, under the 
 protection of such an accomplished master, he 
 could both cultivate his music and his muse. 
 In the following verses he paints Surrey's talents 
 and virtues in glowing colours, rejoicing that he 
 was for four years one of his retainers : — 
 
 " A master of no mean estate, a mirror in those days, 
 His happy fortune then him gat, whose virtues must I praise. 
 More heavenly were those gifts he had than earthly was his 
 form, 
 
 C 
 
xxxiv MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 His corpse too worthy for the grave, his flesh no meat for 
 
 worm. 
 An Earl of birth ; a God of sprite, a Tully for his tongue ; 
 Methink of right the world should shake when half his praise 
 
 were rung. 
 Oh ! cursed were those crooked crafts, that his own country 
 
 wrought 
 To chop off such a chosen head as our time ne'er forth brought. 
 His knowledge crept beyond the stars and wrought to Jove's 
 
 high throne, 
 The bowels of the earth he saw, in his deep breast y-known. 
 His wit looked through each man's device, his judgment 
 
 grounded was, 
 Almost he had foresight to know ere things should come to 
 
 pass; 
 When they should fall j what should betide, Oh ! what a 
 
 loss of weight 
 Was it to lose so ripe a head, that reached to such height ! 
 In every heart he feeling had : with pen past Petrarch sure, 
 A fashion framed which could his foes to friendship oft allure, 
 His virtues could not keep him here, but rather wrought his 
 
 harms, 
 And made his enemies murmur oft, and brought them in by 
 
 swarms. 
 Whose practice put him to his plunge, and lost his life thereby, 
 Oh ! canker'd breasts which have such hearts wherein such 
 
 hate doth lie. 
 As I have told this young man served this master twice two 
 
 year, 
 And learned therein such fruitful skill, as long he held full 
 
 dear. 
 And used the pen as he was taught and other gifts also, 
 Which made him hold the cap on head, where some do crouch 
 
 full low." 
 
 About July, 1544, Henry again invaded 
 France with a large army, the vanguard of 
 which was commanded by the Duke of Norfolk, 
 and Surrey w 7 as appointed Marshal, an office of 
 considerable importance, and requiring capacity 
 and courage. The van and rearguard having 
 joined the Emperor's forces, they laid siege to 
 
EARL OF SURREY. XXXV 
 
 Montreuil, and on the 26th of July, Heniy in- 
 vested Boulogne in person. As that town was 
 the principal object of the King's attention all 
 the resources were bestowed upon the besiegers, 
 and his troops before Montreuil were allowed to 
 want ammunition and pay. Norfolk's exertions 
 did not, however, relax ; and, aided by his son, 
 he succeeded in distressing the garrison by fa- 
 mine. Surrey more than once distinguished 
 himself during the siege, and his services are 
 thus mentioned in one of his father's dispatches : — 
 " With hearty recommendations this shall be 
 to advertise your good Lordships that this even- 
 ing Monsieur de Bewers with his band, and 
 my son of Surrey, my Lord of Sussex, my Lord 
 Mountjoy, my brother William, my Lord Lati- 
 mer, Mr. Treasurer, and all the rest of the no- 
 blemen whom I sent further upon Saturday at 
 ten at night, returned hither to this camp this 
 night at seven o'clock, without loss of any man 
 slain, and have made a very honest journey, and 
 have burnt the towns of St. Riquier and Riew, 
 both walled towns, and also the fauxbourg of 
 Abbeville, on this side of the town, where the 
 English horsemen had a right hot skirmish, and 
 after the coming of the whole army retired with- 
 out loss, and burned all the country ; and they 
 of Crotey fearing our men would have laid siege 
 of the castle, burned their own town. Our men 
 have brought a very great booty of all sorts of 
 cattle; the noblemen and gentlemen kept their 
 footmen in such order, that they borrowed no- 
 thing of the Burgonians, and finally have made 
 
xxxvi MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 such an excourse, that the like hath not been 
 made since these wars began." 
 
 In an attempt to storm Montreuil on the 19ll. 
 of September, the Earl was either wounded or 
 much exhausted, and he owed his life to the 
 fidelity of Clere, who in bringing him off re- 
 ceived a hurt which eventually caused his death. 
 This affecting incident Surrey has himself com- 
 memorated in his epitaph on Clere : — 
 
 " Tracing whose steps thou sawest Kelsal 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." ' 
 
 On the 25th of September a reinforcement 
 was sent to the Duke of Norfolk, but it arrived 
 too late : the siege of Montreuil was raised, and 
 the English army retired to Boulogne on the 
 30th of that month. Norfolk reached England 
 about the middle of December, and as nothing 
 further is recorded of Surrey until Christmas 
 Day, when he attended a Chapter of the Garter 
 at Hampton Court, it may be inferred that he 
 came back with his father. According to Mon- 
 sieur Du Bellay, Surrey was again at Boulogne 
 soon afterwards, but this statement is doubtful, 
 and it is certain that he was present at a Chapter 
 of the Garter on St. George's Day in 1545. 
 
 In July following he was at Kenninghall, in 
 Norfolk, where he received a letter from the 
 Privy Council respecting some men that were 
 raised for the expedition for the defence of Bou- 
 
 1 See p. 62. 
 
EARL OF SURREY. XXXVll 
 
 Wne, which was then menaced by the French. 
 The Earl was appointed commander of the van- 
 guard, consisting of five thousand soldiers, with 
 which he arrived at Calais in August, where he 
 was joined by three thousand. On the 26th of 
 that month he was constituted Commander of 
 Guisnes; but within a short time he w r as re- 
 moved, at his own request, to Boulogne. The 
 post of Commander of Boulogne required energy, 
 courage, and skill, and there is ample evidence 
 that the Earl displayed each of those qualifica- 
 tions. Many of his despatches describing the 
 state of affairs at different times are extant, but 
 they contain little of general interest. A letter 
 from his father to him, written in September, 
 justifies the inference that his representations to 
 the King, urging him to retain Boulogne, were 
 not agreeable to- the Privy Council: — 
 
 " TO MY SON OF SURREY. 
 
 u \y ITH this ye shall receive your letter sent to 
 me by this bearer; by the which I perceive ye 
 find yourself grieved for that I declared to the 
 Kin or such things as Cavendish shewed to me : 
 which I did by his desire ; shewing the same of 
 his behalf without speaking of you. And if he 
 will say he desired not me to shew the King 
 thereof, ye may [say] he sayeth untruly. For 
 the King hawking for a pheasant, he desired me 
 as he went homeward to declare the same to his 
 Highness. This is true, and he taken here not 
 of the best sort. Ye may be sure I do not use 
 my doings of any sort that may turn you to any 
 
xxxvni MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 displeasure. Have yourself in await, that ye 
 animate not the King too much for the keeping 
 of Boulogne ; for who so doth, at length shall 
 get small thanks. I have so handled the matter, 
 that if any adventure be given to win the new 
 fortress at Boulogne, ye shall have the charge 
 thereof; and therefore, look well what answer 
 ye make to the letter from us of the Council. 
 Confirm not the enterprises contained in them. 
 
 " Having written the premises, Mr. Paget 
 desired me to write to you in no wise to ani- 
 mate the King to keep Boulogne. Upon what 
 grounds he spake it I know not ; but I fear ye 
 wrote something too much therein to somebody. 
 And thus with God's blessing and mine, Fare 
 ye well. From Windsor, the 27th of September 
 at night. 
 
 " Your loving father, 
 
 " T. Norfolk." 
 
 In a postscript to an unimportant letter to 
 Lord Cobham, dated at Boulogne on the 20th 
 of October, 1545, Surrey says, — 
 
 " Whereas, I perceive Sir Edward Wotton's 
 son fantaseth a genet gelding of mine, that 
 standeth at Calais, which is blind and winded, 
 I am ashamed to give him ; but if it please him 
 to take him till I be able to give him a better, 
 I shall desire him so to do." 
 
 A communication addressed to Sir William 
 Paget, on the 20th of the following month, will 
 be inserted, as it shews the zeal with w r hich the 
 Earl advocated the interests of his friends : — 
 
EARL OF SURREY. xxxix 
 
 u It may like you, gentle Mr. Secretary, to 
 give me leave, amid your weighty affairs, to 
 trouble you with an earnest suit. Whereas 
 Mr. Treasurer of Guisnes is discharged, and 
 some other, as I hear, appointed to his place^ 
 it will please you to inform yourself by the 
 report of such as knoweth, [of] a gentleman, 
 sometime my servant, and now a captain within 
 this town, called T. Shelley, what his conditions 
 and qualities are, and disposition to service, and 
 then to square within yourself whether it be 
 meet to recommend for that office such one, at 
 the most effectual request of your poor friend, of 
 whose rare virtues I could write more at large, 
 but that I know virtue for the self, is to you 
 sufficiently recommended ; and that Mr. Palmer 
 awaiteth upon you, who can sufficiently of the 
 ability of the man instruct you. Assuring you, 
 Sir, that I dare promise more of that man, his 
 truth and honesty, than of any man that I know 
 alive ; and I should think myself happy to have 
 bred such a servant, as I trust his Majesty should 
 find him. And for your favour to be granted 
 that man, I shall most heartily beseech you, and 
 think the pleasure done as to myself, praying 
 you to pardon my earnest writing: for the 
 worthiness of the man bears it. And thus 
 leaving to trouble you, I pray to God to send 
 you health. From Boulogne, the 20th of No- 
 vember. 
 
 " Your own most assuredly, 
 
 " H. Surrey/' 
 
xl MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 Surrey having received intimation early in 
 January, 1545-6, that the French were about 
 to advance from Montreuil to re-victual the 
 fortress, he marched from Boulogne with great 
 part of the garrison to intercept them near St. 
 Etienne. Though he was inferior in numbers, 
 he gallantly attacked the French troops; but, 
 in consequence of the cowardice of one division 
 of his forces, who fled in confusion, notwith- 
 standing all the Earl's efforts to rally them, the 
 English were defeated, and forced to retreat to 
 Boulogne. 
 
 Surrey's despatch to the King, giving an 
 account of this affair, is as follows : — 
 
 " It may like your most excellent Majesty ; 
 that having certain espial that Monsieur 13 u 
 Biez was set fort [forth] of Montreuil with six 
 hundred horse, and three thousand footmen, to 
 relieve the great necessity of the fortress, men- 
 tioned in our former letters ; we took yesterday 
 before day the trenches at St. Etienne, with six 
 hundred footmen, and sent out Mr. Ellerkar 
 with all the horsemen of this town, and Mr. 
 Pollard with two hundred, that he brought the 
 night before from Guisnes, to discover whither 
 their camp marched, which he had discovered 
 by their fires at Nouclier over night, six miles 
 on this side Montreuil. And as they passed by 
 Hardelot, Mr. Pollard was hurt with a culverin 
 in the knee, and died thereof the night following; 
 of whom your Majesty had a notable loss. 
 
 " Our horsemen discovered their march beyond 
 Hardelot, whereupon I, the Earl of Surrey, being 
 
EARL OF SURREY. xli 
 
 advertised, according to the order agreed upon 
 amongst us, issued out with Mr. Bridges, Sir 
 Henry Palmer, Sir Thomas Palmer, Sir Thomas 
 Wyatt, and two thousand footmen ; leaving within 
 your Majesty's pieces two thousand footmen, and 
 the rest of the council here, divided in the pieces. 
 And by that time that we had set our horsemen 
 and footmen in order of battle, without the trench 
 of St. Etienne, the enemy was also in order of 
 battle on this side Hardelot, and had put on 
 their carriages by the sea's side, towards the for- 
 tress. Whereupon, having discovered their horse- 
 men not above five hundred, and footmen about 
 four thousand, pondering the weight of the ser- 
 vice, which might have imported no less success 
 than the winning of the fortress ; and the courage 
 and good will that seemed in our men (the surety 
 of your Majesty's pieces being provided for) upon 
 a consultation we presented them the fight with 
 a squadre of pikes and bills, about threescore in 
 file, and two wings of harquebussiers, and one 
 of bows ; and our horsemen on the right wing. 
 Many of the captains and gentlemen were in the 
 first rank by their desire ; for because they were 
 well armed in corselets. The battle of the Al- 
 mains came towards us likewise with two wings 
 of harquebussiers and two troops of horsemen. 
 " Mr. Marshall, Mr. Bellingham, Mr. Porter, 
 Mr. Shelley, and Mr. Granado, with all the 
 horsemen of this town, and Guisnes, gave the 
 charge upon their right flank, and brake their 
 harquebussiers. Their horsemen fled and ours 
 followed the victory, and killed and slew till they 
 
xlii MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 came to the carnages, where they brake four 
 score and ten, accompted by tale this morning. 
 Our squadre then joined with the Almains, with 
 a cry of as great courage, and in as good order 
 as we could wish. And by that time our first 
 rank and the second were come to the push of 
 the pike, there grew a disorder in our men, and 
 without cause fled ; at which time many of our 
 gentlemen were slain, which gave as hardy an 
 onset as hath been seen, and could but have 
 had good success, if they had been followed. 
 So, stinted they never for any devise that we 
 could use, till they came to the trenches : and 
 being well settled there, which is such a place as 
 may be kept against all their camp, they forsook 
 that and took the river, which gave the enemy 
 courage to follow them : albeit the night drawing 
 then on, they followed not far beyond. Assuring 
 your Majesty that the fury of their flight was such, 
 that it booted little the travail that was taken 
 upon every strait to stay them. And so seeing 
 it not possible to stop them, we suffered them to 
 retire to the town. In this meanwhile, our horse- 
 men thinking all won, finding the disorder, were 
 fain to pass over at a passage a mile beneath 
 Pont de Brique, without any loss, having slain 
 a great number of the enemies; whereof we have 
 yet no certain advertisement. 
 
 " Thus was there loss and victory on both 
 sides. And this morning we sent over afore day 
 to number the dead. There was slain of our 
 side two hundred and five; whereof captains 
 Mr. Edward Poynings, Captain Story, Captain 
 Jones, Spencer, Roberts, Basford, Wourth, 
 
EARL OF SURREY. xliii 
 
 Wynchcombe, Mr. Yawse, and a man at arms 
 called Harvy. Captain Crayford and Mr. John 
 Palmer, and Captain Shelley, and Captain Cob- 
 ham, missed, but not found. All these were slain 
 in the first rank. Other there were that escaped. 
 Among whom Mr. Wyatt was one; assuring 
 your Majesty that there were never gentlemen 
 served more hardily, if it had chanced, and saving 
 the disorder of our footmen that fled without 
 cause, when all things almost seemed won. The 
 enemy took, more loss than we, but for the gen- 
 tlemen ; whose loss was much to be lamented. 
 And this day we have kept the field from the 
 break of day ; and the enemy retired to Montreuil 
 immediately after the fight, and left their car- 
 riages distressed behind them. And not twenty 
 carts entered into the fortress; and that biscuit. 
 u Beseeching your Majesty, though the success 
 hath not been such as we wished, to accept the 
 good intent of us all ; considering that it seemed 
 to us, in a matter of such importance, a necessary 
 thing to present the fight. And that Mr. Eller- 
 kar may know we have humbly recommended 
 his good service unto your Highness ; which was 
 such, as if all the rest had answered to the same, 
 the enemy had been utterly discomforted ; and 
 that it may please your Majesty to give him 
 credit for the declaration thereof more at large. 
 Further ; whereas Mr. Henry Dudley was one 
 of those of the first rank that gave the onset 
 upon the enemy, and is a man [to be esteemed] 
 for his knowledge, heart, and of good service, it 
 may like your Highness to be his good and gra- 
 cious Lord ; that whereas Mr. Poynings, late 
 
xliv MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 captain of your Majesty's guard here is deceased, 
 if your Highness shall think him able to succeed 
 him in that room, at our humble intercession to 
 admit him thereto ; if it may so stand with your 
 most gracious pleasure. 
 
 " And thus beseeching your Highness to ac- 
 cept our poor service, albeit the success in all 
 things was not such as we wished, yet was the 
 enemies enterprise disappointed, which could not 
 have been otherwise done, and more of their part 
 slain than of ours ; and the fortress in as great 
 misery as before, and a sudden flight the let of a 
 full victory. And if any disorder there were, we 
 assure your Majesty there was no default in the 
 rulers, nor lack of courage to be given them, but 
 a humour that sometime reigneth in Englishmen : 
 most humbly thanking your Majesty that it hath 
 pleased the same to consider their payment; 
 which shall much revive their hearts to adventure 
 most willingly their lives, according to their most 
 bounden duty, in your Majesty's service, to make 
 recompense for the disorder that now they have 
 made. 
 
 " And thus we pray to God to preserve your 
 most excellent Majesty. From your Highness's 
 town of Boulogne, this 8th of January, 1546. 
 
 Your Majesty's most humble 
 
 and obedient Servants and Subjects, 
 
 H. Surrey. 
 
 Hugh Poulet. Henry Palmer. 
 
 Richard Cavendish. John Byrggys. 
 
 Richard Wyndebancke. 
 
EARL OF SURREY. xlv 
 
 " P.S. Whereas we think that this victual can 
 serve for no long time, that they have put into 
 the fortress ; wherefore it is to be thought the 
 enemy will attempt the like again shortly : it 
 may please your Majesty to resolve what is fur- 
 ther to be done by us ; and for the declaration 
 of our poor opinions therein, we have sent Mr. 
 Ellerkar to your Majesty, to whom may it please 
 vour Highness to give credit in that behalf; and 
 the present tempest being such, we have thought 
 it meet to send these before, and stay him for a 
 better passage." 
 
 His defeat has been supposed to have lessened 
 the good opinion which the King entertained of 
 him ; but this is doubtful, as he continued in the 
 command of Boulogne for three months after 
 that event ; and, in the beginning of March, 
 he applied to Henry for permission that his wife 
 might join him at Boulogne, which request was 
 refused, on the ground that " time of service, 
 which will bring some trouble and disquietness 
 unmeet for women's imbecilities, approacheth." 
 The first intimation he received that he was to 
 be superseded was in a letter from Secretary 
 Paget, dated about the middle of March, in 
 which there are these passages : — 
 
 " My Lord, the latter part of your letter, 
 touching the intended enterprise of the enemy, 
 giveth me occasion to write unto you frankly my 
 poor opinion ; trusting your Lordship will take 
 the same in no w r orse part than I mean it. As 
 your Lordship wisheth, so his Majesty mindeth 
 to do somewhat for the enclommaging of the 
 
xlvi , MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 enemy : and for that purpose hath appointed to 
 send an army over shortly, and that my Lord of 
 Hertford shall be his Highness's Lieutenant 
 General at his being in Boulonnois. 1 Whereby 
 I fear your authority of Lieutenant shall be 
 touched : for I believe that the later ordering of 
 a Lieutenant taketh away the commission of 
 him that was there before. Now, my Lord, be- 
 cause you have been pleased I should write mine 
 advice to your Lordship in things concerning 
 your honour and benefit, I could no less do than 
 put you in remembrance how much in mine 
 opinion this shall touch your honour, if you 
 should pass the thing over in silence until the 
 very time of my Lord of Hertford's coming over 
 thither 5 for so should both your authority be 
 taken away, as I fear is Boulonnois, and also it 
 should fortune ye to come abroad without any 
 place of estimation in the field ; which the world 
 would much muse at, and, though there be no 
 such matter, think you were rejected upon occa- 
 sion of some either negligence, inexperience, or 
 such other like fault; for so many heads so 
 many judgments. Wherefore, my Lord, in my 
 opinion, you should do well to make sure by 
 times to his Majesty to appoint you to some 
 place of service in the army ; as to the Captain- 
 ship of the Foreward, or Rearward ; or to such 
 other place of honour as should be meet for you ; 
 
 1 This appointment was announced officially by the Privy 
 Council to Surrey and the Council of Boulogne on the 21st 
 of March, 1545-6, by a dispatch of which a minute is in the 
 State Paper Office, and has been printed by Nott, i. 227. 
 Lord Hertford reached Calais on the 23rd of March. 
 
EARL OP SURREY. xlvii 
 
 for so should you be where knowledge and ex- 
 perience may be gotten. Whereby you should 
 the better be able hereafter to serve, and also to 
 have peradventure occasion to do some notable 
 service in revenge of your men, at the last en- 
 counter with the enemies, which should be to 
 your reputation in the world. Whereas, being 
 hitherto noted as you are a man of a noble cou- 
 rage, and of a desire to show the same to the 
 face of your enemies, if you should now tarry at 
 home within a wall, having I doubt a show of 
 your authority touched, it would be thought 
 abroad I fear, that either you were desirous to 
 tarry in a sure place of rest, or else that the 
 credit of your courage and forwardness to serve 
 were diminished ; and that you were taken here 
 for a man of [little] activity or service. 
 
 " Wherefore, in my opinion, you shall do well, 
 and provide wisely for the conservation of your 
 reputation, to sue to his Majesty for a place of 
 service in the field. Wherein if it shall please 
 you to use me as a mean to his Majesty, I trust 
 so to set forth the matter to his Majesty, as he 
 shall take the same in gracious part, and be 
 content to appoint you to such a place as may 
 best stand with your honour. And this counsel 
 I write unto you as one that would you well ; 
 trusting that your Lordship will even so inter- 
 pret the same, and let me know your mind here- 
 in betimes." 
 
 Within a few weeks Surrey was summoned to 
 the King's presence to advise on the best mode 
 of fortifying Boulogne \ but this command was 
 
xlviii MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 in fact a civil manner of announcing that he was 
 superseded by the Earl of Hertford. 
 
 The next notice which occurs of the Earl is 
 the following letter from him to Secretary Paget, 
 dated on the 14th of July, which is very cha- 
 racteristic. It relates to his conduct whilst com- 
 mander of Boulogne with respect to the claims 
 of some of the King's servants, as well as of 
 persons to whom Surrey had given certain ap- 
 pointments. His reply to Lord Grey's insinua- 
 tion that he had himself derived a profit from 
 them is written with all the dignity of conscious 
 integrity : " There are," he says, " in Boulogne 
 too many witnesses that Henry of Surrey was 
 never corrupted by personal considerations, and 
 that his hand never closed upon a bribe : a les- 
 son," he adds, " which he learnt from his father, 
 whom he desired to imitate in this as in all other 
 things." 
 
 " To the Right Worshipful Sir William Paget, 
 Kt. one of his Majesty's Principal Secre- 
 taries : 
 
 " It may like you, with my hearty commen- 
 dations ; that whereas yesternight I perceived by 
 you, that the King's Majesty thinketh his libe- 
 rality sufficiently extended towards the strangers 
 that have served him, I have with fair words 
 done my best so to satisfy them accordingly ; 
 assuring you on my faith, that their necessity 
 seemed to me such, as it cost me an hundred 
 ducats of mine own purse, and somewhat else : 
 
EARL OF SURREY. xlix 
 
 so that now there resteth nothing to be done but 
 their passports and ready dispatch from you, 
 wherein it may please you to consider their 
 great charges here. 
 
 " And now you shall give me leave to come 
 to mine own matters. Coming from Boulogne 
 in such sort as you know, I left only two of my 
 servants behind me ; John Rosington and Tho- 
 mas Copeland. To the said John, for his not- 
 able service, I gave the advantage of the play in 
 Boulogne ; to Thomas, the prefect of the pas- 
 sage : whom my Lord Grey put immediately 
 out of service after my departure, notwithstand- 
 ing the letter I obtained from you to him in 
 their favour. Upon a better consideration, John 
 occupieth his room ; and my Lord to his own 
 use occupieth the other's office of the passage ; 
 saying, ' That I, and my predecessors there 
 should use the same to our gain ;' (which I assure 
 you is untrue) and that it should be parcel of 
 the entertainment of the Deputy ; which in 
 Calais was never used, and is, me seemeth, too 
 near for a Deputy to grate ; unless it were for 
 some displeasure borne me. 
 
 " Finally, Mr. Secretary, this is the only suit 
 that I have made vou for any thing; touching 
 Boulogne sit-h my departure ; wherefore it may 
 please you, that if my Lord Grey will needs be 
 passager, and that the office was Yio less worth 
 to the said Thomas than fifty pounds a year, 
 being placed there by a King's Lieutenant, 
 (which me thinketh a great disorder that a Cap- 
 tain of Boulogne should displace for any private 
 d 
 
1 MEMOIH OF THE 
 
 gain,) yet at the least it may please you to re- 
 quest my Lord Grey to recompense him with a 
 sum of money in recompense of that, that he 
 hath lost, and purchased so dearly with so many 
 dangers of life; which my said Lord of his 
 liberality cannot refrain to do. 
 
 " And for answer, that my said Lord chargeth 
 me to have returned the same to my private pro- 
 fit, in his so saying he can have none honour. 
 For there be in Boulogne too many witnesses 
 that Henry of Surrey was never for singular 
 profit corrupted ; nor never yet bribe closed his 
 hand : which lesson I learned of my father ; and 
 wish to succeed him therein as in the rest. 
 
 " Further ; whereas the said Copeland was 
 placed there for his merits by Mr. Southwell, 
 and me, of the guard ; and that my said Lord 
 Grey detaineth from him his wages, it may please 
 you, at my hearty request, to grant him your 
 letters for the obtaining thereof; and of the rest, 
 and to pardon my frankness, for that you know 
 it is my natural, to use it with [such as I do 
 hold my friends]. And thus washing you [to 
 continue ever more] my friend, till I deserve 
 of [any fault of mine the con]trary, I pray to 
 God send you [what ever good your own] 
 
 heart desireth. From 14th July 
 
 1546. 
 
 " Your assured loving friend, 
 
 "H. Surrey." 
 
 The great influence which the Earl of Iiert- 
 
 I 
 
EARL OF SURREY. li 
 
 ford possessed was viewed with jealousy by Nor- 
 folk and his son, though they sought to conci- 
 liate him by proposing an alliance between the 
 widowed Duchess of Richmond, whose marriage 
 was never consummated, and the Earl's brother, 
 Sir Thomas Seymour. This alliance did not, 
 however, take place, and Surrey, either from dis- 
 like of Hertford or from some other cause, was not 
 employed under him. Disappointed ambition, 
 in a person of an impetuous and haughty temper, 
 generally vents itself in bitter speeches against 
 the author of a supposed wrong ; and Surrey, 
 after his return to England, towards the end of 
 March, 1547, often expressed himself with great 
 asperity about Hertford. 
 
 This conduct having reached the king's ears, 
 Surrey was arrested and imprisoned at Windsor 
 in July following, when Henry ordered his 
 father to be apprised of his imprudence. The 
 Duke in a letter to the Council desired them to 
 thank his Majesty for informing him of his son's 
 " foolish demeanour ;" and after expressing plea- 
 sure at finding he had evinced a proper sense 
 of his behaviour, Norfolk prayed that he might 
 be " earnestly handled, in order that he may 
 have regard hereafter so to use himself, that he 
 may give his Majesty no cause of discontent." 
 Surrey's confinement must have been short, as 
 he officiated at court early in August, on the 
 arrival of the French Ambassadors. 
 
 During the first two weeks of December the 
 enemies of the Earl were actively engaged in 
 collecting evidence to accomplish his destruction. 
 
lii MEMOIR, OF THE 
 
 The king was known to be dying, and the Earl 
 of Hertford, as uncle to the heir of the throne, 
 aspired to be protector of the kingdom during 
 the minority of his nephew ; whilst on the other 
 hand, Surrey had been for some years specula- 
 ting on a Norfolk regency. Suspicion having 
 been aroused by the assumption of the royal 
 arms by the Earl, and his known dislike to 
 u the new nobility/' it was not difficult to con- 
 trive the mesh in which he was ultimately 
 snared. From some fragments of evidence dis- 
 covered by Mr. Froude in the State Paper 
 Office (Domestic, vol. xix.) we have a remarkable 
 illustration of the hastiness of Surrey's temper, 
 and the enthusiastic turn of his mind. 
 
 " Sir Edmund Warner being commanded by 
 Sir William Paget to put in writing all such 
 words and communications as had heretofore been 
 betwixt him and the Earl of Surrey that might in 
 any wise touch the King's Highness and his 
 posterity, or of any other person, what he had 
 heard of the said Earl that might in any way 
 tend to the same effect, deposed, that of the 
 Earl himself he had heard nothing ; but in the 
 summer last past Mr. Devereux did tell him 
 upon certain communications of the pride and 
 vain glory of the said Earl, that it was possible 
 it might be abated one day; and when he, Sir 
 Edmund Warner, asked what he meant thereby, 
 he said, what if he were accused to the King, 
 that he should say, ' If God should call the 
 Kinp; to his mercy, who were so meet to govern 
 the Prince as my Lord his father.'" 
 
EARL OF SURREY. Hii 
 
 " Sir Edward Rogers being examined, de- 
 posed, Sir George Blage was in communication 
 with the Earl and me, and the Earl entered in 
 question with Blage, or Blage with the Earl, 
 who were meetest to have the rule and govern- 
 ance of the Prince in case God should disclose 
 his pleasure on the King's majesty. Blage said 
 he thought meetest such as his Highness should 
 appoint. The Earl contrary-wise said that his 
 father was the meetest personage to be deputed 
 to that room, as well in respect of the good ser- 
 vice he had done, as also for his estate. Blage 
 answered, saying, He trusted never to see that 
 day, and that the Prince should be but evil 
 taught if he were of his father's teaching." 
 
 But a sadder charge against the character of 
 Surrey was next to follow, of which it is difficult 
 to believe it capable. 
 
 " Sir Gawin Carew examined, said that my 
 Lady of Richmond (sister of the Earl) had dis- 
 covered unto him as strange a practice of her 
 brother as ever he had heard of, which was that 
 the aforesaid Earl, pretending the face of a mar- 
 riage to have succeeded between Sir Thomas 
 Seymour and the said lady, did will and advise 
 her that what time the King's majesty should 
 send for her (as it should be brought about that 
 the King's Highness should move her in that 
 behalf), she should so order herself as neither 
 she should seem to grant nor to deny that his 
 Majesty did will her unto, but rather to so tem- 
 per her tale as his Highness might thereby have 
 occasion to send for her again, and so possibly 
 
liv MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 that his Majesty might cast some love unto her, 
 whereby in process she should bear as great a 
 stroke about him as Madame d'Estampes did 
 about the French king." 
 
 In another deposition on the same subject, 
 the deponent says, " that the reply of the Du- 
 chess to these suggestions was, that she defied 
 her brother, and said that they should all perish, 
 and she would cut her own throat rather than 
 she would consent to such a villany." 
 
 On the 12th of December Surrey and his 
 father were arrested and sent to the Tower, each 
 being ignorant of the other's fate, and the king 
 was persuaded to proceed to extremities with the 
 Howards. The Duchess of Richmond at this 
 time was at her usual residence, her father's 
 mansion of Kenninghall, near Thetford, whither 
 three commissioners, Sir John Gate, Sir Richard 
 Southwell, and Sir Wy mound Carew, were dis- 
 patched in all haste. Their report to the King x 
 not only gives a graphic picture of this startling 
 catastrophe in a great household; but shows 
 how overcome with alarm and doubt the Du- 
 chess herself was, and how, in her natural anxiety 
 to defend her father, she was entrapped perhaps 
 into making further admissions respecting her 
 brother than she might otherwise have done. 
 
 The commissioners state, that on their arrival 
 at Kenninghall on December 14, 1546, -^we 
 did declare our desire to speak with the Duchess 
 
 1 Printed in extenso in the State Papers, temp. Henry 
 VIII, vol. i. p. 888, published by th^ Record Commission, 
 
EARL OF SURREY. lv 
 
 of Richmond and Elizabeth Holland, x both 
 which we found at that time newly risen, and 
 not ready. Nevertheless, having knowledge 
 that we would speak with them, they came unto 
 us without delay into the dining chamber, and 
 so we imparted unto them the case and condition 
 wherein the said Duke and his son, without 
 your great mercy, did stand ; wherewith as we 
 found the Duchess a woman sore perplexed, 
 trembling, and like to fall down, so coming 
 unto herself again, she was not, we assure 
 your Majesty, forgetful of her duty, and did 
 most humbly and reverently upon her knees 
 humble herself in all unto your Highness, say- 
 ing that although nature constrained her sore to 
 love her father, whom she hath ever thought to 
 be a true and faithful subject, and also to desire 
 the well-doing of his son, her natural brother, 
 whom she noteth to be a rash man. Yet, for 
 her part, she would nor will hide or conceal any 
 thing from your Majesty's knowledge, specially 
 if it be of weight, or otherwise, as it shall fall 
 in her remembrance, which she hath promised, 
 for the better declaration of her integrity, to ex- 
 hibit in writing unto your Highness's most 
 honourable council/ 7 
 
 The commissioners then state, that they 
 
 1 u That drab, Bess Holland," as the enraged Duchess of 
 Norfolk styles her in one of her letters, who was the princi- 
 pal cause of the domestic quarrels at Kenninghall. She 
 retained her influence over the Duke until the time of his 
 attainder, as is amply shown by the inventories of her ap- 
 parel and jewels, which were seized by the commissioners, 
 but afterwards restored to her. 
 
lvi MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 searched the chambers and coffers of the 
 Duchess, but found no papers of consequence, 
 and her chambers were, they report, " so bare, 
 as your majesty will hardly think, her jewels, 
 such as she had, sold or lende to gage, to pay 
 her debts, as she, her maidens, and the almoner 
 do say." In Elizabeth Holland's chamber were 
 found more trinkets, girdles, beads, buttons, 
 rings, &c, but still no papers. The Countess of 
 Surrey is named as being at Kenninghall with 
 her children and nursery women, and " looking 
 her time to lie in at this next Candlemass." 
 The King's will is consulted as to whether she is 
 to remain there, or the household to be broken 
 up. The Duchess of Richmond and Elizabeth 
 Holland set off that day or the next for London. 
 The Earl of Surrey was accused of high trea- 
 son under the statute of the 28th of Henry VIII, 
 chap. vii. sect. 12, entitled, u An Act for the Es- 
 tablishment of the Succession of the Imperial 
 Crown of the Realm," whereby, among other 
 offences, it was enacted, that if any person by 
 speaking, writing, or printing, or by any other 
 act or deed, did any thing to the peril of the 
 King's person or of his heir, or should by any 
 act, speech, or deed, occasion the King to be 
 disturbed in the possession of his Crown, he 
 should be considered a traitor. The indictment 
 then proceeds to recite that King Edward the 
 Confessor had borne certain arms which belonged 
 exclusively to that monarch, his progenitors, 
 and successors, Kings of England ; that Henry 
 and all his progenitors had, from time immemo- 
 
EARL OF SURREY. lvii 
 
 rial, used and borne the said arms, they being 
 annexed to the crown of England; that Prince 
 Edward, the King's son and heir apparent, had 
 always borne the same arms from the time of his 
 birth, with the difference of a silver label of 
 three points, to the said Prince of right belong- 
 ing, and to no other subject whatever; that the 
 Earl of Surrey, unmindful of his allegiance, had, 
 as a false traitor and public enemy of the King, 
 conspired to withdraw his subjects from their 
 allegiance, and to deprive the King of his royal 
 dignity, on the 7th of October, 1546, in Ken- 
 ninghall, in the county of Norfolk, in the house 
 of Thomas, Duke of Norfolk, his father, by 
 traitorously and openly causing the said arms of 
 the King, with three silver labels, to be painted 
 in conjunction with his own proper arms, there- 
 by intending to repress, destroy, annihilate, and 
 scandalize the true and undoubted title of the 
 said Lord, the now King to the crown of this 
 his realm of England ;' and also traitorously to 
 disinherit and interrupt the said Lord Prince 
 Edward of his true and undoubted title in and 
 to the said crown of this realm of England, and 
 then and there maliciously, voluntarily, and 
 traitorously giving occasion whereby the said 
 Lord the now King mio-lit be disturbed and in- 
 terrupted in his said true title to the said crown 
 of this his realm of England, to the scandal, 
 peril, derogation, and contempt of the said Lord 
 the now King and of his said lawful title to his 
 said crown of England. * 
 
 1 Dr. Xott, in Lis Memoir of the Earl, p. ci, has printed 
 

 Iviii MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 In proof of this charge Mrs. Holland, the 
 Duke of Norfolk's mistress, deposed in general 
 terms that he had reproached Surrey for his 
 want of skill in quartering his arms. The 
 Duchess of Richmond declared that he had 
 spoken with asperity of Hertford, to whom he 
 attributed his late imprisonment ; that he had 
 shown dislike to the new nobility ; had com- 
 plained that the King expressed displeasure for 
 the defeat at Boulogne in the preceding year ; 
 that he had dissuaded her from reading too far 
 in the scriptures ; and that he had erected an 
 altar in a church at Boulogne : but in the con- 
 clusion of her deposition, she maliciously in- 
 sinuated that the earl had surmounted his arms 
 instead of with a coronet, with what " seemed 
 to her much like a close crown, and a cipher 
 which she took to be the king's cipher, H.R." 
 
 a document found in the Heralds' College, of a conversation 
 between Surrey and the Richmond Herald respecting an 
 alteration in his arms, which took place whilst Surrey was 
 still in favour, and before he went to Boulogne. This docu- 
 ment was probably adduced against him upon his trial. 
 Charles Young (now Garter) discovered the original in the 
 library of the College of Arms. It is in a collection of vari- 
 ous papers, bound up together, and given by Sir William 
 Dugdale to the College. He has also ascertained that Sir 
 Gilbert Dethycke was the Richmond Herald there alluded 
 to, and it also appears clear to him that Sir Chris. Barker, 
 then garter king at arms, was the person with whom the 
 conversation was held. He appeared as a witness at Surrey's 
 trial, and if the conversation stated be the summary of his 
 evidence, it would prove that he added great ingratitude to 
 his impatience, and the ignorance in his profession, which 
 he then made proof of. (Memorials of the Howard Family, ed. 
 1837, No. VII.) 
 
EAitL OF SURREY. lix 
 
 Sir Edmund Knyvett and Thomas Pope also 
 gave their testimony, but it contained nothing of 
 the slightest importance. 
 
 The crime for which this young nobleman 
 was thus arraigned has never been properly ex- 
 amined ; and, satisfied with its manifest absur- 
 dity, historians as well as the biographers of 
 Surrey have omitted to point out upon what 
 grounds that inference is justified. 
 
 The arms of King Edward the Confessor are 
 presumed to have been a blue field charged with 
 a gold cross flory at the ends, between five gold 
 martlets, a kind of swallow without legs ; but as 
 heraldry was then unknown, it is extremely 
 doubtful if this or any other bearing was used 
 by that monarch. Arms appear to have been 
 used by the kings of England in the reign of 
 Richard the First, who bore a red shield, charged 
 with three gold lions, which have ever since 
 been deemed to be the arms of England. As 
 early as the time of Edward the First, and pro- 
 bably about a century before, the arms of three 
 saints were always borne on banners in the 
 English army, and on all state occasions, namely, 
 those of St. George, the tutelar saint of this 
 country ; of St. Edmund, and of St. Edward 
 the Confessor, but neither of those ensigns was 
 deemed to be connected with the sovereignty of 
 England. Richard the Second, however, being 
 actuated by extraordinary veneration for St. 
 Edward the Confessor, chose him for his patron 
 saint, and impaled his arms with those of Eng- 
 land and France \ and, at the same time, he 
 
ix MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 granted the Confessor's arms to be borne per 
 pale with the paternal coats of two or three of 
 the most eminent noblemen of the day, each of 
 whom was descended from the blood royal. 
 One of the persons so distinguished was Thomas 
 Mowbray, Earl of Nottingham and Duke of 
 Norfolk, the right to whose arms and quarter- 
 ings was indisputably inherited by the Earl of 
 Surrey, but the right to the coat of the Confessor 
 depends upon whether it was granted to Mowbray 
 for life only, or to him and his heirs, a point 
 w 7 hich has not been ascertained. Conceiving 
 himself, however, entitled to it, 1 Surrey in mar- 
 shaling his arms included it with his other 
 numerous quarterings, and the injustice of con- 
 struing the act into a treasonable design is still 
 more apparent from other circumstances. Neither 
 Henry the Eighth nor any other monarch after 
 Richard the Second, ever used the arms of the 
 Confessor in conjunction with their own, and 
 the statement that Prince Edward then did so 
 with a label, is not supported by any other evi- 
 
 ; 
 
 1 The Duke of Norfolk stated in his petition to Quee: 
 Mary, to have his own and Surrey's attainder reversed : 
 
 " And forasmuch most gracious Sovereign Lady as the of- 
 fence -wherewith your said subject and supplicant was charged, 
 and whereof he was indicted, was forbearing of arms, which 
 he and his ancestors had heretofore of long time and conti- 
 nuance borne, as well within this realm as without, and as 
 well also in the presence of the said late King, as in the pre- 
 sence of divers of his noble progenitors, Kings of England, 
 and which said arms your said supplicant and subject, and 
 his ancestors might lawfully and justly bear and give, as by 
 good and substantial matter of record it may and doth ap- 
 pear.' 1 
 
EARL OF SURREY. Ixi 
 
 dence. Surrey introduced the label as the 
 proper distinction of his arms from those of his 
 father, so that he appears to have done nothing 
 that he was not authorized by law to do; and 
 even at this moment heralds allow the Confes- 
 sor's arms to several noble families. It is re- 
 markable that whilst this preposterous accusation 
 was brought against Surrey, he himself bore the 
 royal arms by virtue of his descent from Thomas 
 of Brotherton, 1 the son of Edward the First, 
 whilst various other noblemen in the reign of 
 Henry the Eighth quartered the royal arms of 
 England and France, and two if not more of 
 them, the Duke of Buckingham and the Earl 
 of Wiltshire, had borne them, not in the inferior 
 position of the third or fourth, but in the first 
 quarter, as their paternal arms with impunity, 
 and as a matter of acknowledged right. 3 
 
 Surrey was brought to trial at the Guildhall on 
 the 13th January, 1547, when he defended him- 
 self with singular courage and ability, by ini- 
 
 1 It is a singular fact, that when Henry the Eighth 
 granted armorial ensigns to Anne Boleyn, then Marchioness 
 of Pembroke, he took especial care to shew her royal and 
 illustrious descent through the Howards, by introducing the 
 arms of Thomas of Brotherton, son of Edward the First, and 
 of the Warrens, Earls of Surrey, out of the Howard shield. 
 j In the arms of Katharine Howard, Henry impaled with his 
 own the same royal quartering of Brotherton, whilst in 
 farther evidence of her royal descent, one of the quarterings 
 was formed of the arms of France and England. 
 
 2 It was for some centuries the Law of Arms, that when- 
 ever a person was entitled to quarter the royal arms, they 
 were to take precedence of all others by being placed in the 
 first quarter. 
 
lxii MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 peaching the evidence brought against him, and 
 urging his right, on the authority of the Heralds 
 and of precedent, to bear the obnoxious arms. 
 "When a witness asserted that, in a conversation 
 with the Earl, he repeated some strong expression 
 which Surrey had used, together with his own 
 insolent reply, the prisoner made no other obser- 
 vation than by turning to the Jury and saying, 
 " I leave it to you to judge whether it were pro- 
 bable that this man should speak thus to the Earl 
 of Surrey and he not strike him." 
 
 But neither eloquence, nor spirit, nor even in- 
 nocence itself, was likely to avail a man accused 
 of treason in the reign of Henry the Eighth; and 
 the Jury, among whom it is melancholy to find 
 two near relations of his faithful attendant Glere, 
 found him guilty. He was remanded to the 
 Tower, and beheaded on the 21st of January, 
 just eight days after his conviction, and when he 
 was only thirty years of age. 1 
 
 No particulars are preserved of his deportment 
 in prison or on the scaffold; but from the noble 
 spirit he evinced at his trial, and from his general 
 character, it cannot be doubted that he behaved 
 in the last scene of his existence with fortitude 
 and dignity. On the barbarous injustice to which 
 
 1 For some particulars of the trial of the Earl of Surrey 
 consult Herbert's Life and Reign of Henry VIIL, fol. 1672, 
 p. 626 ; Burnet's History of the Reformation, i. 345 ; and 
 the "First Part of the Inventory and Calendar of the Con- 
 tents of the Baga de Secretis," printed in the Third Keport 
 of the Deputy Keeper of the Public Records, Feb. 28, 1842, 
 Appendix, p. 267. 
 
EARL OF SURREY. lxiii 
 
 he was sacrificed comment is unnecessary, but 
 regret at his early fate is increased by the circum- 
 stance that Henry himself, whose name is a 
 disgrace to any country, in any age, was in 
 extremities when he ordered his execution. His 
 swollen and enfeebled hands having been long 
 unequal to the task of guiding a pen, a stamp, 
 with the facsimile of the initials " H. R.," was 
 affixed to the death-warrant in his presence. 1 In 
 like manner was that for the execution of the 
 Duke of Norfolk signed ; but the King dying 
 within the same week, his life was preserved. 
 Surrey was buried in the church of All Hallows- 
 Barking, Tower Street, but his body was re- 
 moved to Framlingham by his son, the Earl of 
 Northampton, where he erected a handsome 
 monument to his father's memory, with this 
 inscription : — 
 
 HENEICO . HOWAEDO ] TU01L2E . SECTTNDI . DTJCIS 
 
 NOKFOLCI^i . FILIO . PEIMOGENITO . TH01O3 .TEETH 
 
 PATEI . COMITI . STJEEI^ . ET . GEOEGIANI . 0EDI1STS 
 
 EOTITI . ATJEATO . IMMATUEE . ANSTO . SALTJTIS 
 
 MDXEVI . ABEEPTO . ET .FEANCISC-SJ . UXOEI 
 
 EJTJS.FILIJE.JOHAN^IS. COXITIS. OXONI^.HENEICTTS 
 
 HOWAEDTJS . COMES . NOETHAMPTONL^S . EILITJS 
 
 SEC UNDO . GE^ITUS . HOC . STJPEEM"UM . PIETATIS 
 
 IN . PARENTES . MONTJMENTTJM . POSTJIT 
 
 ANNO . DOMINI . MDCXIV. 
 
 1 On August 31 j 1546, Henry appointed A. Denny, J. 
 Gate, and William CI ere, to sign all instruments requiring 
 his signature in the following manner : two them were to 
 impress a dry stamp upon the instrument, and the third to 
 fill up the impression with pen and ink. 
 
lxiv MEMOlPv OF THE 
 
 The monument of the Earl of Surrey at Fram- 
 lingham is an elevated tomb, with his arms and 
 those of his lady in the front, in the angles, and 
 an inscription in the centre. His effigy in 
 armour, with an ermined mantle, his feet bearing 
 against a lion couchant. His lady, in black, 
 with an ermined mantle and a coronet, on his left, 
 and both having their hands joined in prayer. 
 On a projecting ply nth in front is the figure of 
 his second son, the Earl of Northampton, in 
 armour, with a mantle of ermine, kneeling in 
 prayer. Behind, on a similar plynth, kneeling, 
 with a coronet and in robes, his eldest daughter, 
 Jane, Countess of Westmoreland, on the right ; 
 and his third daughter, Catherine, the wife of 
 Henry Lord Berkeley, kneeling on the left. 
 The monument is kept in order, and painted 
 occasionally, as directed by the will of the Earl 
 of Northampton, out of the endowment of his 
 hospital at Greenwich. In making a repair of 
 this monument in October, 1835, the Rev. 
 George Attwood, curate of Framlingham, disco- 
 vered the remains of the Earl lying imbedded in 
 clay, directly under his figure on his tomb. 
 
 Whatever may have been the Earl's happiness 
 in his own family, the situation of his parents 
 must have occasioned him much uneasiness ; and 
 it is to be regretted that his mother should have 
 had to accuse him of unkindness. For several 
 years after their marriage the Duke and Duchess 
 lived together in comparative harmony ; and it 
 does not appear when the discord first com- 
 menced. She bore him five children ; and at a 
 
EARL OF SURREY. lxv 
 
 period long after the event, she charged him 
 with great cruelty at the time of the birth of 
 the Duchess of Richmond ; but this he abso- 
 lutely denied. The principal cause of alienation 
 was the Duke's attachment to a lady whom the 
 Duchess terms " that drab, Bess Holland," and 
 which attachment was supposed by the Duchess 
 to have commenced nearly seven years before her 
 separation from him. It added to the Duchess's 
 mortification that her daughter, the Duchess of 
 Richmond, associated with this person. It was 
 in 1534 that the final quarrel and separation 
 took place; when the Duchess went to reside at 
 Redborne in Hertfordshire, which she describes 
 as a " hard" or expensive country. From not 
 receiving a proper allowance for her support, she 
 complained to Cromwell, the Lord Privy Seal, 
 praying him to intercede on her behalf. Her 
 letters, which are curious, are preserved in the 
 Cottonian collection (Titus B. i.), and were 
 consulted by Lord Herbert of Cherbury for his 
 History of the Reign of Henry VIII, and 
 are printed by Dr. Nott in the Appendix to his 
 Life of the Earl of Surrey. The Duke of 
 Norfolk died in 1554, and the Duchess survived 
 him four years. She died on Nov. 30, 1558, 
 and was buried in the Howard Chapel, Lambeth, 
 where was formerly an epitaph written by her 
 brother, Henry Lord Stafford. 
 
 Lord Surrey left two sons, Thomas, then about 
 
 the age of eleven, who became the fourth Duke 
 
 of Norfolk ; and Henry, who was created, by 
 
 James the First, Lord Howard of Marnhill and 
 
 e 
 
Ixvi MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 Earl of Northampton; and three daughters: 
 Jane, who married Charles Neville Earl of 
 Westmoreland ; Katharine, who became the wife 
 of Henry Lord Berkeley; and Margaret, who 
 married Henry Lord Scrope of Bolton. All 
 which is known of his widow, the Countess 
 Frances, is, that she married secondly, in the 
 reign of Edward the Sixth, Thomas Steyning, 
 of Woodford, in Suffolk, Esq., by whom she 
 had a daughter, Mary, who married Charles 
 Seckford, Esq. The Countess died at Soham 
 Earl, about a mile and a half from Fram ling- 
 ham, on the 30th June, 1577 ; thirty years after 
 the death of the Earl of Surrey. 
 
 A curious inventory of Surrey's apparel is par- 
 ticularly deserving of notice, from the manner in 
 which it was distributed among his enemies the 
 Seymours, and others, by the Crown, to which it 
 fell by his attainder. These rapacious favourites 
 considered nothing too trifling for their accept- 
 ance, and their conduct affords a humiliating 
 idea of a nobleman of the sixteenth century. 
 Both the Protector and his brother partook also 
 very largely of the Duke of Norfolk's jewels and 
 other property. 
 
 All these to the Duke or Somerset. — One Parlia- 
 ment robe of purple velvet, with a garter set upon the 
 shoulder ; four black velvet caps, set with pearl and gold- 
 smiths' work; a hat of crimson satin and crimson velvet, 
 with a white feather; a scarf of crimson gold, sarcenet; two 
 pairs of knit hose ; two dozen arming points ; a knit petti- 
 coat ; two rapiers, all gilt,*graven antique ; two daggers, all 
 gilt and graven, appendant to two girdles ; a gilt dagger, 
 with a sheath of black velvet; a pair of stirrups, all gilt; 
 ditto, parcel gilt ; another pair of stirrups ; two pair of spurs 
 
EARL OF SURREY. lxvii 
 
 gilt; a horse harness of black velvet, set with studs, of cop- 
 per, and gilt ; a fod cloth of black velvet, fringed with Ve- 
 nice gold ; a horse harness of crimson velvet, fringed with 
 Venice gold. 
 
 To Mr. Collet and Mr. Thorp. — A robe, with hood, 
 and crimson velvet. 
 
 To Mr. Brian. — A gown of cloth of gold, furred and 
 faced with sables. 
 
 All these to Sir Henry Seymour. — A gown of 
 black velvet, with a curious guard of black satin ; a gown 
 of crimson taffeta, faced with busard : a coat and cassock of 
 black velvet, the one wrought with satin, and the other with 
 satin and wreaths ; a cape of frizardo, guarded upon with 
 velvet, and embroidered upon with russet satin; with other 
 doublets, hoses, caps and shirts. 
 
 Mr. Fowler. — A gown of black satin embroidered and 
 lined with gold sarcenet ; a cassock of black silk embroidered 
 and lined with gold sarcenet. 
 
 Mrs. Winfred Fisher. — A robe of black velvet set 
 with buttons of gold enamelled black and white ; a pair of 
 hose, black velvet, laid on with threads of Venice gold. 
 
 Mr. Philpot. — A robe of black velvet, embroidered with 
 tawney satin ; with other doublets and hoses. 
 
 Mr. T. Allen. — A doublet of black satin cut. 
 
 Mr. Colley and Mr. Thorp.— A shirt wrought with 
 black silk to each. 
 
 It is difficult to pronounce a certain opinion 
 upon Surrey's personal character. Dr. Nott 
 and his other biographers have spoken of his 
 merits in a strain of eulogy which, to say the 
 least, is not borne out by the few notices that 
 are preserved of him. That he was accom- 
 plished is amply manifested by his works, which 
 also indicate a correct moral taste, since there is 
 not, in the whole of his poems, one word, or an 
 allusion to a single thought, to which the most 
 fastidious person can possibly object. This merit 
 deserves greater praise than it has hitherto re- 
 
lxviii MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 ceived, because he is almost the first English 
 versifier who possessed it ; and it is no slight 
 proof of the purity of his mind. Surrey's greatest 
 fault appears to have been a naturally hasty and 
 impetuous temper, which, in a man of exalted 
 rank and great influence, was probably in- 
 creased by his station exacting deference and 
 submission from the greater part of those with 
 whom he came in contact. In his brief career 
 he was imprisoned no less than three times, and 
 ultimately lost his life from his imprudent con- 
 duct ; and the only excuse which can be made 
 for him is, that he was young, and that he was 
 too proud and too ingenuous to conceal what 
 he thought. His conduct towards the Duchess 
 of Norfolk has been already adverted to, and 
 whatever may have been her errors, the son who 
 could, under any circumstances, treat his mother 
 with unkindness has slight claim to be considered 
 an amiable man. Surrey's military talents and his 
 ardent courage do not admit of being questioned, 
 and his veneration for his father tends, in a slight 
 degree, to redeem his behaviour towards his 
 mother. Examples of his zeal for his friends, 
 and of his deep sense of honour, have been ad- 
 duced in this memoir, and they certainly entitle 
 his memory to respect, whilst his conduct as. a 
 husband and a father has never been impeached. 
 Of the writings of Surrey, and the rank to 
 which he is entitled among the poets of England, 
 the remarks of Puttenham, Warton, Henry, 
 Dr. Nott, Hallam, and D'Israeli, contain all 
 which can be said on the subject. Pope brought 
 
 
EARL OF SUKREY. lxix 
 
 him into notice during the last century by the 
 following pasage in the Windsor Forest, which 
 occasioned his poems to be immediately re- 
 printed twice : — 
 
 " Here noble Surrey felt the sacred rage, 
 
 Surrey, the Granville of a former age ; 
 Matchless his pen, victorious was his lance ; 
 
 Bold in the lists, and graceful in the dance : 
 In the same shades the Cupids tun'd his lyre, 
 
 To the same notes of love and soft desire; 
 Fair Geraldine, bright object of his vow, 
 
 Then fill'd the groves, as heavenly Myra now." 
 
 It is difficult to give extracts from Dr. Nott's 
 remarks on Surrey's w T ri tings, but the following 
 passages seem to convey all that is material : — 
 
 " Surrey perceived that some change in our 
 versification was unavoidable, and he attempted 
 a change, which was conceived, as the event 
 has proved, in a perfect knowledge of the nature 
 and genius of the English language. The change 
 he proposed and effected w r as this. He substi- 
 tuted for the old rhythmical mode of versification 
 one, as nearly metrical as the nature of any lan- 
 guage, which regulates the value of syllables by 
 accent, and not by quantity, will allow. He 
 limited the heroic verse to ten syllables, and 
 these he divided into five equal Iambic feet; 
 for he perceived that the frequent return of the 
 short syllable was necessary to correct that lan- 
 guor and ponderosity which the constant recur- 
 rence of monosyllables would otherwise occasion. 
 He was aware, however, that the Iambic mea- 
 sure, though sweet in itself, was liable to become 
 
lxx MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 monotonous and pall upon the ear. He there- 
 fore introduced the further refinement of break- 
 ing the lines with pauses. The natural place 
 for the pause was at the end of the fourth syllable 
 where the old caesura generally fell ; but he 
 varied the situation of his pauses as he found 
 the harmony of the verse required, or as he 
 thought the beauty and effect of the passage 
 would be heightened by it. 
 
 " Such was the system of versification intro- 
 duced by Surrey. Of the correctness of his 
 taste and the justness of his reasoning upon the 
 subject, no further proof need be required than 
 the event. For the laws of English versifica- 
 tion, such as they were established by Surrey, 
 have been adopted by our standard writers, 
 with hardly any variation, ever since. At par- 
 ticular times, indeed, a particular taste has for 
 a short season prevailed. Thus in the reign of 
 James, and of Charles the First, quaintness, 
 and a love of antithesis gave a new turn to our 
 versification, and made it abrupt and irregular. 
 But in the two best epochs of our poetry, during 
 the reign of Elizabeth and after the Restoration, 
 those principles of versification alone were ob- 
 served which Surrey had introduced. An at- 
 tentive reader will be surprised to find how 
 little was added afterwards by even Dryden or 
 Pope to the system and perfectness of Surrey's 
 numbers. 
 
 " Surrey first rejected the use of those 'au- 
 reate and mellifluate' terms, which he found 
 disfiguring our language with a sort of pre- 
 
EARL OF SURREY. lxxi 
 
 scriptive tyranny, and restricted himself to the 
 use of those words alone which were approved 
 by common use, and were natural to the lan- 
 guage. 
 
 11 He next introduced a studied mode of in- 
 volution in his periods, which gives dignity to 
 what is so expressed, and a certain remoteness 
 from common life, essential to the higher 
 branches of poetic composition. And lastly, 
 he discountenanced altogether the French mode 
 of laying an unnatural stress upon final syl- 
 lables ; he followed the obvious and common 
 pronunciation of our language 5 carefully avoid- 
 ing all double terminations, and using only 
 those words for rhyme which were noble and 
 harmonious, and such as the ear might dwell 
 upon with pleasure. 
 
 " Such were the improvements made by 
 Surrey in our versification and poetic diction. 
 These alone, had nothing more been effected 
 by him, would have entitled him to the praise 
 of having been the restorer of modern Eng- 
 lish poetry. But we owe to him further ob- 
 ligations. He first introduced the use of Blank 
 Heroic Verse. In this respect the praise is ex- 
 clusively his own. In reforming our versifica- 
 tion and poetic diction, he had in some degree 
 Chaucer for his guide ; and in some degree he 
 was conducted by the bent and genius of our 
 language. When he attempted blank verse he 
 had no guide whatever, as far as we have yet 
 been able to discover, but his own judgment and 
 taste. All writers are agreed that Surrey's trans- 
 
Ixxii MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 lation of the Second and Fourth Book of 
 Virgil's iEneid is the first specimen of Heroic 
 Blank Verse in our language. 
 
 " The leading features of Surrey's style were 
 chiefly dignity and compression. Of his com- 
 pression, contrasted with the diffusive mode of 
 writing used by all the authors who preceded 
 him, a more striking instance cannot well be 
 found than that which occurs in the opening to 
 his sonnet on Sir Thomas Wyatt's death. 
 
 " The reader's observation will enable him 
 easily to collect from Surrey's poems other in- 
 stances of elegant and nervous compression. I 
 do not recollect a single passage where a thought 
 is needlessly expanded for the sake of filling up 
 a line. Surrey's style bears a stronger resem- 
 blance to Dryden's than to that of any other of 
 our poets. The same manliness, and ease, and 
 vigour characterizes both. In neither do we 
 find any affection of prettiness ; they seem both 
 to have been more intent on their thoughts than 
 their words ; they gave their words, indeed, a 
 full and a due consideration, but, as always ought 
 to be the case, in subserviency to their thoughts. 
 
 " It now remains to shew, that I have not 
 laboured to give a higher importance to Surrey's 
 writings, than they in reality possess. But how 
 shall we appreciate his writings too highly, who 
 by a single effort of genius corrected a nation's 
 taste, and shewed them first the way to that per- 
 fection in poetry, to which they have since at- 
 tained? That the great change which in the 
 sixteenth century took place in our national poetry, 
 
EARL OF SURREY. lxxiii 
 
 was owing chiefly to the influence of Surrey's 
 writings, seems to me incontestable from the 
 general popularity which they obtained imme- 
 diately upon their appearance : and the studied 
 imitation of them to be traced in all our poets 
 in succession, from Sackville down to Spenser. 
 
 " Of the popularity of Surrey's poems, we 
 have a convincing proof in the rapidity with 
 which editions were multiplied. They were 
 first printed in June, 1557. In the course of 
 that and the following month they went through 
 no less than four distinct impressions. 1 They 
 were afterwards reprinted in 1565, in 1567 and 
 in 1569, twice afterwards in 1574, again in 1585, 
 and again in 1587. Besides this, selections from 
 Surrey's poems were printed almost daily, with 
 other popular pieces in single sheets, and in small 
 collections called garlands ; by means of which 
 they were made familiar to readers of the lower 
 orders : whilst some of them, as we learn from 
 the books of the Stationers' Company, were 
 moralized ; a circumstance which of itself is suf- 
 ficient to prove their popularity, and extensive 
 circulation. 2 In addition to these facts we are 
 to consider yet further, that Surrey's verses con- 
 tinued to be multiplied in manuscript by many 
 
 1 Mr. Collier says, " There may possibly have been three 
 impressions in 1557 ; but we are convinced that there were 
 not four." (Bibliographical Account of Early English Li- 
 terature, ii. 403.) 
 
 2 " Surrey's pleasing little ode, * When raging love with 
 extreme pain,' which seems to have been a very popular 
 piece, was printed in 1568 by J. Aide, moralized into 
 ' When raging lust,' &c. ' Give place, ye ladies,' &c : was 
 often reprinted as a ballad." 
 
lxxiv MEMOIR OF THE EARL OF SURREY. 
 
 who had not the means of purchasing printed 
 copies ; and that they uniformly made part of 
 all the printed miscellanies of those days, up to 
 the beginning of the seventeenth century. It 
 would be difficult to find an instance of any 
 poet in any country whose works were in so 
 short a time more widely circulated. And if 
 so, we might ask, whether it would be possible 
 that writings thus largely diffused, and thus 
 universally admired, should not produce a 
 general and a lasting effect on public taste." 
 
THE PRINTER TO THE READER. * 
 
 fHAT to have well written in verse, 
 yea, and in small parcels, deserveth 
 great praise, the works of divers 
 Latins, Italians, and others, do prove 
 sufficiently. That our tongue is able in that kind 
 to do as praiseworthily as the rest, the honourable 
 style of the noble Earl of Surrey, and the 
 weightiness of the deep witted Sir Thomas Wyatt 
 the elder's verse, with several graces in sundry 
 good English writers do show abundantly. It 
 resteth now, gentle reader, that thou think it 
 not evil done, to publish, to the honour of the 
 English tongue, and for profit of the studious of 
 English eloquence, those works which the un- 
 gentle horders up of such treasure have here- 
 tofore envied thee. And for this point, good 
 reader, thine own profit and pleasure, in these 
 presently, and in more hereafter, shall answer 
 for my defence. If, perhaps, some mislike the 
 stateliness of style removed from the rude skill 
 of common ears, I ask help of the learned to 
 
 1 This address by Tottel appeared in the first impression 
 of 1557. 
 
lxxvi THE PRINTER TO THE READER. 
 
 defend their learned friends, the authors of this 
 work. And I exhort the unlearned, by reading 
 to learn to be more skilful, and to purge that 
 swine-like grossness, that maketh the sweet 
 marjoram not to smell to their delight. 
 
SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 DESCRIPTION OF THE RESTLESS STATE 
 OF A LOVER, 
 
 "WITH SUIT TO HIS LADY, TO RUE ON" HIS 
 DYING HEART. 
 
 \KE sun hath twice brought forth his 
 tender green, 
 Twice clad the earth in lively lusti- 
 ness; 
 Once have the winds the trees de- 
 spoiled clean, 
 And once again begins their cruelness ; 
 Since I have hid under my breast the harm 
 That never shall recover healthfulness. 
 The winter's hurt recovers with the warm ; 
 The parched green restored is with shade ; 
 What warmth, alas ! may serve for to disarm 
 The frozen heart, that mine in flame hath made ? 
 
2 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 What cold again is able to restore 
 My fresh green years, that wither thus and fade ? 
 Alas ! I see nothing hath hurt so sore 
 But Time, in time, reduceth a return : 
 In time my harm increaseth more and more, 
 And seems to have my cure always in scorn. 
 Strange kinds of death, in life that I do try ! 
 At hand, to melt; far off, in flame to burn. 
 And like as time list to my cure apply, - 
 So doth each place my comfort clean refuse. 
 All thing alive, that seeth the heavens with eye, 
 With cloak of night may cover, and excuse 
 Itself from travail of the day's unrest, 
 Save I, alas ! against all others use, 
 That then stir up the torments of my breast ; 
 And curse each star as causer of my fate. 
 And when the sun hath eke the dark opprest, 
 And brought the day, it doth nothing abate 
 The travails of mine endless smart and pain. 
 For then, as one that hath the light in hate, 
 I wish for night, more covertly to plain, 
 And me withdraw from every haunted place, 
 Lest by my chere 1 my chance appear to plain. 
 And in my mind I measure pace by pace, 
 To seek the place where I myself had lost, 
 That day that I was tangled in the lace, 
 In seeming slack that knitteth ever most : 
 But never yet the travail of my thought, 
 Of better state, could catch a cause to boast. 
 For if I found, sometime that I have sought, 
 Those stars by whom I trusted of the port, 
 My sails do fall, and I advance right nought ; 
 1 Behaviour, looks. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 3 
 
 As anchor'd fast, my spirits do all resort 
 
 To stand agazed, and sink in more and more 1 
 
 The deadly harm which she doth take in sport. 
 
 Lo ! if I seek, how I do find my sore ! 
 
 And if I flee, I carry with me still 
 
 The venom' d shaft, which doth his force restore 
 
 By haste of flight ; and I may plain my fill 
 
 Unto myself, unless this careful song 
 
 Print in your heart some parcel of my tene. 2 
 
 For I, alas ! in silence all too long, 
 
 Of mine old hurt yet feel the wound but green. 
 
 Rue on my life ; or else your cruel wrong 
 
 Shall well appear, and by my death be seen. 
 
 DESCRIPTION OF SPRING, 
 
 WHEBELN" EACH THING KE^EWS, SATE ONLY 
 THE LOYEB. 
 
 *HE soote 3 season, that bud and bloom 
 forth brings, 
 With green hath clad the hill, and 
 eke the vale : 
 The nightingale with feathers new she sings ; 
 The turtle to her make 4 hath told her tale ; 
 Summer is come, for every spray now springs, 
 The hart hath hung his old head on the pale ; 
 
 1 To stand at gaze and suck in more and more. MSS. 
 cited by Dr. Nott. 
 
 2 i.e. Sorrow. 3 Sweet. 4 Mate. 
 
4 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 The buck in brake his winter coat he flings; 
 The fishes flete with new repaired scale ; 
 The adder all her slough away she slings ; 
 The swift swallow pursueth the flies smale -, 1 
 The busy bee her honey now she mings ; 2 
 Winter is worn that was the flowers' bale. 3 
 And thus I see among these pleasant things 
 Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs ! 
 
 DESCRIPTION OF THE RESTLESS STATE 
 OF A LOVER. 
 
 HEN youth had led me half the race 
 That Cupid's scourge had made me run ; 
 I looked back to mete the place 
 From whence my weary course begun. 
 
 And then I saw how my desire, 
 Misguiding me, had led the way : 
 Mine eyen, too greedy of their hire, 
 Had made me lose a better prey. 
 
 For when in sighs I spent the day, 
 And could not cloak my grief with game ; 
 The boiling smoke did still bewray 
 The persaunt 4 heat of secret flame. 
 
 1 Small. 2 Mingles. 
 
 3 Destruction. 4 Or, present. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 And when salt tears do bain my breast, 
 Where Love his pleasant trains hath sown ; 
 Her beauty hath the fruits opprest, 
 Ere that the buds were sprong and blown. 
 
 And when mine eyen did still pursue 
 The flying chase of their request ; 
 Their greedy looks did oft renew 
 The hidden wound within my breast. 
 
 When every look these cheeks might stain, 
 From deadly pale to glowing red ; 
 By outward signs appeared plain, 
 The woe wherein my heart was fed. 1 
 
 But all too late Love learneth me 
 To paint all kind of colours new ; 
 To blind their eyes that else should see 
 My speckled cheeks with Cupid's hue. 
 
 And now the covert breast I claim, 
 That worshipp'd Cupid secretly ; 
 And nourished his sacred flame, 
 From whence no blazing sparks do fiy. 
 
 1 Some editions read : — 
 
 "To her for help my heart was fled." 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 DESCRIPTION OF THE FICKLE AFFEC- 
 TIONS, PANGS, AND SLIGHTS 
 OF LOVE. 
 
 jj UCH wayward ways hath Love, that most 
 part in discord 
 Our wills do stand, whereby our hearts 
 but seldom do accord. 
 Deceit is his delight, and to beguile and mock 
 The simple hearts, whom he doth strike with fro- 
 war d, diverse stroke. 
 He causeth the one to rage with golden burning 
 
 dart ; 
 And doth allay with leaden cold again the other's 
 
 heart. 
 Hot gleams of burning fire, and easy sparks of 
 
 flame, 
 In balance of unequal weight he pondereth by aim. 
 From easy ford, where I might wade and pass full 
 
 well, 
 He me withdraws, and doth me drive into a deep 
 
 dark hell ; 
 And me withholds where I am call'd and offer'd 
 
 place, 
 And wills me that my mortal foe I do beseech of 
 
 grace ; 
 He lets me to pursue a conquest well near won, 
 To follow where my pains were lost, ere that my 
 
 suit begun. 
 
EARL OF SURREY S POEMS. 7 
 
 So by this means I know how soon a heart may 
 
 turn 
 From war to peace, from truce to strife, and so 
 
 again return. 
 I know how to content myself in others lust ; 
 Of little stuff unto myself to weave a web of trust ; 
 And how to hide my harms with soft dissembling 
 
 chere, 
 When in my face the painted thoughts would out- 
 wardly appear. 
 I know how that the blood forsakes the face for 
 
 dread ; 
 And how by shame it stains again the cheeks with 
 
 flaming red. 
 I know under the green, the serpent how he lurks ; 
 The hammer of the restless forge I wot eke how it 
 
 works. 
 I know, and can by rote the tale that I would tell ; 
 But oft the words come forth awry of him that 
 
 loveth well. 
 I know in heat and cold the lover how he shakes; 
 In singing how he doth complain ; in sleeping how 
 
 he wakes. 
 To languish without ache, sickless for to consume, 
 A thousand things for to devise, resolving all in 
 
 fume. 
 And though he list to see his lady's grace full sore ; 
 Such pleasures as delight his eye, do not his health 
 
 restore. 
 I know to seek the track of my desired foe, 
 And fear to find that I do seek. But chiefly this 
 
 I know, 
 That lovers must transform into the thing beloved, 
 
8 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 And live, (alas ! who could believe ?) with sprite 
 
 from life removed. 
 I know in hearty sighs, and laughters of the spleen, 
 At once to change my state, my will, and eke my 
 
 colour clean. 
 I know how to deceive myself with others help ; 
 And how the lion chastised is, by beating of the 
 
 whelp. 
 In standing near my fire, I know how that I freeze ; 
 Far off I burn ; in both I waste, and so my life I 
 
 lese. 
 I know how love doth rage upon a yielding mind ; 
 How small a net may take, and meash a heart of 
 
 gentle kind : 
 Or else with seldom sweet to season heaps of gall; 
 Revived with a glimpse of grace, old sorrows to 
 
 let fall. 
 The hidden trains I know, and secret snares of love; 
 How soon a look will print a thought, that never 
 
 may remove. 
 The slipper state I know, the sudden turns from 
 
 wealth, 
 The doubtful hope, the certain woe, and sure des- 
 pair of health. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 9 
 
 COMPLAINT OF A LOYER THAT DEFIED 
 LOVE, 
 
 AND WAS BY LOVE AFTER THE MORE TORMENTED. 
 
 ^HEN summer took in hand the winter 
 to assail, 
 With force of might, and virtue great, 
 his stormy blasts to quail : 
 And when he clothed fair the earth about with 
 
 green, 
 And every tree new garmented, that pleasure was 
 
 to seen : 
 Mine heart gan new revive, and changed blood 
 
 did stir, 
 Me to withdraw my winter woes, that kept within 
 
 the dore. 3 
 ( Abroad/ quoth my desire, ' assay to set thy foot ; 
 Where thou shalt find the savour sweet; for 
 
 sprong is every root. 
 And to thy health, if thou were sick in any case, 
 Nothing more good than in the spring the air to 
 
 feel a space. 
 There shalt thou hear and see all kinds of birds 
 
 y-wrought, 
 Well tune their voice with warble small, as nature 
 
 hath them taught.' 
 Thus pricked me my lust the sluggish house to 
 
 leave, 
 
 1 Door. 
 
10 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 And for my health I thought it best such counsel 
 
 to receive. 
 So on a morrow forth, unwist of any wight, 
 I went to prove how well it would my heavy bur- 
 den light. 
 And when I felt the air so pleasant round about, 
 Lord ! to myself how glad I was that T had gotten 
 
 out. 
 There might I see how Ver 1 had every blossom 
 
 hent, 2 
 And eke the new betrothed birds, y-coupled how 
 
 they went ; 
 And in their songs, methought, they thanked 
 
 Nature much, 
 That by her license all that year to love, their hap 
 
 was such, 
 Right as they could devise to choose them feres 3 
 
 throughout : 
 With much rejoicing to their Lord, thus flew they 
 
 all about. 
 Which when I gan resolve, and in my head con- 
 ceive, 
 What pleasant life, what heaps of joy, these little 
 
 birds receive ; 
 And saw in what estate I, weary man, was wrought, 
 By want of that, they had at will, and I reject at 
 
 nought ; 
 Lord ! how I gan in wrath unwisely me demean ! 
 I cursed Love, and him defied ; I thought to turn 
 
 the stream. 
 
 1 Spring. 
 
 2 Taken hold of, i.e. brought out every blossom. 
 
 3 Companions, mates. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 11 
 
 But when I well beheld, he had me under awe, 
 I asked mercy for my fault, that so transgrest his 
 
 law ! 
 6 Thou blinded god/ quoth I, c forgive me this 
 
 offence, 
 Unwittingly I went about, to malice thy pretence. 9 
 Wherewith he gave a beck, and thus methought 
 
 he swore : 
 1 Thy sorrow ought suffice to purge thy fault, if it 
 
 were more/ 
 The virtue of which sound mine heart did so 
 
 revive, 
 That I, methought, was made as whole as any man 
 
 alive. 
 But here I may perceive mine error, all and some, 
 For that I thought that so it was ; yet was it still 
 
 undone ; 
 And all that was no more but mine impressed mind, 
 That fain would have some good relief, of Cupid 
 
 well assign'd. 
 I turned home forthwith, and might perceive it well, 
 That he aggrieved was right sore with me for my 
 
 rebel. 
 My harms have ever since increased more and 
 
 more, 
 And I remain, without his help, undone for ever- 
 more. 
 A mirror let me be unto ye lovers all ; 
 Strive not with Love ; for if ye do, it will ye thus 
 
 befall. 
 
12 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 COMPLAINT OF A LOYER REBUKED. 1 
 
 ^OVE, that liveth and reigneth in my 
 thought, 
 That built his seat within my captive 
 breast ; 
 
 Clad in the arms wherein with me he fought, 
 Oft in my face he doth his banner rest. 
 She, that me taught to love, and suffer pain ; 
 My doubtful hope, and eke my hot desire 
 With shamefast cloak to shadow and restrain, 
 Her smiling grace converteth straight to ire. 
 And coward Love then to the heart apace 
 Taketh his flight ; whereas he lurks, and plains 
 His purpose lost, and dare not shew his face. 
 For my Lord's guilt thus faultless bide I pains. 
 Yet from my Lord shall not my foot remove : 
 Sweet is his death, that takes his end by love. 
 
 COMPLAINT OF THE LOVER DISDAINED. 
 
 jiN Cyprus springs, whereas dame Venus 
 dwelt, 
 A well so hot, that whoso tastes the 
 same, 
 Were he of stone, as thawed ice should melt, 
 
 1 Translated from Petrarch, part i, sonnet 109. Wyatt 
 also translated it: see his Poems, p. 1. 
 
earl of Surrey's poems. 13 
 
 And kindled find his breast with fired flame ; 
 Whose moist poison dissolved hath my hate. 
 This creeping fire my cold limbs so opprest, 
 That in the heart that harbour'd freedom late, 
 Endless despair long thraldom hath imprest. 
 Another so cold in frozen ice is found, 1 
 Whose chilling venom of repugnant kind, 
 The fervent heat doth quench of Cupid's wound, 
 And with the spot of change infects the mind ; 
 Whereof my dear hath tasted to my pain : 
 My service thus is grown into disdain. 2 
 
 DESCRIPTION AND PRAISE OF HIS LOVE 
 GERALDINE. 
 
 §ROM Tuscane came my Lady's worthy 
 race ; 
 Fair Florence was sometime her 3 an- 
 cient seat : 
 
 The western isle, whose pleasant shore doth face 
 Wild Camber's cliffs, did give her lively heat : 
 Foster'd she was with milk of Irish breast : 
 Her sire an Earl; her dame of Princes blood. 
 From tender years, in Britain she doth rest, 
 With Kinges child; where she tasteth costly 4 food. 
 
 1 Another well of frozen ice is found. — Nott. 
 
 2 Wherebv my service grows into disdain. — Nott, 
 
 3 i. e. Their. 
 
 4 Ghostly, in some printed copies. 
 
14 EARL OY SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 Hunsdon did first present her to mine eyen : 
 Bright is her hue, and Geraldine she hight. 
 Hampton me taught to wish her first for mine ; 
 And Windsor, alas ! doth chase me from her sight 
 
 Her beauty of kind ; her virtues from above ; 
 
 Happy is he that can obtain her love ! 
 
 / 
 
 1/ 
 
 THE FRAILTY AND HURTFULNESS OF 
 BEAUTY. 1 
 
 IRITTLE beauty, that Nature made so 
 frail, 
 Whereof the gift is small, and short 
 the season ; 
 Flowering to-day, to-morrow apt to fail ; 
 Tickle treasure, abhorred of reason : 
 Dangerous to deal with, vain, of none avail ; 
 Costly in keeping, past not worth two peason ; 2 
 Slipper in sliding, as is an eel's tail ; 
 Hard to attain, once gotten, not geason : 3 
 Jewel of jeopardy, that peril doth assail; 
 False and untrue, enticed oft to treason ; 
 Enemy to youth, that most may I bewail ; 
 l Ah ! bitter sweet, infecting as the poison, 
 V Thou farest as fruit that with the frost is taken ; 
 x^o day ready ripe, to-morrow all to shaken. 
 
 1 In the Harrington MS. this poem is attributed to Lord 
 Vaux. 
 
 2 Two pease. 3 Rare, or uncommon. 
 
earl of Surrey's poems. 15 
 
 A COMPLAINT BY NIGHT OF THE LOVER 
 NOT BELOYED. 
 
 ^LAS ! so all things now do hold their 
 peace ! 
 Heaven and earth disturbed in nothing; 
 The beasts, the air, the birds their song 
 do cease, 
 The nightes car 1 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. 
 
 HOW EACH THING, SAVE THE LOVER IN 
 SPRING, REVIVETH TO PLEASURE. 
 
 JHEN Windsor walls sustain'd my 
 wearied arm ; 
 My hand my chin, to ease my rest- 
 less head ; 
 
 The pleasant plot revested green with warm ; 
 1 Chare. 
 
16 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 The blossom'd boughs, with lusty Ver 1 y-spread; 
 The flower'd meads, the wedded birds so late 
 Mine eyes discover; and to my mind resort 
 The jolly woes, the hateless, short debate, 
 The rakehell 2 life, that 'longs to love's disport. 
 Wherewith, alas ! the heavy charge of care 
 Heap'd in my breast breaks forth, against my will, 
 In smoky sighs, that overcast the air. 
 My vapour'd eyes such dreary tears distil, 
 
 The tender spring which quicken where they fall; 
 
 And I half bent to throw me down withal. 
 
 A VOW TO LOVE FAITHFULLY, HOWSO- 
 EVER HE BE REWARDED.^ 
 
 ET me whereas the sun doth parch the 
 
 green, 
 Or where his beams do not dissolve the 
 
 ice; 
 
 In temperate heat, where he is felt and seen ; 
 In presence prest 4 of people, mad, or wise; 
 Set me in high, or yet in low degree ; 
 In longest night, or in the shortest day ; 
 In clearest sky, or where clouds thickest be ; 
 In lusty youth, or when my hairs are gray : 
 Set me in heaven, in earth, or else in hell, 
 
 1 Spring. 2 Dissolute. 
 
 3 Cf. Petrarch, Parte Prima, Son. 113; and Horace, Lib. 
 i. Ode 22. 
 
 4 Query, press, i. e. in the presence of a crowd of people. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS, 17 
 
 In hill, or dale, or in the foaming flood ; 
 Thrall, 1 or at large, alive whereso I dwell, 
 Sick, or in health, in evil fame or good, 
 
 Her's will I be ; and only with this thought 
 Content myself, although my chance be nought. 
 
 COMPLAINT THAT HIS LADY, 
 
 AFTER SHE IMW HTS LOVE, KEPT HER FACE 
 ALWAYS HIDDEN FROItf HIM. 
 
 NEVER saw my Lady lay apart 
 
 Her cornet 2 black, in cold nor yet in 
 
 heat, 
 Sith first she knew my grief was grown 
 so great ; 
 Which other fancies driveth from my heart, 
 That to myself I do the thought reserve, 
 The which un wares did wound my woful breast ; 
 But on her face mine eyes might never rest ; 
 Yet, since she knew I did her love and serve, 
 "^Her" golden tresses clad alway with black, 
 Her smiling looks that hid thus evermore, 
 And that restrains which I desire so sore. 
 So doth this cornet govern me, alack ! ^f 
 
 In summer, sun, in winter's breath, a frost ; 
 Whereby the light of her fair looks I lost. 
 
 1 In bondage. 
 
 2 A head dress, with a hood or veil attached to it. 
 
 C 
 
18 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 REQUEST TO HIS LOVE TO JOIN BOUNTY 
 WITH BEAUTY. 
 
 [HE golden gift that Nature did thee 
 
 give, ^ 
 To fasten friends, and feed them at thy 
 
 will,. 
 
 With form and favour, taught me to believe, 
 How thou art made to shew her greatest skill. 
 Whose hidden virtues are not so unknown, 
 But lively domes 1 might gather at the first 
 Where beauty so her perfect seed hath sown, 
 Of other graces follow needs there must. 
 Now certes, Garret, 2 since all this is true, 
 That from above thy gifts are thus elect, 
 Do not deface them then with fancies new ; 
 Nor change of minds, let not thy mind infect : 
 But mercy him thy friend that doth thee serve, 
 Who seeks alway thine honour to preserve. 
 
 1 Judgments, or opinions. 
 
 2 Dr. Nott observes, i( The first quarto and all the other 
 editions, except the second and third quartos, read i Now 
 certes, Lady.' Why the genuine reading given in the text 
 should have ever been suppressed it is difficult to say. The 
 Fitz-Gerald family almost always wrote their name Garret. 
 The Fair Geraldine, when attending on the Princess Mary, 
 was always called Garret : and she herself in her Will desig- 
 nates her sister, the Lady Margaret Fitz-Gerald, ' The 
 Lady Margaret Garret.' " 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 19 
 
 PRISONED IN WINDSOR, HE RECOUNTETH 
 HIS PLEASURE THERE PASSED. 
 
 |0 cruel prison how could betide, alas, 
 As proud Windsor ? where I, in lust 
 
 and joy, 
 With a King's son, my childish years 
 did pass, 
 In greater feast than Priam's sons of Troy. 
 Where each sweet place returns a taste full sour. 
 The large green courts, where we were wont to 
 
 hove, 1 
 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 tigers could but rue ; 
 Where each of us did plead the other's right. 
 The palme-play, 2 where, despoiled for the game, 
 With dazzled 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'd ground, with sleeves tied on the helm, 
 On foaming horse, with swords and friendly hearts; 
 With chere, as though one should another whelm, 
 Where we have fought, and chased oft with darts. 
 With silver drops the mead yet spread for ruth, 
 In active games of nimbleness and strength, 
 Where we did strain, trained with swarms of youth. 
 Our tender limbs, that yet shot up in length. 
 1 Hover. 2 Tennis-comt. 
 
20 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 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 availed, and swift y-breathed horse, 
 With cry of hounds, and merry blasts between, 
 Where we did chase the fearful hart of force. 
 The wide vales x 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. 
 And with this thought the blood forsakes the face; 
 The tears berain 2 my cheeks of deadly hue : 
 The which, as soon as sobbing sighs, alas ! 
 Up-supped have, thus I my plaint renew : 
 i place of bliss ! renewer of my woes ! 
 Give me account, where is my noble fere? 3 
 Whom in thy walls thou dost each night enclose ; 
 To other lief; 4 but unto me most dear.' 
 Echo, alas ! that doth my sorrow rue, 
 Returns thereto a hollow sound of plaint. 
 Thus I alone, where all my freedom grew, 
 In prison pine, with bondage and restraint : 
 And with remembrance of the greater grief, 
 To banish the less, I find my chief relief. 
 
 1 According to Dr. Nott, this line in the Harrington MS. 
 reads thus, 
 
 The void walls eke, that harbour'd us each night. 
 
 2 Bedew, as with rain. 3 Companion. 4 Endeared. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 21 
 
 THE LOVER COMFORTETH HIMSELF WITH 
 THE WORTHINESS OF HIS LOVE. 
 
 *HEN raging love with extreme pain 
 Most cruelly distrains my heart ; 
 When that my tears, as floods of rain, 
 Bear witness of my woful smart; 
 
 When sighs have wasted so my breath 
 
 That I lie at the point of death : 
 
 I call to mind the navy great 
 That the Greeks brought to Troye town : 
 And how the boisterous winds did beat 
 Their ships, and rent their sails adown ; 
 Till Agamemnon's daughter's blood 
 Appeas'd the gods that them withstood. 
 
 And how that in those ten years war 
 Full many a bloody deed was done ; 
 And many a lord that came full far, 
 There caught his bane, alas ! too soon ; 
 And many a good knight overrun, 
 Before the Greeks had Helen won. 
 
 Then think I thus : ' Sith such repair, 
 So long time war of valiant men, 
 Was all to win a lady fair, 
 Shall I not learn to suffer then ? 
 
22 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 And think my life well spent to be, 
 Serving a worthier wight than she ?' 
 
 Therefore I never will repent, 
 
 But pains contented still endure ; 
 
 For like as when, rough winter spent, 
 
 The pleasant spring straight draweth in urc ; T 
 
 So after raging storms of care, 
 
 Joyful at length may be my fare. 
 
 COMPLAINT OF THE ABSENCE OF HER 
 LOVER BEING UPON THE SEA. 
 
 HAPPY dames ! that may embrace 
 The fruit of your delight ; 
 Help to bewail the woful case, 
 And eke the heavy plight 
 Of me, that wonted to rejoice 
 The fortune of my pleasant choice ; 
 Good ladies ! help to fill my mourning voice. 
 
 [ In ship, freight with remembrance 
 Of thoughts and pleasures past, 
 He sails that hath in governance 
 My life, while it will last ; 
 With scalding sighs, for lack of gale, 
 Furthering his hope, that is his sail, 
 Toward me, the sweet port of his avail. 
 1 In use. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 23 
 
 Alas ! how oft in dreams I see 
 
 Those eyes that were my food ; 
 
 Which sometime so delighted me, 
 
 That yet they do me good : 
 
 Wherewith I wake with his return, 
 
 Whose absent flame did make me burn : 
 
 But when I find the lack, Lord ! how I mourn. 
 
 When other lovers in arms across, 
 Rejoice their chief delight • 
 Drowned in tears, to mourn my loss, 
 I stand the bitter night 
 In my window, where I may see 
 Before the winds how the clouds flee : 
 Lo ! what mariner love hath made me. 
 
 And in green waves, when the salt flood 
 
 Doth rise by rage of wind ; 
 
 A thousand fancies in that mood 
 
 Assail my restless mind. 
 
 Alas ! now drencheth 1 my sweet foe, 
 
 That with the spoil of my heart did go, 
 
 And left me ; but, alas ! why did he so ? 
 
 And when the seas wax calm again, 
 To chase from me annoy, 
 My doubtful hope doth cause me plain ; 
 So dread cuts off my joy. 
 Thus is my wealth mingled with woe, 
 And of each thought a doubt doth grow ; 
 Now he comes ! will he come ? alas ! no, no ! 
 1 Is drowned. 
 
24: EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 COMPLAINT OF A DYING LOVER 
 
 REFUSED UPON HIS LADY'S UNJUST MISTAKING OE 
 HIS WHITING. 
 
 |N winter's just return, when Boreas gan 
 his reign, 
 And every tree unclothed fast, as na- 
 ture taught them plain : 
 In misty morning dark, as sheep are then in hold, 
 I hied me fast, it sat me on, my sheep for to unfold. 
 And as it is a thing that lovers have by fits, 
 Under a palm I heard one cry as he had lost his 
 
 wits. 
 Whose voice did ring so shrill in uttering of his 
 
 plaint, 
 That I amazed was to hear how love could him 
 
 attaint. 
 6 Ah ! wretched man/ quoth he ; ' come, death, 
 
 and rid this woe ; 
 A just reward, a happy end, if it may chance thee 
 
 so. 
 Thy pleasures past have wrought thy woe without 
 
 redress ; 
 If thou hadst never felt no joy, thy smart had been 
 
 the less.' 
 And reehless of his life, he gan both sigh and groan : 
 A rueful thing me thought it was, to hear him 
 
 make such moan. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 25 
 
 i Thou cursed pen, said lie, ' woe-worth the bird 
 
 thee bare ; 
 The man, the knife, and all that made thee, woe 
 
 be to their share : 
 Woe- worth the time and place where I so could 
 
 indite ; 
 And woe be it yet once again, the pen that so can 
 
 write. 
 Unhappy hand ! it had been happy time for me, 
 If when to write thou learned first, unjointed 
 
 hadst thou be.' 
 Thus cursed he himself, and every other wight, 
 Save her alone whom love him bound to serve 
 
 both day and night. 
 Which when I heard, and saw how he himself 
 
 for-did; 1 
 Against the ground with bloody strokes, himself 
 
 e'en there to rid ; 
 Had been my heart of flint, it must have melted 
 
 tho'; 
 For in my life I never saw a man so full of woe. 
 With tears, for his redress, I rashly to him ran, 
 And in my arms I caught him fast, and thus I 
 
 spake him than : 
 ' What woful wight art thou, that in such heavy 
 
 case 
 Torments thyself with such despite, here in this 
 
 desart place V 
 Wherewith, as all aghast, fnlfilPd with ire and 
 
 dread, 
 He cast on me a staring look, with colour pale and 
 
 dead : 
 
 1 Destroy. 
 
ife 
 
 26 
 
 6 Nay, what art thou/ quoth he, ' that in this hea 1 
 
 plight 
 Dost find me here, most woful wretch, that lifV 
 
 hath in despite ?' 
 6 1 am,' quoth I, 6 but poor, and simple in degree 
 A shepherd's charge I have in hand, unworthy 
 
 though I be.' 
 With that he gave a sigh, as though the sky should 
 
 fall, 
 And loud, alas ! he shrieked oft, and, ' Shepherd, 
 
 gan he call, 
 6 Come, hie thee fast at once, and print it in thy 
 
 heart, 
 So thou shalt know, and I shall tell thee, guiltless 
 
 how I smart.' 
 His back against the tree sore feebled all with faint, 
 With weary sprite he stretcht him up, and thus he 
 
 told his plaint : 
 ' Once in my heart,' quoth he, ( it chanced me to 
 
 love 
 Such one, in whom hath Nature wrought, her 
 
 cunning for to prove. 
 And sure I cannot say, but many years were spent, 
 With such good will so recompens'd, as both we 
 
 were content. 
 Whereto then I me bound, and she likewise also, 
 The sun should run his course awry, ere we this 
 
 faith forego. 
 Who joyed then but I ? who had this worldes bliss ? 
 Who might compare a life to mine, that never 
 
 thought on this ? 
 But dwelling in this truth, amid my greatest joy, 
 Is me befallen a greater loss than Priam had of Troy. 
 
earl or Surrey's poems. 27 
 
 She is reversed clean, and beareth me in hand. 
 That my deserts have given cause to break this 
 
 faithful band : 
 And for my just excuse availeth no defence. 
 Now knowest thou all ; I can no more ; but, Shep- 
 herd, hie thee hence, 
 And give him leave to die, that may no longer live : 
 Whose record, lo ! I claim to have, my death I do 
 
 forgive. 
 And eke when I am gone, be bold to speak it plain, 
 Thou hast seen die the truest man that ever love 
 
 did pain.' 
 Wherewith he turned him round, and gasping oft 
 
 for breath, 
 Into his arms a tree he raught, and said : ( Wel- 
 come my death ! 
 Welcome a thousand fold, now dearer unto me 
 Than should, without her love to live, an emperor 
 
 to be.' 
 Thus in this woful state he yielded up the ghost ; 
 And little knoweth his lady, what a lover she hath 
 
 lost. 
 Whose death when I beheld, no marvel was it, right 
 For pity though my heart did bleed, to see so 
 
 piteous sight. 
 My blood from heat to cold oft changed wonders 
 
 sore; 
 A thousand troubles there I found I never knew 
 
 before : 
 'Tween dread and dolour so my sprites were brought 
 
 in fear, 
 That long it was ere I could call to mind what I 
 
 did there. 
 
28 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 But as each thing hath end, so had these pains of 
 
 mine : 
 The furies past, and I my wits restor'd by length 
 
 of time. 
 Then, as I could devise, to seek I thought it best 
 Where I might find some worthy place for such a 
 
 corse to rest. 
 And in my mind it came, from thence not far away, 
 Where Cressid's love, king Priam's son, the wor- 
 thy Troilus lay. 
 By him I made his tomb, in token he was true, 
 And, as to him belonged well, I covered it with blue. 
 Whose soul by angels' power departed not so soon, 
 But to the heavens, lo ! it fled, for to receive his 
 doom. 
 
 COMPLAINT OF THE ABSENCE OF HER 
 LOYER, BEING UPON THE SEA. 
 
 lOOD ladies ! ye that have your pleasures 
 in exile, 
 Step in your foot, come, take a place, 
 and mourn with me awhile : 
 And such as by their lords do set but little price, 
 Let them sit still, it skills them not what chance 
 
 come on the dice. 
 But ye whom Love hath bound, by order of desire, 
 To love your lords, whose good deserts none other 
 
 would require ; 
 Come ye yet once again, and set your foot by mine, 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 29 
 
 Whose woful plight, and sorrows great, no tongue 
 
 may well define. 
 My love and lord, alas ! in whom consists my 
 
 wealth, 
 Hath fortune sent to pass the seas, in hazard of 
 
 his health. 
 Whom I was wont t'embrace with well contented 
 
 mind, 
 Is now amid the foaming floods at pleasure of the 
 
 wind. 
 Where God well him preserve, and soon him home 
 
 me send ; 
 Without which hope my life, alas ! were "shortly 
 
 at an end. 
 Whose absence yet, although my hope doth tell 
 
 me plain, 
 With short return he comes anon, yet ceaseth not 
 
 my pain. 
 The fearful dreams I have ofttimes do grieve me 
 
 so, 
 That when I wake, I lie in doubt, where they be 
 
 true or no. 
 Sometime the roaring seas, me seems, do grow so 
 
 high, 
 That my dear lord, ay me! alas ! methinks I see 
 
 him die. 
 Another time the same doth tell me, he is come, 
 And playing, where I shall him find, with his fair 
 
 little son. 1 
 
 1 In the copy printed by Dr. "Rott from the Harrington 
 MS. this line stands, 
 
 " And playing, where I shall him find with T. his little son." 
 which induces that writer to observe : u This proves the piece 
 
30 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 So forth I go apace to see that liefsome sight, 
 And with a kiss, methinks I say, ' Welcome, my 
 
 lord, my knight ; 
 Welcome, my sweet ; alas ! the stay of my welfare ; 
 Thy presence bringeth forth a truce betwixt me 
 
 and my care.' 
 Then lively doth he look, and salueth me again, 
 And saith, ' My dear, how is it now that you have 
 
 all this pain ? ' 
 Wherewith the heavy cares, that heap'd are in my 
 
 breast, 
 Break forth and me dischargen clean, of all my 
 
 huge unrest. 
 But when I me awake, and find it but a dream, 
 The anguish of my former woe beginneth more 
 
 extreme ; 
 And me tormenteth so that unneath 1 may I find 
 Some hidden place, wherein to slake the gnawing 
 
 of my mind. 
 Thus every way you see, with absence how I burn ; 
 And for my wound no cure I find, but hope of 
 
 good return : 
 Save when I think, by sour how sweet is felt the 
 
 more, 
 It doth abate some of my pains, that I abode before. 
 And then unto myself I say : ' When we shall 
 
 meet, 
 
 to have been written, not as an exercise of fancy, but for some 
 existing person." If this conjecture be correct, the Com- 
 plainant may have been intended for Lady Surrey, and li T. 
 his little son," for Thomas her eldest son, afterwards Duke 
 of Norfolk. 
 
 1 With difficulty. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. * 31 
 
 But little while shall seem this pain ; the joy shall 
 
 be so sweet.' 
 Ye winds, I you conjure, in chiefest of your rage, 
 That ye my lord me safely send, my sorrows to 
 
 assuage. 
 And that I may not long abide in this excess, 
 Do your good will to cure a wight, that liveth in 
 
 distress. 
 
 A PRAISE OF HIS LOVE, 
 
 WHEREIN HE REPROVETH THEM THAT COMPARE 
 THEIR LADIES WITH HIS. 
 
 IYE 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 say en, 
 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, 
 
32 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 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, 
 There was no loss, by law of kind, 
 That could have gone so near her heart ; 
 And this was chiefly all her pain : 
 6 She could not make the like again.' 
 
 Sith Nature thus gave her the praise, 
 To be the chief est work she wrought ; 
 In faith, methink ! some better ways 
 On your behalf might well be sought, 
 Than to compare, as ye have done, 
 To match the candle with the sun. 
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 1 
 
 i¥ he that erst the form so lively drew 
 Of Venus' face, triumph'd in painter's 
 
 art ; 
 Thy Father then what glory did ensue, 
 By whose pencil a Goddess made thou art. 
 Touched with flame that figure made some rue, 
 And with her love surprised many a heart. 
 There lack'd yet that should cure their hot desire : 
 Thou canst inflame and quench the kindled fire. 
 
 1 Printed for the first time by Dr. Nott, from a MS. in the 
 possession of Mr. Hill. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 33 
 
 TO THE LADY THAT SCORNED HER 
 LOVER. 
 
 LTHOUGH I had a check, 
 To give the mate is hard ; 
 For I have found a neck, 1 
 To keep my men in guard. 
 
 And you that hardy are, 
 
 To give so great assay 
 
 Unto a man of war, 
 
 To drive his men away ; 
 
 I rede 2 you take good heed, 
 And mark this foolish verse ; 
 For I will so provide, 
 That I will have your ferse. 3 
 And when your ferse is had, 
 And all your war is done ; 
 Then shall yourself be glad 
 To end that you begun. 
 
 For if by chance I win 
 Your person in the field ; 
 Too late then come you in 
 Yourself to me to yield. 
 For I will use my power, 
 As captain full of might ; 
 And such I will devour, 
 As use to shew me spite. 
 
 1 A nook. 2 Counsel, advise. 
 
 3 The Queen at Chess. 
 
 D 
 
34 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 And for because you gave 
 Me check in such degree ; 
 This vantage, lo ! I have, 
 Now check, and guard to thee. 
 Defend it if thou may ; 
 Stand stiff in thine estate : 
 For sure I will assay, 
 If I can give thee mate. 
 
 A WARNING TO THE LOVER, HOW HE IS 
 
 ABUSED BY HIS LOVE. 
 
 § 00 dearly had I bought my green and 
 youthful years, 
 If in mine age I could not find when 
 craft for love appears. 
 And seldom though I come in court among the 
 
 rest, 
 Yet can I judge in colours dim, as deep as can the 
 
 best. 
 Where grief torments the man that suff'reth secret 
 
 smart, 
 To break it forth unto some friend, it easeth well 
 
 the heart. 
 So stands it now with me, for, my beloved friend, 
 This case is thine, for whom I feel such torment 
 
 of my mind. 
 And for thy sake I burn so in my secret breast, 
 That till thou know my whole disease, my heart 
 can have no rest, 
 
EAUL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 35 
 
 I see how thine abuse hath wrested so thy wits, 
 That all it yields to thy desire, and follows thee 
 
 by fits. 
 Where thou hast loved so long, with heart, and all 
 
 thy power, 
 I see thee fed with feigned words, thy freedom to 
 
 devour : 
 I know (though she say nay, and would it well 
 
 withstand) 
 When in her grace thou held thee most, she bare 
 
 thee but in hand. 
 I see her pleasant chere in chiefest of thy suit ; 
 When thou art gone, I see him come that gathers 
 
 up the fruit. 
 And eke in thy respect, I see the base degree 
 Of him to whom she gave the heart, that promised 
 
 was to thee. 
 I see, (what would you more,) stood never man so 
 
 sure 
 On woman's word, but wisdom would mistrust it 
 
 to endure. 
 
36 earl or surret\s poems. 
 
 THE FORSAKEN LOVER DESCRIBETH AND 
 FORSAKETH LOVE. 
 
 LOATHSOME place ! where I 
 Have seen, and heard my dear ; 
 When in my heart her eye 
 Hath made her thought appear, 
 
 By glimpsing with such grace, — 
 
 As fortune it ne would 
 
 That lasten any space, 
 
 Between us longer should. 
 
 As fortune did advance 
 To further my desire; 
 Even so hath fortune's chance 
 Thrown all amidst the mire. 
 And that I have deserved, 
 With true and faithful heart, 
 Is to his hands reserved, 
 That never felt the smart. 
 
 But happy is that man 
 That scaped hath the grief, 
 That love well teach him can, 
 By wanting his relief. 
 A scourge to quiet minds 
 It is, w r ho taketh heed ; 
 A common plage that binds ; 
 A travail without meed. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 87 
 
 This gift it hath also : 
 Whoso enjoys it most, 
 A thousand troubles grow, 
 To vex his wearied ghost. 
 And last it may not long ; 
 The truest thing of all : 
 And sure the greatest wrong, 
 That is within this thrall. 
 
 But since thou, desert place, 
 Canst give me no account 
 Of my desired grace, 
 That I to have was wont ; 
 Farewell ! thou hast me taught, 
 To think me not the first 
 That love hath set aloft, 
 And casten in the dust. 
 
 THE LOVEK DESCBIBETH HIS BEST- 
 LESS STATE. 1 
 
 S oft as I behold, and see 
 The sovereign beauty that me bound ; 
 The higher my comfort is to me, 
 Alas ! the fresher is my wound. 
 
 As flame doth quench by rage of fire, 
 And running streams consume by rain ; 
 
 1 The 3rd, 6th, and 8th stanzas do not occur in Tottel's 
 collection, but were supplied by Dr. Nott from a copy in the 
 <£ Xugae Autiquae." 
 
38 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 So doth the sight that I desire 
 Appease my grief, and deadly pain. 
 
 Like as the fly that seeth the flame, 
 And thinks to play her in the fire ; 
 That found her woe, and sought her game 
 Where grief did grow by her desire. 
 
 First when I saw those crystal streams, 
 Whose beauty made my mortal wound ; 
 I little thought within their beams 
 So sweet a venom to have found. 
 
 But wilful will did prick me forth, 
 And blind Cupid did whip and guide ; 
 Force made me take my grief in worth ; 1 
 My fruitless hope my harm did hide ; 
 
 Wherein is hid the cruel bit, 
 Whose sharp repulse none can resist ; 
 And eke the spur that strains each wit 
 To run the race against his list. 
 
 As cruel waves full oft be found 
 Against the rocks to roar and cry ; 
 So doth my heart full oft rebound 
 Against my breast full bitterly. 
 
 And as the spider draws her line, 
 With labour lost I frame my suit ; 
 The fault is her's, the loss is mine : 
 Of ill sown seed, such is the fruit. 
 
 1 Patiently. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 39 
 
 I fall, and see mine own decay ; 
 As he that bears flame in his breast, 
 Forgets for pain to cast away 
 The thing that breedeth his unrest. 1 
 
 THE LOVER EXCUSETH HIMSELF OF 
 SUSPECTED CHANGE. 
 
 'HOUGH I regarded not 
 The promise made by me ; 
 Or passed not to spot 
 My faith and honesty : 
 
 Yet were my fancy strange, 
 
 And wilful will to wite, 2 
 
 If I sought now to change 
 
 A falcon for a kite. 
 
 All men might well dispraise 
 My wit and enterprise, 
 If I esteemed a pese 3 
 Aboye a pearl in price : 
 Or judged the owl in sight 
 The sparhawk to excel ; 
 
 1 In Tottel's collection this stanza is thus printed — 
 
 I fall and see mine own decay. 
 
 As one that bears flame in his breast ; 
 
 Forgets in pain to put away 
 
 The thing that breedeth mine unrest. 
 
 2 To censure. 3 A pea. 
 
40 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 Which flieth but in the night, 
 As all men know right well. 
 
 Or if I sought to sail 
 Into the brittle port, 
 Where anchor hold doth fail 
 To such as do resort; 
 And leave the haven sure, 
 Where blows no blustering wind ; 
 Nor fickleness in ure, 1 
 So far-forth as I find. 
 
 No ! think me not so light, 
 Nor of so churlish kind, 
 Though it lay in my might 
 My bondage to unbind, 
 That I would leave the hind 
 To hunt the gander's foe. 2 
 No ! no ! I have no mind 
 To make exchanges so. 
 
 Nor yet to change at all ; 
 For think, it may not be 
 That I should seek to fall 
 From my felicity. 
 Desirous for to win, 
 And loth for to forego ; 
 Or new change to begin ; 
 How may all this be so ? 
 
 The fire it cannot freeze, 
 For it is not his kind ; 
 
 1 Practise. 2 The fox. 
 

 EAEL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 41 
 
 Nor true love cannot lese x 
 The Constance of the mind. 
 Yet as soon shall the fire 
 Want heat to blaze and burn ; 
 As I, in such desire, 
 Have once a thought to turn. 
 
 A CARELESS MAN 
 
 SCOENING AND DESCEIBING THE SUBTLE USAGE OF 
 WOMEN TOWAED THEIE LOVEES. 
 
 RAPT in my careless cloak, as I walk 
 to and fro, 
 I see how Love can shew what force 
 there reigneth in his bow: 
 And how he shooteth eke a hardy heart to wound ; 
 And where he glanceth by again, that little hurt 
 
 is found. 
 For seldom is it seen he woundeth hearts alike; 
 The one may rage, when Mother's love is often far 
 
 to seek. 
 All this I see, with more ; and wonder thinketh me 
 How he can strike the one so sore, and leave the 
 
 other free. 
 I see that wounded wight that suffreth all this 
 
 wrong, 
 How he is fed with yeas and nays, and liveth all 
 too long. 
 
 1 Lose. 
 
42 
 
 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 In silence though I keep such secrets to myself, 
 Yet do I see how she sometime doth yield a look 
 
 by stealth, 
 As though it seem'd ; ' I wis, I will not lose thee 
 
 so:' 
 When in her heart so sweet a thought did never 
 
 truly grow. 
 Then say I thus : ' Alas ! that man is far from bliss, 
 That doth receive for his relief none other gain 
 
 but this.' 
 And she, that feeds him so, I feel and find it plain. 
 Is but to glory in her power, that over such can 
 
 reign. 
 Nor are such graces spent, but when she thinks, 
 
 that he, 
 A wearied man, is fully bent such fancies to let flee 
 Then to retain him still, she wrasteth new her grace, 
 And smileth, lo ! as though she would forthwith 
 
 the man embrace. 
 But when the proof is made to try such looks withal, 
 He findeth then the place all void, and freighted 
 
 full of gall. 
 Lord ! what abuse is this ; who can such women 
 
 praise, 
 That for their glory do devise to use such crafty 
 
 ways ? 
 I, that among the rest do sit and mark the row, 
 Find that in her is greater craft, than is in twenty 
 
 mo' : 
 Whose tender years, alas ! with wiles so well are 
 
 sped, 
 What will she do when hoary hairs are powder'd 
 
 in her head?. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 48 
 
 AN" ANSWER IN THE BEHALF OF A 
 WOMAN. 
 
 OE AN TTNCEETAOT ATJTHOK. 1 
 
 |IRT in my guiltless gown, as I sit here 
 and sow, 
 I see that things are not in deed, as to 
 the outward show. 
 And who so list to look and note things somewhat 
 
 near, 
 Shall find where plainness seems to haunt, nothing 
 
 but craft appear. 
 For with indifferent eyes myself can well discern, 
 How some to guide a ship in storms stick not 2 to 
 
 take the. stern • 
 Whose skill and courage tried 3 in calm to steer a 
 
 barge, 
 They would soon shew, you should foresee, 4 it were 
 
 too great a charge. 
 And some I see again sit still and say but small, 
 
 1 This poem was printed as in the text by Dr. Nott, from 
 the Harrington MS., which alone contains the last eighteen 
 lines. The variations between that copy and the printed edi- 
 tions are pointed out in the notes. The remark in Tottel's 
 Collection that it was by (c an uncertain author" justifies a 
 doubt whether it was written by Surrey. It is there entitled 
 " Of the Dissembling Lover." 
 
 2 seek for. 3 Whose practice if were proved. 
 4 Assuredly believe it well. 
 
44 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 That can 1 do ten times more than they that say 
 
 they can do all. 
 Whose goodly gifts are such, the more they un- 
 derstand, 
 The more they seek to learn and know, and take 
 
 less charge in hand. 
 And to declare more plain, the time flits not so 
 
 fast, 
 But I can bear right 2 well in mind the song now 
 
 sung, and past; 
 The author whereof came, wrapt in a crafty cloak, 
 In 3 will to force a flaming fire where he could 
 
 raise no smoke. 
 If power and will had met, 4 as it appeareth plain, 
 The 5 truth nor right had ta'en no place ; their 
 
 virtues had been vain. 
 So that you may perceive, and I may safely see, 
 The innocent that guiltless is, condemned should 
 
 have be. 
 Much like untruth to this the story doth declare, 
 Where the Elders laid to Susan's charge meet 
 
 matter to compare. 
 They did her both accuse, and eke condemn her 
 
 too, 
 And yet no reason, right, nor truth, did lead them 
 
 so to do ! 
 And she thus judg'd to die, toward her death went 
 
 forth, 
 Fraughted with faith, a patient pace, taking her 
 
 wrong in worth. 
 But He that doth defend all those that in him trust, 
 
 1 could 2 full. 3 With. 4 join'd. 5 Then. 
 
earl of Surrey's poems. 45 
 
 Did raise a child for her defence to shield her from 
 
 th' unjust. 
 And Daniel chosen was then of his wrong to 
 
 weet, 
 How, in what place, and eke with whom she did 
 
 this crime commit. 
 He caused the Elders part the one from th' other's 
 
 sight, 
 And did examine one by one, and charg'd them 
 
 both say right. 
 ( Under a mulberry tree it was ;' first said the one. 
 The next named a pomegranate tree, whereby the 
 
 truth was known. 
 Then Susan was discharg'd, and they condemn'd 
 
 to die, 
 As right requir'd, and they deserv'd, that fram'd 
 
 so foul a lie. 
 And He that her preserv'd, and lett them of their 
 
 lust, 
 Hath me defended hitherto, and will do still I trust. 
 
 THE CONSTANT LOVER LAMENTETH. 
 
 ^INCE fortune's wrath envieth the wealth 
 Wherein I reigned, by the sight 
 Of that, that fed mine eyes by stealth 
 With sour, sweet, dread, and delight ; 
 
 Let not my grief move you to moan, 
 
 For I will weep and wail alone. 
 
46 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 Spite drave me into Boreas' reign, 1 
 Where hoary frosts the fruits do bite, 
 When hills were spread, and every plain 
 With stormy winter's mantle white ; 
 And yet, my dear, such was my heat, 
 When others froze, then did I sweat. 
 
 And now, though on the sun I drive, 
 Whose fervent flame all things decays ; 
 His beams in brightness may not strive 
 With light of your sweet golden rays; 
 Nor from my breast this heat remove 
 The frozen thoughts, graven by Love. 
 
 Ne may the waves of the salt flood 
 Quench that your beauty set on fire ; 
 For though mine eyes forbear the food, 
 That did relieve the hot desire ; 
 Such as I was, such will I be ; 
 Your own ; what would ye more of me ? 
 
 1 Her anger drove me into a colder climate 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 47 
 
 A SONG WEITTEN BY THE EAEL OF 
 SUBKEY, 
 
 OP A LADY THAT EEETTSED TO DA^CE WITH HIM. 1 
 
 i^ACH beast can choose his fere accord- 
 ing to his mind, 
 And eke can shew a friendly chere, 
 like to their beastly kind. 
 A Lion saw I late, as white as any snow, 
 Which seemed well to lead the race, his port the 
 
 same did show. 
 Upon the gentle beast to gaze it pleased me, 
 For still me thought he seemed well of noble blood 
 to be. 
 
 1 Dr. Xott's remark on this piece, " That it is valuable 
 from the circumstance of its preserving an account of a quar- 
 rel between Surrey and the fair Geraldine, which, as we hear 
 nothing of any reconciliation afterwards, was the occasion 
 probably of his renouncing his ill-fated passion," is an 
 amusing instance of first imagining a fact, and then making 
 every circumstance support it. The learned editor, as in 
 most other instances, assumes that Geraldine was the subject 
 of the poem, without a shadow of evidence ; and gratuitously 
 gives it this title — " Surrey renounces all affection for the fair 
 Geraldine," whereas, in ail the printed editions, it bears the 
 title assigned to it in the text. There is no doubt that 
 Surrey personated himself by the "White Lion," which was 
 one of the badges (and not the arms, as Dr. Xott asserts) of 
 the house of Howard, derived from their descent from the 
 Mowbrays, Dukes of Norfolk. The word " pranceth " in line 
 7, alluded to the position "rampant" of the animal, and 
 
48 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 And as he pranced before, still seeking for a make, 
 As who would say, ' There is none here, I trow, 
 
 will me forsake.' 
 I might perceive a Wolf as white as whalesbone ; 
 A fairer beast of fresher hue, beheld I never none; 
 Save that her looks were coy, and froward eke her 
 
 grace : 
 Unto the which this gentle beast 'gan him advance 
 
 apace. 
 And with a beck full low he bowed at her feet, 
 In humble wise, as who would say, ( I am too far 
 
 unmeet.' 
 But such a scornful chere, wherewith she him re- 
 warded ! 
 Was never seen, I trow, the like, to such as well 
 
 deserved. 
 With that she start aside well near a foot or twain, 
 And unto him thus 'gan she say, with spite and 
 
 great disdain : 
 
 perhaps a playful reference was intended to Surrey's invita- 
 tion to the lady to dance. But there is not any reason to 
 presume that by the Wolf the fair Geraldine was intended, 
 though it is almost certain that the family of the lady ad- 
 verted to bore that animal on their standards, or in their 
 arms. Dr. Nott has cited a MS. in the Museum to prove 
 that the Fitzgeralds, Earls of Kildare, used a Wolf as their 
 crest, but this is unsupported by any other authority, and 
 Drayton, with more probability, says, that the lady meant 
 by the " Wolf," was Ann, the daughter of Sir Edward Stan- 
 hope, who became the wife of the Protector Somerset. The 
 Stanhope family once used a Wolf as their crest, in conse- 
 quence of their descent from Maulovel, and a Wolf is still one 
 of the supporters of the Earls of Chesterfield, Stanhope, and 
 Harrington. See Collins' Peerage, ed. 1779, iii. 301, 302. 
 It is proper to add, that the family of Arundell of Lanhearne > 
 in Cornwall, bore a white wolf as a badge. 
 
EARL OF SURREY S POEMS. 49 
 
 1 Lion/ she said, ' if thou hadst known my mind 
 
 before. 
 Thou hadst not spent thy travail thus, nor all thy 
 
 pain for-lore. 
 Do way ! I let thee weet, 1 thou shalt not play with 
 
 me : 
 Go range about, where thou mayst find some 
 
 meeter fere for thee.' 
 With that he beat his tail, his eyes began to flame; 
 I might perceive his noble heart much moved by 
 
 the same. 
 Yet saw I him refrain, and eke his wrath assuage, 
 And unto her thus 'gan he say, when he was past 
 
 his rage : 
 * Cruel ! you do me wrong, to set me thus so light ; 
 Without desert for my good will to shew me such 
 
 despite. 
 How can ye thus intreat a Lion of the race, 
 That with his paws a crowned king devoured in 
 
 the place. 2 
 Whose nature is to prey upon no simple food, 
 As long as he may suck the flesh, and drink of 
 
 noble blood. 
 If you be fair and fresh, am I not of your hue ? 3 
 And for my vaunt I dare well say, my blood is 
 
 not untrue. 
 
 1 I let thee know. 
 
 2 Apparently an allusion to the defeat and death of James 
 the Fourth at Flodden Field, by Thomas, then Earl of 
 Surrey, the Poet's grandfather. 
 
 3 Query, is it to be understood by this line that Surrey was 
 related to the lady, or did he only mean that his lion was of 
 the same hue as her wolf ? 
 
50 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 For you yourself have heard, it is not long ago, 
 Sith that for love one of the race did end his life 
 
 in woe, 
 In tower strong and high, for his assured truth, 
 Whereas in tears he spent his breath, alas ! the 
 
 more the ruth. 
 This gentle beast so died, whom nothing could 
 
 remove, 
 But willingly to lese his life for loss of his true 
 
 love. 1 
 Other there be whose lives do linger still in pain, 
 Against their wills preserved are, that would have 
 
 died fain. 
 But now I do perceive that nought it moveth you, 
 My good intent, my gentle heart, nor yet my kind 
 
 so true. 
 But that your will is such to lure me to the trade, 
 
 1 Dr. Nott observes: u This means Thomas- Howard, se- 
 cond son of Thomas second Duke of Norfolk, by Agnes his 
 second wife, and consequently half uncle to Surrey. He 
 was attainted of high treason, and committed to the Tower, 
 in June 1538, for having, without the knowledge or appro- 
 bation of King Henry VIII, affianced himself to the Lady 
 Margaret Douglas, daughter of Margaret Queen of Scot- 
 land, the King's sister. Lord Thomas Howard remained in 
 confinement till his decease on Allhallows Eve, 1538. 
 Upon his death the Lad}' Margaret, who had been con- 
 fined likewise, was set at liberty. It is probable that 
 this unfortunate affiance was the effect on the part of 
 Lord Thomas Howard, as well as on the part of the Lady 
 Margaret, of real attachment, and not of ambition. Had 
 he relinquished all claim to her hand, he probably would 
 have been released from his confinement. It is likely 
 therefore that his love, r-s Surrey intimates, really cost him 
 his life." 
 
51 
 
 As other some full many years to trace by craft ye 
 
 made. 
 And thus behold our kinds, how that we differ far ; 
 I seek my foes ; and you your friends do threaten 
 
 still with war, 
 I fawn where I am fled ; you slay, that seeks to 
 
 you; 
 I can devour no yielding prey ; you kill where 
 
 you subdue. 
 My kind is to desire the honour of the field ; 
 And you with blood to slake your thirst on such 
 
 as to you yield. 
 Wherefore I would you wist, that for your coyed 
 
 looks, 
 I am no man that will be trapp'd, nor tangled 
 
 with such hooks. 
 And though some lust to love, where blame full 
 
 well they might ; 
 And to such beasts of current sought, that should 
 
 have travail bright ; 
 I will observe the law that Nature gave to me, 
 To conquer such as will resist, and let the rest go 
 
 free. 
 And as a falcon free, that soareth in the air, 
 Which never fed on hand nor lure ; nor for no 
 
 stale 1 doth care ; 
 While that I live and breathe, such shall my cus- 
 tom be 
 In w^ildness of the woods to seek my prey, where 
 
 pleaseth me ; 
 
 1 A piece of meat used to allure falcons back to their 
 master. 
 
52 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 Where many one shall rue, that never made 
 
 offence : 
 Thus your refuse against my power shall boot 
 
 them no defence. 
 And for revenge thereof I vow and swear thereto, 
 A thousand spoils I shall commit I never thought 
 
 to do. 
 And if to light on you my luck so good shall be, 
 I shall be glad to feed on that, that would have 
 
 fed on me. 
 And thus farewell, Unkind, to whom I bent and 
 
 bow ; 
 I would you wist, the ship is safe that bare his 
 
 sails so low. 
 Sith that a Lion's heart is for a Wolf no prey, 
 With bloody mouth go slake your thirst on simple 
 
 sheep, I say, 
 With more despite and ire than I can now express ; 
 Which to my pain though I refrain, the cause you 
 
 may well guess. 
 As for because myself was author of the game, 
 It boots me not that for my wrath I should disturb 
 
 the same/ 
 
earl of Surrey's poems. 53 
 
 THE FAITHFUL LOVER 
 
 DECLAEETH HIS PAINS AND HIS UNCERTAIN JOYS, 
 
 AND WITH ONLY HOPE KEC03IFORTETH 
 
 SOMEWHAT HIS WOEFUL HEAET. 
 
 F care do cause men cry, why do not I 
 complain ? 
 If each man do bewail his woe, why 
 shew I not my pain ? 
 Since that amongst them all, I dare well say is none 
 So far from weal, so full of woe, or hath more 
 
 cause to moan. 
 For all things having life, sometime hath quiet rest; 
 The bearing ass, the drawing ox, and every other 
 
 beast ; 
 The peasant and the post, that serve at all assays ; 
 The ship-boy and the galley-slave, have time to 
 
 take their ease ; 
 Save I, alas ! whom care, of force doth so constrain, 
 To wail the day, and wake the night, continually 
 
 in pain. 
 From pensiveness to plaint, from plaint to bitter 
 
 tears, 
 From tears to painful plaint again ; and thus my 
 
 life it wears. 
 No thing under the sun, that I can hear or see, 
 But moveth me for to bewail my cruel destiny. 
 
54 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 For where men do rejoice, since that I cannot so, 
 I take no pleasure in that place, it doubleth but 
 
 my woe. 
 And when I hear the sound of song or instrument, 
 Methink each tune there doleful is, and helps me 
 
 to lament. 
 And if I see some have their most desired sight, 
 ' Alas ! ' think I, ' each man hath weal save I, most 
 
 woful wight.' 
 Then as the stricken deer withdraws himself alone, 
 So do I seek some secret place, where I may make 
 
 my moan. 
 There do my flowing eyes shew forth my melting 
 
 heart ; 
 So that the streams of those two wells right well 
 
 declare my smart. 
 And in those cares so cold, I force myself a heat 
 (As sick men in their shaking fits procure them- 
 selves to sweat) 
 With thoughts, that for the time do much appease 
 
 my pain : 
 But yet they cause a farther fear, and breed my 
 
 woe again. 
 Methink within my thought I see right plain ap- 
 pear 
 My heart's delight, my sorrow's leech, mine earthly 
 
 goddess here, 
 With every sundry grace, that I have seen her have, 
 Thus I within my woful breast her picture paint 
 
 and grave. 
 
 And in my thought I roll her beauties to and fro ; 
 Her laughing chere, her lovely look, my heart that 
 
 pierced so. 
 
55 
 
 Her strangeness when I sued her servant for to be ; 
 And what she said, and how she smiled, when 
 
 that she pitied me. 
 Then comes a sudden fear that riveth 1 all my rest, 
 Lest absence cause forgetfulness to sink within her 
 
 breast. 
 For when I think how far this earth doth us divide, 
 Alas ! me-seems love throws me down ; I feel how 
 
 that I slide. 
 But then I think again, 'Why should I thus mistrust 
 So sweet a wight, so sad and wise, that is so true 
 
 and just ? 
 For loath she was to love, and wavering is she not ; 
 The farther off the more desired/ Thus lovers 
 
 tie their knot. 
 So in despair and hope plung'd am I both up and 
 
 down, 
 As is the ship with wind and wave, when Neptune 
 
 list to frown : 
 But as the watery showers delay the raging wind, 
 So doth Good-hope clean put away despair out of 
 
 my mind ; 
 And bids me for to serve, and suffer patiently : 
 For what wot I the after weal that fortune wills 
 
 to me. 
 For those that care do know, and tasted have of 
 
 trouble, 
 When passed is their woful pain,, each joy shall 
 
 seem them double. 
 And bitter sends she now, to make me taste the 
 
 better 
 
 1 To tear, to rend asunder. 
 
56 
 
 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 The pleasant sweet, when that it comes, to make 
 it seem the sweeter. 
 
 And so determine I to serve until my breath ; 
 
 Yea, rather die a thousand times, than once to 
 false my faith. 
 
 And if my feeble corpse, through weight of woful 
 smart 
 
 Do fail, or faint, my will it is that still she keep 
 my heart. 
 
 And when this carcass here to earth shall be re- 
 far'd, 1 
 
 I do bequeath my wearied ghost to serve her after- 
 ward. 
 
 THE MEANS TO ATTAIN HAPPY LIFE. 
 
 ARTIAL, the things that do attain 
 The happy life, be these, I find : 
 The riches left, not got with pain ; 
 The fruitful ground, the quiet mind : 
 
 The equal friend, no grudge, no strife ; 
 No charge of rule, nor governance ; 
 Without disease, the healthful life ; 
 The household of continuance : 
 
 The mean 2 diet, no delicate 3 fare ; 
 True wisdom join'd with simpleness ; 
 
 1 Tefeired, to bring back. 2 Moderate. 
 
 3 Dainty, in one MS. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 57 
 
 The night discharged of all care, 
 Where wine the wit may not oppress : 
 
 The faithful wife, without debate ; 
 Such sleeps as may beguile the night : 
 Contented with thine own estate ; 
 Ne w T ish for death, ne fear his might. 
 
 PRAISE OF MEAN AND CONSTANT 
 ESTATE. 
 
 \F thy life, Thomas, 1 this compass well 
 mark : 
 Not aye with full sails the high seas to 
 beat 5 
 
 Ne by coward dread, in shunning storms dark, 
 On shallow shores thy keel in peril freat. 2 
 
 Whoso gladly halseth 3 the golden mean, 
 Void of dangers advisedly hath his home ; 
 Not with loathsome muck as a den unclean, 
 Nor palace like, whereat disdain may glome. 4 
 
 The lofty pine the great wind often rives ; 
 With violenter sway fallen turrets steep ; 
 Lightnings assault the high mountains and clives. 5 
 A. heart well stay'd, in overthwartes 6 deep. 
 
 1 Sir Thomas Wyatt. 2 Damage. 
 
 3 Embraceth. 4 Look at scornfully. 
 
 5 Steep cliffs. 6 Adverse fortunes. 
 

 58 earl of Surrey's poems. 
 
 Hopeth amends : in sweet, doth fear the sour. 
 God that sendeth, withdraweth winter sharp. 
 Now ill, not aye thus : once Phoebus to low'r, 
 With bow unbent, shall cease and frame to harp 
 
 His voice ; in strait estate appear thou stout ; 
 And so wisely, when lucky gale of wind 
 All thy puft sails shall fill, look well about ; 
 Take in a reef : haste is waste, proof doth find. 
 
 PRAISE OF CERTAIN PSALMS OF DAVID, 
 
 TRANSLATED BY SIR THOMAS [WYATT] 
 THE ELDER. 
 
 HE great Macedon, that out of Persia 
 chased 
 p^J P<b^ Darius, of whose huge power all Asia 
 «^^<4^l rung ; 
 
 In the rich ark 1 Dan Homer's rhymes he placed, 
 Who feigned gests 2 of heathen princes sung. 
 What holy grave, what worthy sepulture, 
 To Wyatt's PSalms should Christians then pur- 
 chase ? 
 Where he doth paint the lively faith,, and pure, 
 The steadfast hope, the sweet return to grace, 
 Of just David, by perfect penitence ; 
 Y/here rulers may see in a mirror clear, 
 
 1 Chest. 2 Heroic deeds. 
 
. EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 59 
 
 The bitter fruit of false concupiscence ; 
 
 How Jewry bought Urias' death full dear. 
 
 In Princes' hearts God's scourge imprinted deep, 
 Ought them awake out of their sinful sleep. 1 
 
 OF THE DEATH OF SIR THOMAS WYATT. 
 H IYERS thy death do diversely bemoan : 
 
 * Lurked, whose breasts envy with hate 
 
 =§liS££> had swoln, 
 
 Yield Cassar's tears upon Pompeius' head. 
 Some, that watched with the murd'rer's knife, 
 With eager thirst to drink thy guiltless blood, 
 Whose practice brake by 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 tempered in that breast ; 
 Honour the place that such a jewel bred, 
 And kiss the ground whereas the corpse doth rest; 
 
 With vapour'd eyes : from whence such streams 
 availe, 3 
 
 As Pyramus did on Thisbe's breast bewail. 
 
 1 Mr. Warton thinks that "probably the last lines may 
 contain an oblique allusion to some of the amours of King 
 Henry VIII." 
 
 2 Being alive. 3 Fall down, 
 
60 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 OF THE SAME. 
 
 \ YATT resteth here, that quick l could 
 
 never rest : 
 Whose heavenly gifts increased by 
 
 disdain ; 
 
 And virtue sank the deeper in his breast : 
 Such profit he by envy could obtain. 
 A head, where wisdom mysteries did frame ; 
 Whose hammers beat still in that lively brain, 
 As on a stithe, 2 where that some work of fame 
 W^as daily wrought, to turn to Britain's gain. 
 A visage, stern and mild ; where both did grow 
 Vice to contemn, in virtue to rejoice : 
 Amid great storms, whom grace assured so, 
 To live upright, and smile at Fortune's choice. 
 A hand, that taught what might be said in rhyme; 
 That reft Chaucer the glory of his wit. 
 A mark, the which (unperfected for time) 
 Some may approach, but never none shall hit. 
 A tongue, that serv'd in foreign realms his king ; 
 Whose courteous talk to virtue did inflame 
 Each noble heart ; a worthy guide to bring 
 Our English youth, by travail, unto fame. 
 An eye, whose judgment none affect 3 could blind, 
 Friends to allure, and foes to reconcile ; 
 Whose piercing look did represent a mind 
 With virtue fraught, reposed, void of guile. 
 A heart, where dread was never so imprest 
 To hide the thought that might the truth advance; 
 
 1 Alive. 2 Forge, or anvil. 3 Passion. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 61 
 
 In neither fortune loft/ nor yet represt, 
 
 To swell in wealth, or yield unto mischance. 
 
 A valiant corpse, where force and beauty met : 
 
 Happy, alas ! too happy, but for foes, 
 
 Lived, and ran the race that Nature set ; 
 
 Of manhood's shape, where she the mould did lose. 
 
 But to the heavens that simple soul is fled, 
 
 Which left, with such as covet Christ to know, 
 
 Witness of faith, that never shall be dead ; 
 
 Sent for our health, but not received so. 
 
 Thus, for our guilt this jewel have we lost ; 
 
 The earth his bones, the heavens possess his ghosl. 
 
 OF THE SAME. 
 
 ^N the rude age, when knowledge was 
 not rife, 
 If Jove in Crete, and other w 7 ere that 
 taught 
 
 Arts, to convert to profit of our life, 
 Wend after death to have their temples sought : 
 If, Virtue yet no void unthankful time 
 Failed of some to blast 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 face their breasts how did it freat, 
 Whose cinders yet with envy they do eat. 
 1 Elevated, 
 
62 earl of Surrey's poems. 
 
 
 AN EPITAPH ON CLERE, 
 surrey's faithetjl friend and follower. 1 
 
 ^S^ffi^S ORFOLK 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 f 
 (Aye, me ! whilst life did last that league was tender) 
 
 1 These lines were inscribed, with the epitaph above, on 
 a table in Lambeth Church : 
 
 "Epitaphium. Thomae Clere, qui fato functus est 1545, 
 auctore Henrico Howard, Comite Surrey. In cujus faelicis 
 ingenii specimen, et singularis facundiae argumentum, ap- 
 pensa faut haec Tabula per W. Howard, filiura Thomae 
 rmper Ducis Norfolciensis, filii ejusdem Henrici Comitis." 
 
 This epitaph occurs, with some trifling variations, in 
 Camden's Remains, Aubrey's History of Surrey, v. 247, and 
 in Bloomfield's Norfolk. Thomas Clere was the youngest 
 son of Sir Robert Clere, of Ormesby in Norfolk, (the descen- 
 dant of Clere, of Cleremont in Normandy) by Alice, daughter 
 of Sir William Boleyn, by Margaret, daughter and coheir of 
 Thomas Boteler, Earl of Ormond. He was consequently 
 first "cousin" of Queen Anne Boleyn, whom "he saw 
 crowned " in 1533, and was connected with " Ormond's race." 
 " Shelton" is presumed to have been a daughter of Sir John 
 Shelton, of Shelton in Norfolk, but it does not appear that 
 Clere married her. He died on the 14th of April, 1545, and 
 was buried at Lambeth. These facts explain most of the 
 allusions in the epitaph, and the others are noticed in the 
 Memoir of Surrey. 
 
 2 Didst choose, 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 63 
 
 Tracing whose steps thou sawest Kelsal blaze, 
 Landrecy burnt, and batter'd Boulogne render. x 
 At Montreuil gates, hopeless of all recure, 2 
 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 fulfill. 
 Ah ! Clere ! if love had booted care or cost, 
 Heaven had not won, nor earth so timely lost. 
 
 OF SARDANAPALUS'S DISHONORABLE 
 LIFE AND MISERABLE DEATH. 
 
 ^ pryf H' Assyrian king, in peace, with foul 
 desire 
 
 * And filthy lusts that stain'd his regal 
 heart ; 
 
 In w T ar, that should set princely hearts on fire, 
 Did yield, vanquisht for want of martial art. 
 The dint of swords from kisses seemed strange ; 
 And harder than his lady's side, his targe : 3 
 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 appalled with 
 dread,) 
 
 Murder 'd himself, to shew r some manful deed. 
 
 1 Surrender. ~ Recovery. 3 Shield. 
 
64 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 HOW NO AGE IS CONTENT 
 
 WITH HIS OWN ESTATE, AND HOW THE AGE OF 
 
 CHILDREN IS THE HAPPIEST IE THEY HAD 
 
 SKILL TO UNDERSTAND IT. 
 
 [AID in my quiet bed, in study as I 
 were, 
 I saw within my troubled head a heap 
 of thoughts appear. 
 And every thought did shew 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 
 
 opprest, 
 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, 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 65 
 
 That man from wealth, to live in woe, doth ever 
 
 seek to change. 
 Thus thoughtful as I lay, I saw my withered skin, 
 How it doth shew my dented chews, 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 
 
 That shew, like lines of true belief, that this life 
 
 doth assuage ; 
 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 : ' Fare well ! 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.' 
 
66 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 BONUM EST MIHI QUOD HUMILIASTI ME. 
 
 1 HE storms are past; the clouds are over- 
 blown ; 
 And humble chere great rigour hath 
 represt. 
 
 For the default is set a pain foreknown ; 
 And patience graft in a determined 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, remembered, works delight. 
 Of ling'ring doubts such hope is sprung, pardie ! j 
 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 ! 
 1 A corruption of par Dieit. 
 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 67 
 
 EXHORTATION TO LEARN BY OTHERS' 
 TROUBLE. 
 
 Ratclif, 1 when thy rechless 2 youth 
 offends, 
 T Receive thy scourge by others' chastise- 
 ^sS? ment ; 
 
 For such calling, when it works none amends, 
 Then plagues are sent without advertisement. 
 Yet Solomon said, the wronged shall recure : 
 But Wyatt said true ; 6 The scar doth aye endure.' 
 
 THE FANCY OF A WEARIED LOVER. 
 
 HE fancy, which that I have served long- 
 That hath alway been enemy to mine 
 
 ease; 
 Seemed of late to rue upon my wrong, 
 And bade me fly the cause of 1113' 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.' 
 
 1 Perhaps Sir Humphrey Ratcliffe, one of the gentlemen 
 pensioners. 
 
 2 Careless. 
 
G8 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 And with that thought I met my guide, that plain, 
 Out of the way wherein I wander'd wrong, 
 Brought me amidst the hills in base Bullayne : 
 Where I am now, as restless to remain 
 Against my will, full pleased with my pain. 
 
 A SATIRE AGAINST THE CITIZENS OF 
 LONDON. 1 
 
 |ONDON ! 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, 
 
 For to break forth did convert so, 
 
 That terror could it not repress. 
 
 The which, by words, since preachers know 
 
 What hope is left for to redress, 
 
 By unknown means it liked me 
 
 My hidden burthen to express. 
 
 Whereby it might appear to thee 
 
 That secret sin hath secret spite ; 
 
 From justice' rod no fault is free 
 
 But that all such as work unright 
 
 1 " A Satire on London " was first published by Mr. Park 
 from a manuscript in his possession. The version printed 
 by Dr. Nott was collated from Park's copy and Dr. Har- 
 ringtoirs manuscript. It was probably written after Lord 
 Surrey had been condemned by a London jury. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 69 
 
 In most quiet, are next ill rest. 
 
 In secret silence of the night 
 
 This made me, with a rechless breast, 
 
 To wake thy sluggards with my bow : 
 
 A figure of the Lord's behest ; 
 
 Whose scourge for sin the Scriptures shew. 
 
 That as the fearful thunder's clap 
 
 By sudden flame at hand we know ; 
 
 Of pebble stones the soundless rap, 
 
 The dreadful plague might make thee see 
 
 Of God's wrath, that doth thee enwrap. 
 
 That pride might know, from conscience free, 
 
 How lofty works may her defend ; 
 
 And envy find, as he hath sought, 
 
 How other seek him to offend : 
 
 And wrath taste of each cruel thought, 
 
 The just shape higher in the end : 
 
 And idle sloth, that never wrought, 
 
 To heaven his spirit lift may begin : 
 
 And greedy lucre live in dread, 
 
 To see what hate ill got goods win. 
 
 The letchers, ye that lusts do feed, 
 
 Perceive what secrecy is in sin : 
 
 And gluttons' hearts for sorrow bleed, 
 
 Awaked, when their fault they find, 
 
 In loathsome vice each drunken wight, 
 
 To stir to God this was my mind. 
 
 Thy windows had done me no spight ; 
 
 But proud people that dread no fall, 
 
 Clothed with falsehood, and unright 
 
 Bred in the closures of thy wall. 
 
 But wrested to wrath in fervent zeal 
 
 Thou hast to strife, my secret call. 
 
rO EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 Indured hearts no warning feel. 
 ! shameless whore ! is dread then gone ? 
 Be such thy foes, as meant thy weal ? 
 ! member of false Babylon ! 
 The shop of craft ! the den of ire ! 
 Thy dreadful doom draws fast upon. 
 Thy martyrs' blood by sword and fire, 
 In heaven and earth for justice call. 
 The Lord shall hear their just desire ! 
 The flame of wrath shall on thee fall ! 
 With famine and pest lamentably 
 Stricken shall be thy lechers all. 
 Thy proud towers and turrets high, 
 Enemies to God, beat stone from stone : 
 Thine idols burnt that wrought iniquity : 
 When none thy ruin shall bemoan ; 
 But render unto the righteous Lord, 
 That so hath judged Babylon, 
 Immortal praise with one accord. 
 
earl of Surrey's poems. 71 
 
 THE LOVER DESCRIBETH HIS WHOLE 
 STATE UNTO HIS LOVE, 
 
 AND PROMISING HER HIS FAITHFUL GOOD WILL, 
 ASSTJRETH HIMSELF OF HERS AGAIN. 1 
 
 HE Sun, when he hath spread his rays, 
 And shew'd his face ten thousand ways ; 
 Ten thousand things do then begin, 
 To shew the life that they are in. 
 The heaven shews lively art and hue, 
 Of sundry shapes and colours new, 
 And laughs upon the earth ; anon, 
 The earth, as cold as any stone, 
 Wet in the tears of her own kind, 
 'Gins then to take a joyful mind. 
 For well she feels that out and out 
 The sun doth warm her round about, 
 And dries her children" tenderly ; 
 And shews them forth full orderly. 
 The mountains high, and how they stand ! 
 | The valleys, and the great main land ! 
 The trees, the herbs, the towers strong, 
 The castles, and the rivers long ! 
 
 1 This poem is among those of " Uncertain Authors " 
 printed by Tottel. Dr. Nott ascribes it to Surrey, on the 
 authority of Turberville, in the following line : — 
 
 " Though noble Surrey said ' that absence wonders 
 frame.' " 
 
72 EARL OP SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 And even for joy thus of this heat 
 
 She sheweth forth her pleasures great, 
 
 And sleeps no more ; but sendeth forth 
 
 Her clergions, 1 her own dear worth, 
 
 To mount and fly up to the air ; 
 
 Where then they sing in order fair, 
 
 And tell in song full merrily, 
 
 How they have slept full quietly 
 
 That night, about their mother's sides. 
 
 And when they have sung more besides, 
 
 Then fall they to their mother's breasts, 
 
 Whereas they feed, or take their rests. 
 
 The hunter then sounds out his horn, 
 
 And rangeth straight through wood and corn. 
 
 On hills then shew the ewe and lamb, 
 
 And every young one with his dam. 
 
 Then lovers walk and tell their tale, 
 
 Both of their bliss, and of their bale ; 2 
 
 And how they serve, and how they do, 
 
 And how their lady loves them too. 
 
 Then tune the birds their harmony; 
 
 Then flock the fowl in company ; 
 
 Then every thing doth pleasure find 
 
 In that, that comforts all their kind. 
 
 No dreams do drench them of the night 
 
 Of foes, that would them slay, or bite, 
 
 As hounds, to hunt them at the tail ; 
 
 Or men force them through hill and dale. 
 
 The sheep then dreams not of the wolf: 
 
 The shipman forces not the gulf; 
 
 The lamb thinks not the butcher's knife 
 
 Should then bereave him of his life. 
 
 1 Young brood. 2 Sorrow 
 
EARL OF SURREY S POEMS. 
 
 For when the sun doth once run in, 
 Then all their gladness doth begin ; 
 And then their skips, and then their play : 
 So falls their sadness then away. 
 
 And thus all things have comforting 
 In that, that doth them comfort bring ; 
 Save I, alas ! whom neither sun, 
 Nor aught that God hath wrought and done 
 May comfort aught ; as though I were 
 A thing not made for comfort here. 
 For being absent from your sight. 
 Which are my joy and whole delight, 
 My comfort, and my pleasure too, 
 How can I joy ! how should I do ? 
 May sick men laugh, that roar with pain ? 
 Joy they in song, that do complain ? 
 Are martyrs in their torments glad ? 
 Do pleasures please them that are mad ? 
 Then how may I in comfort be, 
 That lack the thing should comfort me ? 
 The blind man oft, that lacks his sight, 
 Complains not most the lack of light ; 
 But those that knew their perfectness, 
 And then do miss their blissfulness, 
 In martyrs' tunes they sing, and wail 
 The want of that, which doth them fail. 
 
 And hereof comes that in my brains 
 So many fancies work my pains. 
 For when I weigh your worthiness 
 Your wisdom, and your gentleness, 
 Your virtues and your sundry grace, 
 And mind the countenance of your face ; 
 And how that you are she alone, 
 
74 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 To whom I must both plain and moan * 
 Whom I do love, and must do still j 
 Whom I embrace, and aye so will; 
 To serve and please you as I can, 
 As may a woful faithful man ; 
 And find myself so far you fro, 
 God knows, what torment and what woe, 
 My rueful heart doth then embrace j 
 The blood then changeth in my face ; 
 My sinews dull, in dumps 3 I stand, 
 No life I feel in foot nor hand, 
 As pale as any clout, and dead. 
 Lo ! suddenly the blood o'erspread, 
 And gone again, it nill 2 so bide ; 
 And thus from life to death I slide, 
 As cold sometimes as any stone ; 
 And then again as hot anon. 
 
 Thus comes and goes my sundry fits, 
 To give me sundry sorts of wits ; 
 Till that a sigh becomes my friend, 
 And then too all this woe doth end. 
 And sure, I think, that sigh doth run 
 From me to you, where ay you won. 
 For well I find it easeth me ; 
 And certes much it pleaseth me, 
 To think that it doth come to you, 
 As, would to God, it could so do. 
 For then I know you would soon find, 
 By scent and savour of the wind, 
 That even a martyr's sigh it is, 
 Whose joy you are, and all his bliss • 
 His comfort and his pleasure eke, 
 
 1 Dulness of spirits. 2 Unwilling. 
 
EAKL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 75 
 
 And even the same that he doth seek ; 
 The same that he doth wish and crave ; 
 The same that he doth trust to have ; 
 To tender you in all he may, 
 And all your likings to obey, 
 As far as in his power shall lie ; 
 Till death shall dart him for to die. 
 
 But, well-away ! mine own most best, 
 My joy, my comfort, and my rest; 
 The causer of my woe and smart, 
 And yet the pleaser of my heart ; 
 And she that on the earth above 
 Is even the worthiest for to love, 
 Hear now my plaint ! hear now my woe ! 
 Hear now his pain that loves you so ! 
 And if your heart do pity bear, 
 Pity the cause that you shall hear. 
 
 A doleful foe in all this doubt, 
 Who leaves me not, but seeks me out, 
 Of wretched form and loathsome face, 
 While I stand in this woful case, 
 Comes forth, and takes me by the hand, 
 And says, ' Friend, hark ! and understand ; 
 I see well by thy port and chere, 
 And by thy looks and thy manere, 
 And by thy sadness as thou go est, 
 And by the sighs that thou out throwest. 
 That thou art stuffed full of woe. 
 The cause, I think, I do well know. 
 A fantaser thou art of some, 
 By whom thy wits are overcome. 
 But hast thou read old pamphlets aught ? 
 Or hast thou known how books have taught 
 
76 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 That love doth use to such as thou ? 
 When they do think them safe enow, 
 And certain of their ladies' grace, 
 Hast thou not seen ofttimes the case, 
 That suddenly their hap hath turn'd ? 
 As things in flame consum'd and burn'd. 
 Some by deceit forsaken right ; 
 Some likewise changed of fancy light ; 
 And some by absence soon forgot ? 
 The lots in love, why knowest thou not ? 
 And though that she be now thine own, 
 And knows thee well, as may be known ; 
 And thinks thee to be such a one 
 As she likes best to be her own ; 
 Think'st thou that others have not grace, 
 To shew and plain their woful case ? 
 And choose her for their lady now ; 
 And swear her truth as well as thou ? 
 And what if she do alter mind, 
 Where is the love that thou wouldst find ? 
 Absence, my friend, works wonders offc ; 
 Now brings full low that ]ay full loft ; 
 Now turns the mind, now to, now fro, 
 And where art thou, if it were so ?' 
 
 6 If absence/ quoth I, ' be marvellous, 
 I find her not so dangerous ; 
 For she may not remove me fro. 
 The poor good will that I do owe 
 To her, whom unneth 1 I love, and shall; 
 And chosen have above them all, 
 To serve and be her own as far 
 As any man may offer her ; 
 ! With distress. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 And will her serve and will her love, 
 And lowly, as it shall behove ; 
 And die her ow r n, if fate be so : 
 Thus shall my heart nay part her fro. 
 And witness shall my good will be, 
 That absence takes her not from me ; 
 But that my love doth still increase 
 To mind her still, and never cease : 
 And what I feel to be in me, 
 The same good will, I think, hath she ; 
 As firm and fast to bidden aye, 
 Till death depart us both away.' 
 
 And as I have my tale thus told, 
 Steps unto me, with countenance bold, 
 A steadfast friend, a counsellor, 
 And nam'd is, Hope, my comforter ; 
 And stoutly then he speaks and says, 
 6 Thou hast said truth withouten nays ; 
 For I assure thee, even by oath, 
 And thereon take my hand and troth, 
 That she is one the worthiest, 
 The truest and the faithfullest ; 
 The gentlest and the meekest of mind, 
 That here on earth a man may find : 
 And if that love and truth were gone, 
 In her it might be found alone ; 
 For in her mind no thought there is, 
 But how she may be true, I wis ; l 
 And tenders thee, and all thy heale, 2 
 And wisheth both thy health and weal ; 
 
 1 To know, perceive. 
 
 2 Or hele, prosperity, happiness. 
 
78 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 And loves thee even as far-forth than 
 As any woman may a man ; 
 And is thine own, and so she says ; 
 And cares for thee ten thousand ways. 
 On thee she speaks, on thee she thinks ; 
 With thee she eats, with thee she drinks ; 
 With thee she talks, with thee she moans; 
 With thee she sighs, with thee she groans ; 
 With thee she says, f Farewell, mine own !' 
 When thou, God knows, full far art gone. 
 And even, to tell thee all aright, 
 To thee she says full oft, ' Good night V 
 And names thee oft her own most dear, 
 Her comfort, weal, and all her cheer ; 
 And tells her pillow all the tale 
 How thou hast done her woe and bale ; 
 And how she longs, and plains for thee, 
 And says, i Why art thou so from me ? 
 Am I not she that loves thee best ? 
 Do I not wish thine ease and rest? 
 Seek I not how I may thee please ? 
 Why art thou then so from thine ease ? 
 If I be she for whom thou carest, 
 For whom in torments so thou farest, 
 Alas ! thou knowest to find me here, 
 Where I remain thine own most dear ; 
 Thine own most true, thine own most just ; 
 Thine own that loves thee still, and must ; 
 Thine own that cares alone for thee, 
 As thou, I think, dost care for me ; 
 And even the woman, she alone 
 That is full bent to be thine own.' 
 
 6 What wilt thou more? what canst thou crave? 
 
eari/ of Surrey's poems. 79 
 
 Since she is as thou wouldst her have. 
 
 Then set this drivel out of door, 
 
 That in thy brains such tales doth pour, 
 
 Of absence, and of changes strange ; 
 
 Send him to those that use to change : 
 
 For she is none I thee avow, 
 
 And well thou mayst believe me now.' 
 
 When Hope hath thus his reason said, 
 Lord ! how I feel me well a-paid ! 
 A new blood then o'erspreads my bones, 
 That all in joy I stand at ones. 
 My hands I throw to heav'n above, 
 And humbly thank the god of love ; 
 That of his grace I should bestow 
 My love so well as I it owe. 
 And all the planets as they stand, 
 I thank them too with heart and hand ; 
 That their aspects so friendly were, 
 That I should so my good will bear ; 
 To you, that are the worthiest, 
 The fairest and the gentleest ; 
 And best can say, and best can do 
 That longs, methinks, a woman to ; 
 And therefore are most worthy far, 
 To be beloved as you are. 
 And so says Hope in all his tale, 
 Whereby he easeth all my bale. 
 For I believe, and think it true 
 That he doth speak or say of you. 
 And thus contented, lo ! I stand 
 With that, that Hope bears me in hand, 
 That you are mine, and shall so be. 
 Which Hope I keep full sure in me, 
 
80 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 As he, that all my comfort is. 
 On you alone, which are my bliss, 
 My pleasure chief, which most I find, 
 And e'en the whole joy of my mind : 
 And shall so be, until the death 
 Shall make me yield up life and breath. 
 Thus, good mine own, lo ! here my trust ; 
 Lo ! here my truth, and service just ; 
 Lo ! in what case for you I stand ! 
 Lo ! how you have me in your hand ; 
 And if you can requite a man, 
 Kequite me, as you find me than. 
 
 ECCLESIASTES. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 SOLOMON, David's son, King of 
 
 Jerusalem, 
 Chosen by God to teach the Jews, and 
 in his laws to lead them, 
 Confess, under the Sun that every thing is vain ; 
 The world is false ; man he is frail, and all his 
 
 pleasures pain. 
 Alas ! what stable fruit may Adam's children find 
 In that they seek by sweat of brows and travail of 
 
 their mind ! 
 We, that live on the earth, draw toward our decay; 
 Our children fill our place a while, and then they 
 fade away. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 81 
 
 Such changes make the earth, and doth remove for 
 
 none ; 
 But serves us for a place to play our tragedies upon. 
 When that the restless sun westward his course 
 
 hath run, 
 Towards the east he hastes as fast to rise where 
 
 he begun. 
 When hoary Boreas hath blown his frozen blast, 
 Then Zephyrus, with his gentle breath, dissolves 
 
 the ice as fast. 
 Floods that drink up small brooks, and swell by 
 
 rage of rain, 
 Discharge in seas ; which them repulse, and swal- 
 low straight again. 
 These worldly pleasures, Lord ! so swift they run 
 
 their race, 
 That scarce our eyes may them discern ; they bide 
 
 so little space. 
 What hath been but is now; the like hereafter shall: 
 WTmt new device grounded so sure, that dreadeth 
 
 not the fall ! 
 What may be called new, but such things in times 
 
 past 
 As Time buried, and doth revive ; and Time again 
 
 shall waste. 
 Things past right worthy fame, have now no bruit 
 
 at all ; 
 Even so shall die such things as now the simple 
 
 wonders call. 
 I, that in David's seat sit crowned, and rejoice, 
 That with my sceptre rule the Jews, and teach 
 
 them with my voice, 
 Have searched long to know all things under the sun; 
 
82 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 To see how in this mortal life a surety might be won. 
 This kindled will to know ; strange things for to 
 
 desire, 
 God hath graft in our greedy breasts a torment for 
 
 our hire. 
 The end of each travail forthwith I sought to know ; 
 I found them vain, mixed with gall, and burthen' d 
 
 with much woe. 
 Defaults of nature's work no man's hand may re- 
 store, 
 Which be in number like the sands upon the salt 
 
 floods shore. 
 Then, vaunting in my wit, I gan call to my mind 
 What rules of wisdom I had taught, that elders 
 
 could not find. 
 And, as by contraries to try most things we use, 
 Men's follies, and their errors eke I gan them all 
 
 peruse; 
 Thereby with more delight to knowledge for to 
 
 climb : 
 But this I found an endless work of pain, and loss 
 
 of time. 
 For he to wisdom's school that doth apply his mind, 
 The further that he wades therein, the greater 
 
 doubts shall find. 
 And such as enterprise to put new things in ure, 
 Of some that shall scorn their device, may well 
 
 themselves assure. 
 
earl or Surrey's poems. 83 
 
 Chapter II. 
 
 gfjlg|gIlOM pensive fancies then I gan my heart 
 revoke ; 
 And gave me to such sporting plays as 
 laughter might provoke : 
 But even such vain delights, when they most blinded 
 
 me, 
 Always, methought, with smiling grace a king did 
 
 ill agree. 
 Then sought I how to please my belly with much 
 
 wine, 
 To feed me fat with costly feasts of rare delights, 
 
 and fine ; 
 And other pleasures eke to purchase me, with rest: 
 In so great choice to find the thing that might 
 
 content me best. 
 But, Lord ! what care of mind, what sudden storms 
 
 of ire, 
 What broken sleeps endured I, to compass rny desire ! 
 To build me houses fair then set I all my cure : 
 By princely acts thus strove I still to make my 
 
 fame endure. 
 Delicious gardens eke I made to please my sight ; 
 And graft therein all kinds of fruits that might my 
 
 mouth delight. 
 Conduits, by lively springs from their old course I 
 
 drew, 
 For to refresh the fruitful trees that in my gardens 
 
 grew. 
 Of cattle great increase I bred in little space ; 
 
84 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 Bondmen I bought ; I gave them wives, and serv'd 
 
 me with their race. 
 Great heaps of shining gold by sparing gan I save ; 
 With things of price so furnished as fits a prince 
 
 to have. 
 To hear fair women sing sometime I did rejoice ; 
 Ravished with their pleasant tunes, and sweetness 
 
 of their voice. 
 Lemans I had, so fair and of so lively hue, 
 That whoso gazed in their face might well their 
 
 beauty rue. 
 Never erst sat there king so rich in David's seat ; 
 Yet still, methought, for so small gain the travail 
 
 was too great. 
 From my desirous eyes I hid no pleasant sight, 
 Nor from my heart no kind of mirth that might 
 
 give them delight; 
 Which was the only fruit I reap'd of all my pain, 
 To feed my eyes, and to rejoice my heart with all 
 
 my gain. 
 But when I made my count, with how great care 
 
 of mind 
 And hearts unrest, that I had sought so wasteful 
 
 fruit to find ; 
 Then was I striken straight with that abused fire, 
 To glory in that goodly wit that compass'd my 
 
 desire. 
 But fresh before mine eyes grace did my faults 
 
 renew : 
 What gentle callings I had fled my ruin to pursue ; 
 What raging pleasures past, peril and hard escape ; 
 What fancies in my head had wrought the liquor 
 
 of the grape. 
 
The error then I saw that their frail hearts doth 
 
 move, 
 Which strive in vain for to compare with Him that 
 
 sits above : 
 In whose most perfect works such craft appeareth 
 
 plain, 
 That to the least of them, there may no mortal 
 
 hand attain. 
 And like as lightsome day doth shine above the 
 
 night, 
 So dark to me did folly seem, and wisdom's beams 
 
 as bright, 
 Whose eyes did seem so clear motes to discern and 
 
 find: 
 But Will had closed Folly's eyes, which groped 
 
 like the blind, 
 Yet death and time consume all wit and worldly 
 
 fame ; 
 And look ! w r hat end that folly hath, and wisdom 
 
 hath the same. 
 Then said I thus : i Lord ! may not thy wisdom 
 
 cure 
 The wailful wrongs and hard conflicts that folly 
 
 doth endure ?' 
 To sharp my wit so fine then why took I this pain ? 
 Now find I well this noble search may eke be 
 
 called vain. 
 As slander's loathsome bruit sounds folly's just 
 
 reward, 
 Is put to silence all betime, and brought in small 
 
 regard : 
 Even so doth time devour the noble blast of fame, 
 Which should resound their glories great that do 
 
 deserve the same. 
 
86 earl of Surrey's poems. 
 
 Thus present changes chase away the wonders past, 
 Ne is the wise man's fatal thread yet longer spun 
 
 to last. 
 Then in this wretched vale, our life I loathed plain, 
 When I beheld our fruitless pains to compass 
 
 pleasures vain. 
 My travail this avail hath me produced, lo ! 
 An heir unknown shall reap the fruit that I in seed 
 
 did sow. 
 But whereunto the Lord his nature shall incline 
 Who can foreknow, into whose hands I must my 
 
 goods resign ? 
 But, Lord, how pleasant sweet then seem'd the 
 
 idle life, 
 That never charged was with care, nor burthened 
 
 with strife. 
 And vile the greedy trade of them that toil so sore, 
 To leave to such their travails fruit that never 
 
 sweat therefore. 
 What is that pleasant gain ? what is that sweet re- 
 lief, 
 That should delay the bitter taste that we feel of 
 
 our grief? 
 The gladsome days we pass to search a simple gain ; 
 The quiet nights, with broken sleeps, to feed a 
 
 restless brain. 
 What hope is left us then ? What comfort doth 
 
 remain 
 Our quiet hearts for to rejoice with the fruit of our 
 
 pain? 
 If that be true, who may himself so happy call 
 As I whose free and sumptuous spence doth shine 
 
 beyond them all ? 
 

 EARL OF SUBBEF'S POEM?. 87 
 
 Surely it is a gift and favour of the Lord. 
 
 Liberally to spend our goods, the ground of all 
 discord. 
 
 And wretched hearts have they that let their trea- 
 sures mould, 
 
 And carry the rod that scourgeth them that glory 
 in their gold. 
 
 But I do know, by proof, whose riches bear such 
 bruit. 
 
 What stable wealth may stand in waste, or heaping 
 of such fruit. 
 
 Chapter III, 
 
 Sj|J£§| IKE to the steerless boat that swerves with 
 
 every wind. 
 fjjjlllgl The slipper top of worldly wealth, by cruel 
 
 proof I find. 
 Scarce hath the seed, whereof that nature form- 
 
 eth man, 
 Received life, when death him yields to earth 
 
 where he began ! 
 The grafted plants with pain, whereof we hoped 
 
 fruit. 
 To root them up. with blossoms spread, then is 
 
 our chief pursuit. 
 That erst we reared up. we undermine again ; 
 And shred the sprays whose growth sometime we 
 
 laboured with pain. 
 Each froward threat 'ning chere of fortune makes us 
 plain ; 
 
88 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 And every pleasant show revives our woful hearts 
 
 again. 
 Ancient walls to rase is our unstable guise ; 
 And of their weather-beaten stones, to build some 
 
 new device. 
 New fancies daily spring, which vade,* returning 
 
 mo'; 
 And now we practise to obtain that straight we 
 
 must forego. 
 Some time we seek to spare that afterward we 
 
 waste ; 
 And that we travail'd sore to knit, for to unloose 
 
 as fast. 
 In sober silence now our quiet lips we close ; 
 And with unbridled tongues forthwith our secret 
 
 hearts disclose. 
 Such as in folded arms we did embrace, we hate ; 
 Whom straight we reconcile again, and banish all 
 
 debate. 
 My seed, with labour sown, such fruit produceth 
 
 me, 
 To waste my life in contraries that never shall agree. 
 From God these heavy cares are sent for our un- 
 rests ; 
 And with such burdens for our wealth hefraughteth 
 
 full our breasts. 
 All that the Lord hath wrought, hath beauty and 
 
 good grace; 
 And to each thing assigned is the proper time and 
 
 place. 
 And granted eke to man of all the world's estate, 
 
 1 Pass away. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 89 
 
 And of each thing wrought in the same, to argue 
 and debate. 
 
 Which art, though it approach the heavenly know- 
 ledge most, 
 
 To search the natural ground of things, — yet all is 
 labour lost. 
 
 But then the wandering eyes that long for surety 
 sought, 
 
 Found that by pain no certain wealth might in 
 this world be bought. 
 
 Who liveth in delight and seeks no greedy thrift, 
 
 But freely spends his goods, may think it is a 
 secret gift. 
 
 Fulfilled shall it be what so the Lord intend ; 
 
 Which no device of man's wit may advance, nor 
 yet defend ; 
 
 Who made all things of nought, that Adam's chil- 
 dren might 
 
 Learn how to dread the Lord, that wrought such 
 wonders in their sight. 
 
 The grisly wonders past, which time wears out of 
 mind, 
 
 To be renewed in our days the Lord hath so as- 
 sign'd. 
 
 Lo ! thus his careful scourge doth steal on us tin- 
 ware ; 
 
 W T hich, when the flesh hath clean forgot, he doth 
 again repair. 
 
 When I in this vain search had wander d sore my 
 wit, 
 
 I saw a royal throne eke where as Justice should 
 have sit. 
 
 Instead of whom I saw. with fierce and cruel mood, 
 
90 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 Where wrong was set ; that bloody beast that 
 
 drank the guiltless blood : 
 Then thought I thus : 6 One day the Lord shall sit 
 
 in doom, 
 To view his flock, and choose the pure ; the spotted 
 
 have no room/ 
 Yet be such scourges sent, that each aggrieved 
 
 mind 
 Like the brute beasts that swell in rage and fury 
 
 by their kind, 
 His error may confess when he hath wrestled long ; 
 And then with patience may him arm : the sure 
 
 defence of wrong. 
 For death, that of the beast the carrion doth de- 
 vour, 
 Unto the noble kind of man presents the fatal hour. 
 The perfect form that God hath given to either 
 
 man, 
 Or other beast, dissolve it shall to earth, where it 
 
 began. 
 And who can tell if that the soul of man ascend ; 
 Or with the body if it die, and to the ground de- 
 scend. 
 Wherefore each greedy heart that riches seeks to 
 
 gain, 
 Gather may he that savoury fruit that springeth of 
 
 his pain. 
 A mean convenient wealth I mean to take in worth ; 
 And with a hand of largess eke in measure pour it 
 
 forth. 
 For treasure spent in life the body doth sustain ; 
 The heir shall waste the hoarded gold, amassed 
 
 with much pain. 
 
earl of suerey's poems. 91 
 
 Nor may foresight of man such order give in life, 
 For to foreknow who shall rejoice 1 their gotten 
 good with strife. 
 
 Chaptee IV. 
 
 'HEN I bethought me well, under the rest- 
 less Sun 
 By folk of power what cruel works un- 
 chastised were done ; 
 I saw where stood a herd by power of such opprest, 
 Out of whose eyes ran floods of tears, that bayned 2 
 
 all their breast ; 
 Devoid of comfort clean, in terror and distress ; 
 In whose defence none would arise such rigour to 
 
 repress. 
 Then thought I thus : [ Lord ! the dead, whose 
 
 fatal hour 
 Is clean run out, more happy are ; whom that the 
 
 worms devour : 
 And happiest is the seed that never did conceive ; 
 That never felt the wailful wrongs that mortal folk 
 
 receive.' 
 And then I saw that wealth, and every honest gain 
 By travail won, and sweat of brows, gan grow into 
 
 disdain, 
 Through sloth of careless folk, whom ease so fat 
 
 doth feed ; 
 Whose idle hands do nought but waste the fruit of 
 
 other's seed. 
 
 1 Enjoy. 2 Bathed. 
 
92 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 Which to themselves persuade — that little got with 
 ease 
 
 More thankful is, than kingdoms won by travail 
 and disease. 
 
 Another sort I saw without both* friend or kin, 
 
 Whose greedy ways yet never sought a faithful 
 friend to win. 
 
 Whose wretched corpse no toil yet ever weary could; 
 
 Nor glutted ever were their eyes with heaps of 
 shining gold. 
 
 But, if it might appear to their abused eyen, 
 
 To whose avail they travail so, and for whose sake 
 they pine ; 
 
 Then should they see what cause they have for to 
 repent 
 
 The fruitless pains and eke the time that they in 
 vain have spent. 
 
 Then gan I thus resolve — c More pleasant is the life 
 
 Of faithful friends that spend their goods in com- 
 mon, without strife.' 
 
 For as the tender friend appeaseth every grief, 
 
 So, if he fall that lives alone, who shall be his 
 relief? 
 
 The friendly feeres 1 lie warm in arms embraced 
 fast ; 
 
 Who sleeps alone, at every turn doth feel the 
 winter blast : 
 
 What can he do but yield, that must resist alone ? 
 
 If there be twain, one may defend the t'other over- 
 thrown. 
 
 The single twined cords may no such stress endure 
 
 1 Companions. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 93 
 
 As cables braided threefold may, together wreathed 
 sure. 
 
 In better far estate stand children, poor and wise, 
 
 Than aged kings, wedded to will, that work with- 
 out advice. 
 
 In prison have I seen, or this, a woful wight 
 
 That never knew what freedom meant, nor tasted 
 of delight ; 
 
 With such unhoped hap in most despair hath met, 
 
 Within the hands that erst wore gyves 1 to have a 
 sceptre set. 
 
 And by conjures 2 the seed of kings is thrust from 
 state, 
 
 Whereon a grieved people work ofttimes their hid- 
 den hate. 
 
 Other, without respect, I saw a friend or foe 
 
 W T ith feet worn bare in tracing such, 3 whereas the 
 honours grew. 
 
 And at death of a prince great routs revived strange, 
 
 Which fain their old yoke to discharge, rejoiced in 
 the change. 
 
 But when I thought, to these as heavy even or 
 more 
 
 Shall be the burden of his reign, as his that went 
 before ; 
 
 And that a train like great upon the dead attend, 4 
 
 I gan conclude, each greedy gain hath its uncer- 
 tain end. 
 
 In humble spirit is set the temple of the Lord ; 
 
 Where if thou enter, look thy mouth and conscience 
 may accord ! 
 
 1 Fetters. 2 Conspiracies. 
 
 3 Or, paths. 4 Depend, MS. 
 
94 KARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 Whose Church is built of love, and deckt with hot 
 
 desire, 
 And simple faith ; the yolden ghost 1 his mercy doth 
 
 require. 
 Where perfectly for aye he in his word doth rest ; 
 With gentle ear to hear thy suit, and grant thee 
 
 thy request. 
 In boast of outward works he taketh no delight, 
 Nor waste of words ; such sacrifice unsavoureth in 
 
 his sight. 
 
 Chapter V. 
 
 'HEN that repentant tears hath cleansed 
 clear from ill 
 The charged breast; and grace hath 
 wrought therein amending will ; 
 
 Withhold demands then may his mercy well assail 
 
 The speech man saith, without the which request 
 may none prevail. 
 
 More shall thy penitent sighs his endless mercy 
 please, 
 
 Than their importune suits, which dream that words 
 God's wrath appease. 
 
 For heart, contrite of fault, is gladsome recom- 
 pense ; 
 
 And prayer, fruit of Faith, whereby God doth with 
 sin dispense. 
 
 As fearful broken sleeps spring from a restless head, 
 
 1 That is, the spirit yielded up to his will. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 95 
 
 By chattering of unholy lips is fruitless prayer bred. 
 In waste of wind, I rede/ vow nought unto the Lord, 
 Whereto thy heart to bind thy will, freely doth not 
 
 accord ; 
 For humble vows MfuTd, by grace right sweetly 
 
 smoke : 
 But bold behests, broken by lusts, the wrath of 
 
 God provoke. 
 Yet bet 2 with humble heart thy frailty to confess, 
 Than to boast of such perfectness, whose works 
 
 such fraud express. 
 With feigned words and oaths contract with God 
 
 no guile ; 
 Such craft returns to thine own harm, and doth 
 
 thyself defile. 
 And though the mist of sin persuade such error 
 
 light, 
 Thereby yet are thy outward works all dainpned 3 
 
 in his sight. 
 As sundry broken dreams us diversly abuse, 
 So are his errors manifold that many words doth 
 
 use. 
 With humble secret plaint, few words of hot effect, 
 Honour thy Lord ; allowance vain of void desert 
 
 neglect. 
 Though wrong at times the right, and wealth eke 
 
 need oppress, 
 Think not the hand of justice slow to follow the 
 
 redress. 
 
 For such unrighteous folk as rule withouten dread, 
 
 By some abuse or secret lust he suffereth to be led. 
 
 The chief bliss that in earth to living man is lent, 
 
 1 I advise. 2 Better. 3 Condemned. 
 
96 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 Is moderate wealth to nourish life, if he can be 
 
 content. 
 He that hath but one field, and greedily seeketh 
 
 nought, 
 To fence the tiller's hand from need, is king within 
 
 his thought. 
 But such as of their gold their only idol make, 
 No treasure may the raven of their hungry hands 
 
 aslake. 
 For he that gapes for good, and hoardeth all his gain, 
 Travails in vain to hide the sweet that should re- 
 lieve his pain. 
 Where is great wealth, there should be many a 
 
 needy wight 
 To spend the same ; and that should be the rich 
 
 man's chief delight. 
 The sweet and quiet sleeps that wearied limbs op- 
 press, 
 Beguile the night in diet thin, not feasts of great 
 
 excess : 
 But waker 1 lie the rich; whose lively heat with rest 
 Their charged bulks 2 with change of meats cannot 
 
 so soon digest. 
 Another righteous doom I saw of greedy gain ; 
 With busy cares such treasures oft preserved to 
 
 their bane : 
 The plenteous houses sackt ; the owners end with 
 
 shame 
 Their sparkled goods ; their needy heirs, that should 
 
 enjoy the same, 
 From wealth despoiled bare, from whence thjy 
 
 came they went ; 
 
 1 Wakeful. 2 Bodies. 
 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 97 
 
 Clad in the clothes of poverty, as Nature first them 
 
 sent. 
 Naked as from the womb we came, if we depart, 
 With toil to seek that we must leave, what boot 
 
 to vex the heart ? 
 What life lead testy men then, that consume their 
 
 days 
 In inward frets, untemperd hates, at strife with 
 
 some always. 
 Then gan I praise all those, in such a world of 
 
 strife, 
 As take the profit of their goods, that may be had 
 
 in life. 
 For sure the liberal hand that hath no heart to spare 
 This fading wealth, but pours it forth, it is a virtue 
 
 rare : 
 That makes wealth slave to need, and gold become 
 
 his thrall, 
 Clings 1 not his guts with niggish 2 fare, to heap 
 
 his chest withal ; 
 But feeds the lusts of kind with costly meats and 
 
 wine ; 
 And slacks the hunger and the thirst of needy folk 
 
 that pine. 
 No glutton's feast I mean in waste of spence 3 to 
 
 strive ; 
 But temperate meals the dulled spirits with joy 
 
 thus to revive. 
 No care may pierce where mirth hath temper'd 
 
 such a breast : 
 The bitter gall, season'd with sweet, such wisdom 
 
 may digest. 
 
 1 Starve. 2 Niggard. 3 Expense. 
 
 H 
 
98 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 CERTAIN PSALMS. 
 The Prologue. 
 
 ^HERE rechless 1 youth in an unquiet 
 breast, 
 
 Set on by wrath, revenge, and cruelty, 
 After long war patience had oppress'd ; 
 
 And justice, wrought by princely equity ; 
 
 My Denny 2 then, mine error deep imprest, 
 
 Began to work despair of liberty ; 
 
 Had not David, the perfect warrior taught, 
 
 That of my fault thus pardon should be sought. 
 
 Domine Deus salutis. Psalm lxxxyiii. 
 
 P^||^S LORD ! upon whose will dependeth my 
 
 ^M^i welfare, 
 
 £=H^ ; To call upon thy holy name, since day nor 
 
 night I spare, 
 Grant that the just request of this repentant mind 
 So pierce thine ears, that in thy sight some favour 
 it may find. 
 
 1 Careless. 
 
 2 In the old edition the name does not occur, and the 
 word ' conscience' is substituted. Dr. Nott suggests that 
 this person was u Sir Walter Denny, an intimate friend of 
 the Howard family, and afterwards one of the executors of 
 Henry the Eighth's will." 
 
EARL OE SURREY'S POEMS. 99 
 
 My soul is franghted full with grief of follies past ; 
 My restless body doth consume, and death ap- 
 
 proacheth fast : 
 Like them, whose fatal thread thy hand hath cut 
 
 in twain ; 
 Of whom there is no further bruit, which in their 
 
 graves remain. 
 Lord ! thou hast me cast headlong, to please my 
 
 foe, 
 Into a pit all bottomless, where, as I plain 1 my 
 
 woe, 
 The. burden of thy wrath it doth me sore oppress ; 
 And sundry storms thou hast me sent of terror and 
 
 distress. 
 The faithful friends are fled and banished from my 
 
 sight : 
 And such as I have held full dear, have set my 
 
 friendship light. 
 My durance doth persuade of freedom such despair, 
 That by the tears that bain my breast, mine eye- 
 sight cloth appair. 2 
 Yet do I never cease thine aid for to desire, 
 With humble heart and stretched hands, for to 
 
 appease thine ire. 
 Wherefore dost thou forbear in the defence of thine, 
 To shew such tokens of thy power in sight of 
 
 Adam's line ; 
 Whereby each feeble heart with faith might so be 
 
 fed, 
 That in the mouth of thy elect thy mercies might 
 
 be spread. 
 
 1 Mourn, 2 Fail, impair. 
 
100 EAPvL OF SUItREY'S POEMS. 
 
 The flesh that feedeth worms cannot thy love de- 
 clare ! 
 Nor such set forth thy praise as dwell in the land 
 
 of despair. 
 In blind indured hearts light of thy lively name 
 Cannot appear, nor cannot judge the brightness of 
 
 the same. 
 Nor blazed may thy name be by the mouths of 
 
 those 
 Whom death hath shut in silence, so as they may 
 
 not disclose. 
 The lively voice of them that in thy word delight, 
 Must be the trump that must resound the glory of 
 
 thy might. 
 Wherefore I shall not cease, in chief of my distress 
 To call on Thee, till that the sleep my wearied 
 
 limbs oppress. 
 And in the morning eke, when that the sleep is 
 
 fled, 
 With floods of salt repentant tears to wash my 
 
 restless bed. 
 Within this careful mind, burden'd with care and 
 
 grief, 
 Why dost thou not appear, O Lord ! that shouldst 
 
 be his relief? 
 My wretched state behold, whom death shall straight 
 
 assail ; 
 Of one, from youth afflicted still, that never did 
 
 but wail. 
 The dread, lo ! of thine ire hath trod me under 
 
 feet: 
 The scourges of thine angry hand hath made death 
 
 seem full sweet. 
 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 101 
 
 Like as the roaring waves the sunken ship sur- 
 round, 
 
 Great heaps of care did swallow me, and I no 
 succour found : 
 
 For they whom no mischance could from my love 
 divide, 
 
 Are forced, for my greater grief, from me their 
 face to hide. 
 
 The Prologue. 
 
 'HE sudden storms that heave me to and 
 
 \m fro, 
 
 b^? Had well near pierced Faith, my guiding 
 sail ; 
 For I, that on the noble voyage go 
 To succour truth, and falsehood to assail, 
 Constrained am to bear my sails full low ; 
 And never could attain some pleasant gale. 
 For unto such the prosperous winds do blow 
 As run from port to port to seek avail. 1 
 This bred despair ; whereof such doubts did grow 
 That I gan faint, and all my courage fail. 
 But now, my Blage, 2 mine error well I see ; 
 Such goodly light king David giveth me. 
 
 1 Advantage. 
 
 2 " Blame " in the old edition. George Blage, a friend of 
 Surrey's, who accompanied him to Landrecy. He was of a 
 good Kentish family, was educated at Cambridge, and ad- 
 dressed a poem to Lord Wriothesley. 
 
102 earl of suerey's poems, 
 
 Qtiam bonus Israel Dens. Psalm lxxiii. 
 
 
 j~c|HOUGH, Lord, to Israel thy graces plen- 
 \0K teous be ; 
 
 fe.^s#f I mean to such, with pure intent as fix 
 
 their trust in Thee, 
 Yet whiles the Faith did faint that should have 
 
 been my guide, 
 Like them that walk in slipper paths, my feet be- 
 gan to slide ; 
 Whiles I did grudge at those that glory in their 
 
 gold, 
 Whose loathsome pride enjoy eth wealth in quiet, 
 
 as they would. 
 To see by course of years what nature doth appair, 1 
 The palaces of princely form succeed from heir to 
 
 heir. 
 From all such travails free, as 'long to Adam's 
 
 seed, 
 Neither withdrawn from wicked works by danger, 
 
 nor by dread. 
 Whereof their scornful pride, and gloried with their 
 
 eyes ; 
 As garments clothe the naked man, thus are they 
 
 clad in vice. 
 Thus, as they wish, succeeds the mischief that they 
 
 mean ; 
 Whose glutted cheeks sloth feeds so fat, as scant 
 
 their eyes be seen. 2 
 
 1 Impair, or bring to decay. 
 
 2 This seems aimed at King Henrv VIII. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 103 
 
 Unto whose cruel power most men for dread are 
 
 fain 
 To bend or bow; with lofty looks, whiles they 
 
 vaunt in their reign ; 
 And in their bloody hands, whose cruelty that 
 
 frame 
 The wailful works that scourge the poor, without 
 
 regard of blame. 
 To tempt the living God they think it no offence ; 
 And pierce the simple with their tongues that can 
 
 make no defence. 
 Such proofs before the just, to cause the hearts to 
 
 waver, 
 Be set like cups mingled with gall, of bitter taste 
 
 and savour. 
 Then say thy foes in scorn, that taste no other food, 
 But suck the flesh of thy Elect, and bathe them in 
 
 their blood ; 
 c Should we believe the Lord doth know, and suf- 
 fer this ? 
 Fooled be he with fables vain that so abused is.' 
 In terror of the just, that reigns iniquity, 
 Armed with power, laden with gold, and dread for 
 
 cruelty. 
 Then vain the war might seem, that I by faith 
 
 maintain 
 Against the flesh, whose false effects my pure 
 
 heart would disdain. 
 For I am scourged still, that no offence have done, 
 By wrathes children ; and from my birth my chas- 
 tising begun. 
 When I beheld their pride, and slackness of thy 
 
 hand, 
 
104 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 I gan bewail the'woful state wherein thy chosen 
 
 stand. 
 And when I sought whereof thy sufferance, Lord, 
 
 should grow, 
 I found no wit could pierce so far, thy holy dooms 
 
 to know : 
 And that no mysteries, nor doubt could be distrust, 
 Till I come to the holy place, the mansion of the 
 
 just ; 
 Where I shall see what end thy justice shall pre- 
 pare, 
 For such as build on worldly wealth, and dye their 
 
 colours fair. 
 Oh ! how their ground is false ! and all their 
 
 building vain ! 
 And they shall fall ; their power shall fail that did 
 
 their pride maintain. 
 As charged hearts with care, that dream some plea- 
 sant turn. 
 After their sleep find their abuse, and to their 
 
 plaint return ; 
 So shall their glory fade ; thy sword of vengeance 
 
 shall 
 Unto their drunken eyes in blood disclose their 
 
 errors all. 
 And when their golden fleece is from their back 
 
 y-shorn ; 
 The spots that underneath were hid, thy chosen 
 
 sheep shall scorn : 
 And till that happy day, my heart shall swell in 
 
 care, 
 My eyes yield tears, my years consume between 
 
 hope and despair. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 105 
 
 Lo ! how my spirits are dull, and all thy judgments 
 dark, 
 
 No mortal head may scale so high, but wonder at 
 thy work. 
 
 Alas ! how oft my foes have framed my decay ; 
 
 But when I stood in dread to drench, 1 thy hands 
 still did me stay. 
 
 And in each vo} T age that I took to conquer sin, 
 
 Thou wert my guide, and gave me grace, to com- 
 fort me therein. 
 
 And when my withered skin unto my bones did 
 cleave, 
 
 And flesh did waste, thy grace did then my simple 
 spirits relieve. 
 
 In other succour then, Lord ! why should I 
 trust ; 
 
 But only thine, whom I have found in thy behight c 
 so just. 
 
 And such for dread, or gain as shall thy name re- 
 fuse, 
 
 Shall perish with their golden gods that did their 
 hearts seduce. 
 
 While 3 I, that in thy word have set my trust and 
 
 . J ' 0y ' 
 The high reward that 'longs thereto shall quietly 
 
 enjoy. 
 And my unworthy lips, inspired with thy grace, 
 Shall thus forespeak thy secret works, in sight of 
 
 Adam's race. 
 
 1 To be overwhelmed. - Promise. 3 MS. Where. 
 
106 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 Exaudi, Dens, orationem meam. Psalm lv. 
 
 IYE ear to my suit, Lord ! fromward 1 hide 
 not thy face : 
 Behold ! hearken/in grief, lamenting how 
 I pray : 
 My foes that bray so loud, and eke threpe on 2 so 
 
 fast, 
 Buckled to do me scath, 3 so is their malice bent. 
 Care pierceth my entrails, and travaileth my spirit; 
 The grisly fear of death environeth my breast : 
 A trembling cold of dread overwhelmeth my heart. 
 ' Oh ! ' think I, ' had I wings like to the simple 
 
 dove, 
 This peril might I fly ; and seek some place of rest 
 In wilder woods, where I might dwell far from 
 
 these cares.' 
 What speedy way of wing my plaints should they 
 
 lay on, 
 To 'scape the stormy blast that threaten'd is to me? 
 Eein those unbridled tongues ! break that conjured 
 
 league ! 
 For I decipher 'd have amid our town the strife. 
 Guile and wrong keep the walls ; they ward both 
 
 day and night : 
 And mischief join'd with care doth keep the market- 
 stead : 
 Whilst wickedness with crafts in heaps swarm 
 
 through the street. 
 
 1 Away from. 2 To accuse with clamour. 3 Injury. 
 
earl of suerey's poems. 10? 
 
 Ne my declared foe wrought me all this reproach. 
 By harm so looked for, it weigheth half the less. 
 For though mine enemies hap had been for to 
 
 prevail, 
 I could have hid my face from venom of his eye. 
 It was a friendly foe, by shadow of good will ; 
 Mine old fere, 1 and dear friend, my guide that 
 
 trapped me ; 
 Where I was wont to fetch the cure of all my care, 
 And in his bosom hide my secret zeal to God. 
 With such sudden surprise, quick may him hell 
 
 devour ; 
 Whilst I invoke the Lord, whose power shall me 
 
 defend, 
 My prayer shall not cease, from that the sun des- 
 cends, 
 Till he his alt ure 2 win, and hide them in the sea, 
 With words of hot effect, 3 that moveth from heart 
 
 contrite, 
 Such humble suit, Lord, cloth pierce thy patient 
 
 ear. 
 It was the Lord that brake the bloody compacts of 
 
 those 
 That pricked on with ire, to slaughter me and mine. 
 The everlasting God, whose kingdom hath no end, 
 Whom by no tale to dread he could divert from sin, 
 The conscience unquiet he strikes with heavy hand, 
 And proves their force in faith, whom he sware 
 
 to defend. 
 Butter falls not so soft as doth his patience long, 
 And overpasseth fine oil running not half so 
 
 smooth. 
 1 Companion. 2 Altitude. 3 Affection; passion. 
 
108 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 But when his sufferance finds that bridled wrath 
 
 provokes, 
 His threatened wrath he whets more sharp than 
 
 tool can file. 
 Friar ! whose harm and tongue presents the wicked 
 
 sort, 
 Of those false wolves, with coats which do their 
 
 ravin hide ; 
 That swear to me by heaven, the footstool of the 
 
 Lord, 
 Though force had hurt my fame, they did not touch 
 
 my life. 
 Such patching care I loath, as feeds the wealth 
 
 with lies ; 
 But in the other Psalm of David find I ease. 1 
 J acta cur am tuam super Dominium ; et ipse te cnutriet, 
 
 Domine, Dominus noster. Psalm viii. 
 
 [HY name, Lord, how great, is found be- 
 fore our sight ! 
 It fills the earth, and spreads the air : the 
 great works of thy might ! 
 For even unto the heavens thy power hath given a 
 
 place, 
 And closed it above their heads ; a mighty, large, 
 compass. 
 
 1 This may refer to some other Psalm which was to have 
 followed. 
 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 109 
 
 Thy praise what cloud can hide, but it will shine 
 
 again : 
 Since young and tender sucking babes have power 
 
 to shew it plain. 
 r Which in despight of those that would thy glory 
 
 hide, 
 [Thou] hast put into such infants' mouths for to 
 
 confound their pride. 
 Wherefore I shall behold thy figur'd heaven so high, 
 Which shews such prints of divers forms within the 
 
 cloudy sky : 
 As hills, and shapes of men ; eke beasts of sundry 
 
 kind, 
 Monstrous to our outward sight, and fancies of our 
 
 mind. 
 And eke the wanish moon, which sheens by night 
 
 also ; 
 And each one of the wandering stars, which after 
 
 her do go. 
 And how these keep their course ; and which are 
 
 those that stands ; 
 Because they be thy wondrous works, and labours 
 
 of thy hands. 
 But yet among all these I ask, ( W r hat thing is man ?' 
 Whose turn to serve in his poor need this work 
 
 Thou first began. 
 Or what is Adam's son that bears his father's mark ? 
 For whose delight and comfort eke Thou hast 
 
 wrought all this work. 
 I see thou mind'st him much, that dost reward 
 
 him so : 
 Being but earth, to rule the earth, whereon him- 
 self doth go. 
 
110 EARL OF 
 
 From angel's substance eke Thou mad'st him differ 
 
 small ; 
 Save one doth change his life awhile ; the other 
 
 not at all. 
 The sun and moon also Thou mad'st to give him 
 
 light - 
 And each one of the wandering stars to twinkle 
 
 sparkles bright. 
 The air to give him breath ; the water for his 
 
 health ; 
 The earth to bring forth grain and fruit, for to in- 
 crease his wealth. 
 And many metals too, for pleasure of the eye ; 
 Which in the hollow sounded ground in privy veins 
 
 do lie. 
 The sheep to give his wool, to wrap his body in ; 
 And for such other needful things, the ox to spare 
 
 his skin. 
 The horse even at his will to bear him to and fro ; 
 And as him list each other beast to serve his turn also. 
 The fishes of the sea likewise to feed him oft ; 
 And eke the birds, whose feathers serve to make 
 
 his sides lie soft. 
 On whose head thou hast set a crown of glory too, 
 To whom also thou didst appoint, that honour 
 
 should be do. 
 And thus thou mad'st him lord of all this work of 
 
 thine ; 
 Of man that goes, of beast that creeps, whose looks 
 
 doth down decline ; 
 Of fish that swim below, of fowls that fly on high, 
 Of sea that finds the air his rain, and of the land 
 
 so dry. 
 
Ill 
 
 And underneath his feet, Thou hast set all this 
 
 same ; 
 To make him know, and plain confess, that mar- 
 vellous is thy name. 
 And, Lord, which art our Lord, how marvellous it 
 
 is found 
 The heavens do shew, the earth doth tell, and eke 
 
 the world so round. 
 Glory, therefore, be given to Thee first, which art 
 
 Three ; 
 And yet but One Almighty God, in substance and 
 
 degree : 
 As first it was when Thou the dark confused heap, 
 Clotted in one, didst part in four ; which elements 
 
 we clepe : x 
 And as the same is now, even here within our time ; 
 So- ever shall hereafter be, when we be filth and 
 
 slime. 
 
 1 We call. » MS. And. 
 
112 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 THE SECOND BOOK OF VIRGIL'S ^ENEID. 1 
 
 ^HEY whisted 2 all, with fixed face attent, 
 When prince ./Eneas from the royal seat 
 Thus gan to speak. O Queen ! it is 
 thy will 
 
 I should renew a woe cannot be told : 
 How that the Greeks did spoil, and overthrow 
 The Phrygian wealth, and wailful realm of Troy : 
 Those ruthful things that I myself beheld ; 
 And whereof no small part fell to my share. 
 Which to express, who could refrain from tears ? 
 What Myrmidon ? or yet what Dolopes ? 
 What stern Ulysses' waged soldier ? 
 And lo ! moist night now from the welkin 3 falls ; 
 And stars declining counsel us to rest. 
 But since so great is thy delight to hear 
 Of our mishaps, and Troye's last decay ; 
 Though to record the same my mind abhors, 
 And plaint eschews, yet thus will I begin. 
 
 The Greeks' chieftains all irked 4 with the war 
 Wherein they wasted had so many years, 
 
 1 The first edition is entitled " Certain Bokes of Virgiles 
 Aenseis turned into English meter by the right honorable 
 lorde, Henry Earle of Surrey. Apud Ricardum Tottel. Cum 
 priuilegio ad imprimendum solum, 1557." At the end, 
 *' Imprinted at London in flete strete within Temple barre, 
 at the sygne of the hand and starre, by Richard Tottell the 
 xxi. day of June, An. 1557." 12mo. 
 
 2 Were silent. 3 The skv. 4 Wearied. 
 
earl or suhrey's poems. 113 
 
 And oft repuls'd by fatal destiny, 
 
 A huge horse made, high raised like a hill, 
 
 By the divine science of Minerva : 
 
 Of cloven fir 1 compacted were his ribs ; 
 
 For their return a feigned sacrifice : 
 
 The fame whereof so wander'd it at point. 
 
 In the dark bulk they clos'd bodies of men 
 
 Chosen by lot, and did ens tuff by stealth 
 
 The hollow womb with armed soldiers. 
 
 There stands in sight an isle, hight Tenedon, 
 Rich, and of fame, while Priam's kingdom stood; 
 Now but a bay, and road, unsure for ship. 
 Hither them secretly the Greeks withdrew, 
 Shrouding themselves under the desert shore. 
 And, weening 2 we they had been fled and gone, 
 And with that wind had fet the land of Greece, 
 Troy discharged her long continued dole. 
 The gates cast up, we issued out to play, 
 The Greekish camp desirous to behold, 
 The places void, and the forsaken coasts. 
 ' Here Pyrrhus' band ; there fierce Achilles pight ; 
 Here rode their ships ; there did their battles join/ 
 Astonnied some the scatheful gift beheld, 
 Behight by vow unto the chaste Minerve ; 
 All wond'ring at the hugeness of the horse. 
 
 And first of all Timcetes gan advise 
 Within the walls to lead and draw the same ; 
 And place it eke amid the palace court : 
 Whether of guile, or Troye's fate it would. 
 Capys, with some of judgment more discreet, 
 Will'd it to drown ; or underset with flame 
 
 1 Wood easily set on fire. 2 Supposing. 
 
 I 
 
114 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 The suspect present of the Greeks' deceit ; 
 Or bore and gage the hollow caves uncouth. 
 So diverse ran the giddy people's mind. 
 
 Lo ! foremost of a rout that folio w'd him, 
 Kindled Laocoon hasted from the tower, 
 Crying far off: ( wretched citizens ! 
 What so great kind of frenzy fretteth you ? 
 Deem ye the Greeks our enemies to be gone ? 
 Or any Greekish gifts can you suppose 
 Devoid of guile ? Is so Ulysses known ? 
 Either the Greeks are in this timber hid ; 
 Or this an engine is to annoy our walls, 
 To view our towers, and overwhelm our town. 
 Here lurks some craft. GoodTroyans! give no trust 
 Unto this horse ; for what so ever it be, 
 I dread the Greeks ; yea ! when they offer gifts.' 
 And with that word, with all his force a dart 
 He lanced then into that crooked womb ; 
 Which trembling stack, and shook within the side : 
 Wherewith the caves gan hollowly resound. 
 And, but for Fates, and for our blind forecast, 
 The Greeks' device and guile had he descried ; 
 Troy yet had stand, and Priam's towers so high. 
 
 Therewith behold, whereas the Phrygian herds 
 Brought to the king with clamour, all unknown 
 A young man, bound his hands behind his back ; 
 Who willingly had yielden prisoner, 
 To frame his guile, and open Troye's gates 
 Unto the Greeks ; with courage fully bent, 
 And mind djetermed either of the twain ; 
 To work his feat, or willing yield to death. 
 Near him, to gaze, the Trojan youth gan flock, 
 And strave who most might at the captive scorn. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 115 
 
 The Greeks' deceit behold, and by one proof 
 Imagine all the rest. 
 
 For in the press as he unarmed stood 
 "With troubled cheer, and Phrygian routs beset ; 
 ' Alas V quod he, ( what earth now, or what seas 
 May me receive ? Catiff, what rests me now? 
 For whom in Greece doth no abode remain. 
 The Trojans eke offended seek to wreak 
 Their heinous wrath, with shedding of my blood.' 
 
 With this regret our hearts from rancour moved. 
 The bruit appeas'd, we ask'd him of his birth, 
 What news he brought ; what hope made him to 
 yield. 
 
 Then he, all dread removed, thus began : 
 ' King ! I shall, what ever me betide, 
 Say but the truth : ne first will me deny 
 A Grecian born; for though- fortune hath made 
 Sinon a wretch, she cannot make him false. 
 If ever came unto your ears the name, 
 Nobled by fame, of the sage Palamede, 
 Whom trait'rously the Greeks condemn'd to die ; 
 Guiltless, by wrongful doom, for that he did 
 Dissuade the wars ; whose death they now lament ; 
 Underneath him my father, bare of wealth, 
 Into his band young, and near of his blood, 
 In my prime years unto the war me sent. 
 While that by fate his state in stay did stand, 
 And when his realm did flourish by advice, 
 Of glory, then, we bare some fame and bruit. 
 But since his death by false Ulysses' sleight, 
 (I speak of things to all men well beknown) 
 A dreary life in doleful plaint I led, 
 Repining at my guiltless friend's mischance. 
 
116 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 Ne could I, fool ! refrain my tongue from threats, 
 That if my chance were ever to return 
 Victor to Arge, to follow my revenge. 
 With such sharp words procured I great hate. 
 Here sprang my harm. Ulysses ever sith 
 With new found crimes began me to affray. 
 In common ears false rumours gan he sow : 
 Weapons of wreak his guilty mind gan seek. 
 
 Ne rested aye till he by Calchas mean 
 
 But whereunto these thankless tales in vain 
 Do I rehearse, and linger forth the time, 
 In like estate if all the Greeks ye price ? 
 It is enough ye here rid me at once. 
 Ulysses, Lord ! how he would this rejoice ! 
 Yea, and either Atride would bye 1 it dear.' 
 
 This kindled us more eager to inquire, 
 And to demand the cause ; without suspect 
 Of so great mischief thereby to ensue, 
 Or of Greeks' craft. He then with forged words 
 And quivering limbs, thus took his tale again. 
 
 ' Tha Greeks ofttimes intended their return 
 From Troye town, with long w r ars all ytired, 
 For to dislodge; which, would God ! they had done. 
 But oft the winter storms of raging seas, 
 And oft the boisterous winds did them to stay; 
 And chiefly, when of clinched ribs of fir 
 This horse was made, the storms roared in the air. 
 Then we in doubt to Phoebus' temple sent 
 Euripilus, to weet 2 the prophesy. 
 From whence he brought these woful news again. 
 With blood, Greeks ! and slaughter of a maid, 
 
 1 Abide, or suffer. - To learn. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 117 
 
 Ye peas'd the winds, when first ye came to Troy. 
 With blood likewise ye must seek your return : 
 A Greekish soul must oiler 'd be therefore.' 
 
 6 But when this sound had pierc'd the peoples' 
 ears, 
 With sudden fear astonied were their minds ; 
 The chilling cold did overrun their bones, 
 To whom that fate was shap'd, whom Phoebus 
 
 would.' 
 Ulysses then amid the press brings in 
 Calchas with noise, and will'd him to discuss 
 The Gods' intent. Then some gan deem to me 
 The cruel wreak of him that fram'd the craft; 
 Foreseeing secretly what would ensue. 
 In silence then, yshrowding him from sight, 
 But days twice five he whisted ; and refused 
 To death, by speech, to further any wight. 
 At last, as forced by false Ulysses' cry, 
 Of purpose he brake forth, assigning me 
 To the altar ; whereto they granted all : 
 And that, that erst each one dread to himself, 
 Returned all unto my wretched death. 
 And now at hand drew near the woful day. 
 All things prepar'd w T herewith to offer me ; 
 Salt, corn, fillets, my temples for to bind. 
 I scap'd the death, I grant ! and brake the bands, 
 And lurked in a marish all the night 
 Among the ooze, while they did set their sails ; 
 If it so be that they indeed so did. 
 Now rests no hope my native land to see, 
 My children dear, nor long desired sire ; 
 On whom, perchance, they shall wreak my escape : 
 Those harmless wights shall for my fault be slain. 
 
118 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 ' Then, by the gods, to whom all truth is known; 
 By faith unnTd, if any anywhere 
 With mortal folk remains ; I thee beseech, 
 king, thereby rue on my travail great : 
 Pity a wretch that guiltless suffereth wrong.' 
 
 Life to these tears with pardon eke, we grant. 
 And Priam first himself commands to loose 
 His gyves, his bands ; and friendly to him said : 
 i Whoso thou art, learn to forget the Greeks : 
 Henceforth be ours ; and answer me with truth : 
 Whereto was wrought the mass of this huge horse ? 
 Whose the devise ? and whereto should it tend ? 
 What holy vow ? or engine for the wars ?' 
 
 Then he, instruct with wiles and Greekish craft, 
 His loosed hands lift upward to the stars : 
 6 Ye everlasting lamps ! I testify, 
 Whose power divine may not be violate ; 
 Th' altar, and sword/ quoth he, ' that I have scap'd; 
 Ye sacred bands ! I wore as yielden host ; 
 Lawful be it for me to break mine oath 
 To Greeks ; lawful to hate their nation ; 
 Lawful be it to sparkle in the air 
 Their secrets all, whatso they keep in close : 
 For free am I from Greece and from their laws. 
 So be it, Troy, and saved by me from scathe, 
 Keep faith with me, and stand to thy behest ; 
 If I speak truth, and opening things of weight, 
 For grant of life requite thee large amends. 
 
 6 The Greeks' whole hope of undertaken war 
 In Pallas' help consisted evermore. 
 But sith the time that wicked Diomed, 
 Ulysses eke, that forger of all guile, 
 Adventur'd from the holy sacred fane 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 119 
 
 For to bereave Dame Pallas' fatal form, 
 And slew the watches of the ehiefest tower, 
 And then away the holy statue stole • 
 (That were so bold with hands embrued in blood, 
 The virgin Goddess veils for to defile) 
 Sith that, their hope gan fail, their hope to fall, 
 Their pow'r appair, their Goddess' grace withdraw ; 
 Which with no doubtful signs she did declare. 
 Scarce was the statue to our tents ybrought, 
 But she gan stare with sparkled eyes of flame ; 
 Along her limbs the salt sweat trickled down : 
 Yea thrice herself, a hideous thing to tell ! 
 In glances bright she glittered from the ground, 
 Holding in hand her targe and quivering spear. 
 Calchas by sea then bade us haste our flight : 
 Whose engines might not break the walls of Troy, 
 Unless at Greece they would renew their lots, 
 Restore the God that they by sea had brought 
 In warped keels. To Arge sith they be come, 
 They 'pease their Gods, and war afresh prepare. 
 And cross the seas unlooked for eftsoons 
 They will return. This order Calchas set. 
 
 'This figure made they for th' aggrieved God, 
 In Pallas' stead; to cleanse their heinous fault. 
 Which mass he willed to be reared high 
 Toward the skies, and ribbed all with oak, 
 So that your gates ne wall might it receive ; 
 Ne yet your people might defensed be 
 By the good zeal of old devotion. 
 For if your hands did Pallas' gift defile, 
 To Priam's realm great mischief should befall : 
 Which fate the Gods first on himself return. 
 But had your own hands brought it in your town, 
 
120 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 Asia should pass, and carry offer'd war 
 
 In Greece, e'en to the walls of Pelop's town ; 
 
 And we and ours that destiny endure.' 
 
 By such like wiles of Sinon, the forsworn, 
 His tale with us did purchase credit ; some, 
 Trapt by deceit ; some, forced by his tears ; 
 Whom neither Diomed, nor great Achille, 
 Nor ten years war, ne a thousand sail could daun fc. 
 
 Us caitiffs then a far more dreadful chance 
 Befel, that troubled our unarmed breasts. 
 Whiles Laocoon, that chosen was by lot 
 Neptunus' priest, did sacrifice a bull 
 Before the holy altar ; suddenly 
 From Tenedon, behold ! in circles great 
 By the calm seas come fleeting adders twain, 
 Which plied towards the shore (I loathe to tell) 
 With reared breast lift up above the seas : 
 Whose bloody crests aloft the waves were seen ; 
 The hinder part swam hidden in the flood. 
 Their grisly backs were linked manifold. 
 With sound of broken waves they gat the strand, 
 With glowing eyen, tainted w 7 ith blood and fire ; 
 Whose waltring tongues did lick their hissing 
 
 mouths. 
 We fled away ; our face the blood forsook : 
 But they with gait direct to Lacon ran. 
 .And first of all each serpent doth enwrap 
 The bodies small of his two tender sons ; 
 Whose wretched limbs they bit, and fed thereon. 
 Then raught they him, who had his weapon caught 
 To rescue them ; twice winding him about, 
 W r ith folded knots and circled tails, his waist : 
 Their scaled backs did compass twice his neck, 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 121 
 
 With reared heads aloft and stretched throats. 
 He with his hands strave to unloose the knots, 
 (Whose sacred fillets all-besprinkled were 
 With filth of gory blood, and venom rank) 
 And to the stars such dreadful shouts he sent, 
 Like to the sound the roaring bull forth lows, 
 Which from the halter wounded doth astart, 
 The swerving axe when he shakes from his neck. 
 The serpents twine, with hasted trail they glide 
 To Pallas' temple, and her towers of height : 
 Under the feet of which the Goddess stern, 
 Hidden behind her target's boss they crept. 
 New gripes of dread then pierce our trembling 
 
 breasts. 
 They said ; Lacon's deserts had dearly bought 
 His heinous deed ; that pierced had with steel 
 The sacred bulk, and thrown the wicked lance. 
 The people cried with sundry greeing shouts 
 To bring the horse to Pallas' temple blive ; l 
 In hope thereby the Goddess' wrath t' appease. 
 We cleft the walls and closures of the town ; 
 Whereto all help : and underset the feet 
 With sliding rolls, and bound his neck with ropes, 
 This fatal gin thus overclamb our walls, 
 Stuft with arm'd men ; about the which there ran 
 Children and maids, 2 that holy carols sang ; 
 And well were they whose hands might touch the 
 
 cords ! 
 With threat'ning cheer thus slided through our 
 
 town 
 The subtle tree, to Pallas' temple-ward. 
 
 1 Immediately. 3 That is, boys and girls. 
 
122 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 native land ! Ilion ! and of the gods 
 
 The mansion place ! warlike walls of Troy ! 
 
 Four times it stopt in th' entry of our gate ; 
 
 Four times the harness 1 clatter'd in the womb. 
 
 But we go on, unsound of memory, 
 
 And blinded eke by rage persever still : 
 
 This fatal monster in the fane we place. 
 
 Cassandra then, inspired with Phoebus sprite, 
 Her prophet's lips, yet never of us 'lieved, 
 Disclosed eft ; forespeaking things to come. 
 We wretches, lo ! that last day of our life 
 With boughs of fest 2 the town, and temples deck. 
 
 With this the sky gan whirl about the sphere : 
 The cloudy night gan thicken from the sea, 
 With mantles spread that cloaked earth and skies, 
 And eke the treason of the Greekish guile. 
 The watchmen lay dispers'd to take their rest ; 
 Whose wearied limbs sound sleep had then op- 
 
 press'd : 
 When, well in order comes the Grecian fleet 
 From Tenedon, toward the coasts well known, 
 By friendly silence of the quiet moon. 
 When the king's ship put forth his mark of fire, 
 Sinon, preserved by froward destiny, 
 Let forth the Greeks enclosed in the womb : 
 The closures eke of pine by stealth unpinn'd, 
 Whereby the Greeks restored were to air. 
 With joy down hasting from the hollow tree, 
 With cords let down did slide unto the ground 
 The great captains ; Sthenel, and Thessander, 
 And fierce Ulysses, Athamas, and Thoas j 
 Machaon first, and then king Menelae ; 
 
 1 Arms, armour. 2 Mirth. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 123 
 
 Opeas eke that did the engine forge. 
 By cords let fall fast 'gan they slide adown, 
 And straight invade the town yburied then 
 With wine and sleep. And first the watch is slain: 
 Then gates unfold to let their fellows in, 
 They join themselves with the conjured bands. 
 It was the time when granted from the Gods 
 The first sleep creeps most sweet in weary folk. 
 Lo ! in my dream before mine eyes, methought, 
 With rueful cheer I saw where Hector stood, 
 (Out of whose eyes there gushed streams of tears) 
 Drawn at a car as he of late had be, 
 Distained with bloody dust, whose feet were bowln 1 
 With the strait cords wherewith they haled him. 
 Ay me, what one ? that Hector how unlike, 
 Which erst returned clad with Achilles' spoils ; 
 Or when he threw into the Greekish ships 
 The Trojan flame ! so was his beard defiled, 
 His crisped locks all clust'red with his blood, 
 With all such wounds, as many he received 
 About the walls of that his native town. 
 Whom frankly thus, methought, I spake unto, 
 With bitter tears and doleful deadly voice : 
 c Troyan light ! only hope of thine ! 
 What lets so long thee staid ? or from what coasts, 
 Our most desired Hector, dost thou come ? 
 Whom, after slaughter of thy many friends, 
 And travail of the people, and thy town, 
 All- wearied lord ! how gladly we behold ! 
 What sorry chance hath stain'd thy lively face ? 
 Or why see I these wounds, alas ! so wide ?' 
 He answer'd nought, nor in my vain demands 
 1 Swollen. 
 
124 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 Abode ; but from the bottom of his breast 
 Sighing he said : ' Flee, flee, goddess' son ! 
 And save thee from the fury of this flame. 
 Our en'mies now are masters of the walls ; 
 And Troye town now falleth from the top. 
 Sufficeth that is done for Priam's reign. 
 If force might serve to succour Troye town, 
 This right hand well might have been her defence. 
 But Troye now commendeth to thy charge 
 Her holy r cliques, and her privy Gods. 
 Them join to thee, as fellows of thy fate. 
 Large walls rear thou for them : for so thou shalt, 
 After time spent in th' overwand'red flood.' 
 This said, he brought forth Vesta in his hands ; 
 Her fillets eke, and everlasting flame. 
 
 In this mean while with diverse plaint, the town 
 Throughout was spread ; and louder more and 
 
 more 
 The din resounded : with rattling of arms, 
 Although mine old Father Anchises' house 
 Removed stood, with shadow hid of trees, 
 I waked : therewith to the house-top I clamb, 
 And hark'ning stood I : like as when the flame 
 Lights in the corn, by drift of boisterous wind ; 
 Or the swift stream that driveth from the hill, 
 Roots up the fields, and presseth the ripe corn, 
 And ploughed ground, and overwhelms the grove : 
 The silly herdman all astonnied stands, 
 From the high rock while he doth hear the sound. 
 Then the Greeks' faith, then their deceit ap- 
 peared. 
 Of Deiphobus the palace large and great 
 Fell to the ground, all overspread with flash. 
 
EARL or surrey's POEMS. 125 
 
 His next neighbour Ucalegon afire : 
 The Sygean seas did glister all with flame. 
 Up sprang the cry of men, and trumpets blast. 
 Then, as distraught, I did my armour on ; 
 Ne could I tell yet whereto arms avail'd. 
 But with our feres to throng out from the press 
 Toward the tower, our hearts brent with desire. 
 Wrath prick' d us forth ; and unto us it seemed 
 A seemly thing to die arm'd in the field. 
 
 Wherewith Panthus scap'd from the Greekish 
 
 darts, 
 Otreus' son, Phoebus' priest, brought in hand 
 The sacred reliques, and the vanquish'd Gods : 
 And in his hand his little nephew led; 
 And thus, as phren'tic, to our gates he ran. 
 6 Panthus/ quod I, ' in what estate stand we ? 
 Or for refuge what fortress shall we take ?' 
 Scarce spake I this, when wailing thus he said : 
 ' The later day and fate of Troy is come ; 
 The which no plaint or prayer may avail. 
 Troyans we were ; and Troye was sometime, 
 And of great fame the Teucrian glory erst : 
 Fierce Jove to Greece hath now transposed all. 
 The Greeks are lords over this fired town. 
 Yonder huge horse, that stands amid our walls, 
 Sheds armed men : and Sinon, victor now, 
 With scorn of us doth set all things on flame. 
 And, rushed in at our unfolded gates, 
 Are thousands mo' than ever came from Greece. 
 And some with weapons watch the narrow streets ; 
 With bright swords drawn, to slaughter ready 
 
 bent. 
 And scarce the watches of the gate began 
 
126 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 Them to defend, and with blind fight resist.' 
 Through Pan thus' words, and lightning of the 
 Gods, 
 Amid the flame and arms ran I in press, 
 As fury guided me, and whereas I had heard 
 The cry greatest that made the air resound. 
 Into our band then fell old Iphytus, 
 And Bypheus, that met us by moonlight; 
 Dymas and Hypanis joining to our side, 
 With young Chorebus, Mygdonius' son ; 
 Which in those days at Troy did arrive, 
 (Burning with rage of dame Cassandra's love) 
 In Priam's aid, and rescue of his town. 
 Unhappy he ! that would no credit give 
 Unto his spouse's words of prophecy. 
 
 Whom when I saw, assembled in such wise, 
 So desperately the battle to desire ; 
 Then furthermore thus said I unto them : 
 ' ! ye young men, of courage stout in vain ! 
 For nought ye strive to save the burning town. 
 What cruel fortune hath betid, ye see ! 
 The Gods out of the temples all are fled, 
 Through whose might long this empire was main- 
 
 tain'd : 
 Their altars eke are left both waste and void. 
 But if your will be bent with me to prove 
 That uttermost, that now may us befall ; 
 Then let us die, and run amid our foes. 
 To vanquish'd folk, despair is only hope.' 
 
 With this the young men's courage did increase ; 
 And through the dark, like to the ravening wolves 
 Whom raging fury of their empty maws 
 Drives from their den, leaving with hungry throats 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 127 
 
 Their whelps behind; among our foes we ran. 
 Upon their swords, unto apparent death ; 
 Holding alway the chief street of the town, 
 Cover'd with the close shadows of the night. 
 
 Who can express the slaughter of that night ? 
 Or tell the number of the corpses slain ? 
 Or can in tears bewail them worthily? 
 The ancient famous city falleth down, 
 That many years did hold such seignory. 
 With senseless bodies every street is spread, 
 Each palace, and sacred porch of the gods. 
 Nor yet alone the Troyan blood was shed* 
 Manhood ofttimes into the vanquished breast 
 Eeturns, w r hereby some victors Greeks are slain. 
 Cruel complaints, and terror everywhere, 
 And plenty of grisly pictures of death. 
 
 And first with us Androgeus there met, 
 Fellowed l with a swarming rout of Greeks, 
 Deeming us, unware, of that fellowship, 
 With friendly words whom thus he eall'd unto : 
 6 Haste ye, my friends ! what sloth hath tarried you? 
 Your feres now sack and spoil the burning Troy : 
 From the tall ships where ye but newly come.' 
 
 When he had said, and heard no answer made 
 To him again, whereto he might give trust ; 
 Finding himself chanced amid his foes, 
 'Maz'd he withdrew his foot back with his word : 
 Like him, that wand'ring in the bushes thick, 
 Treads on the adder with his reckless foot, 
 Reared for wrath, swelling her speckled neck, 
 Dismay'd, gives back all suddenly for fear : 
 
 1 Perhaps "followed." 
 
128 
 
 Androgens so fear'd of that sight stept back, 
 And we gan rush amid the thickest rout ; 
 When, here and there we did them overthrow, 
 Stricken with dread, unskilful of the place. 
 Our first labour thus lucked well with us. 
 
 Chorebus then, encouraged by his chance, 
 Rejoicing said : < Hold forth the way of health, 
 My feres, that hap and manhood hath us taught. 
 Change we our shields ; the Greeks' arms do we on : 
 Craft, or manhood, with foes what recks it which? 
 The slain to us their armour they shall yield.' 
 And with that word Androgeus' crested helm 
 And the rich arms of his shield did he on ; 
 A Greekish sword he girded by his side : 
 Like gladly Dimas and Ripheus did : 
 The whole youth gan them clad in the new spoils. 
 Mingled with Greeks, for no good luck to us, 
 We went, and gave many onsets that night, 
 And many a Greek we sent to Pluto's court. 
 Other there fled and hasted to their ships, 
 And to their coasts of safeguard ran again. 
 And some there were for shameful cowardry, 
 Clamb up again unto the hugy horse, 
 And did them hide in his well knowen womb. 
 
 Ay me ! bootless it is for any wight 
 To hope on aught against will of the gods. 
 Lo ! where Cassandra, Priam's daughter dear, 
 From Pallas' church was drawn with sparkled tress, 
 Lifting in vain her flaming eyen to heaven ; 
 Her eyen, for fast her tender wrists were bound. 
 Which sight Chorebus raging could not bear, 
 Reckless of death, but thrust amid the throng ; 
 And after we through thickest of the swords. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 129 
 
 Here were we first y-batter'd with the darts 
 Of our own feres, from the high temples' top : 
 Whereby of us great slaughter did ensue, 
 Mistaken by our Greekish arms and crests. 
 Then flock'd the Greeks moved with wrath and ire, 
 Of the Virgin from them so rescued. 
 The fell Ajax ; and either Atrides, 
 And the great band cleped the Dolopes. 
 As wrestling winds, out of dispersed whirl 
 Befight themselves, the west with southern blast, 
 And gladsome east proud of Aurora's horse ; 
 The woods do whiz ; and foamy Nereus 
 Raging in fury, with three forked mace 
 From bottom's depth doth welter up the seas ; 
 So came the Greeks. And such, as by deceit 
 We sparkled erst in shadow of the night, 
 And drave about our town, appeared first : 
 Our feigned shields and weapons then they found, 
 And, by sound, our discording voice they knew. 
 We went to wreck with number overlaid. 
 And by the hand of Peneleus first 
 Chorebus fell before the altar dead 
 Of armed Pallas ; and Rhipheus eke, 
 The justest man among the Troians all, 
 And he that best observed equity. 
 But otherwise it pleased now the Gods. 
 There Hypanis, and Dymas, both were slain ; 
 Through pierced with the weapons of their feres. 
 Nor thee, Panthus, when thou wast overthrown, 
 Pity, nor zeal of good devotion, 
 Nor habit yet of Phoebus hid from scath. 
 
 Ye Troyan ashes ! and last flames of mine ! 
 I call in witness, that at your last fall 
 
 K 
 
130 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 I fled no stroke of any Greekish sword. 
 And if the fates would I had fallen in fight, 
 That with my hand I did deserve it well. 
 
 With this from thence I was recoiled back 
 With Iphytus and Pelias alone : 
 Iphytus weak, and feeble all for age ; 
 Pelias lamed by Ulysses' hand. 
 To Priam's palace cry did call us then. 
 Here was the fight right hideous to behold ; 
 As though there had no battle been but there, 
 Or slaughter made elsewhere throughout the town. 
 A fight of rage and fury there we saw. 
 The Greeks toward the palace rushed fast, 
 And cover'd with engines the gates beset, 
 And reared up ladders against the walls ; 
 Under the windows scaling by their steps, 
 Fenced with shields in their left hands, whereon 
 They did receive the darts; while their right hands 
 Griped for hold th' embattle of the wall. 
 The Troyans on the other part rend down 
 The turrets high, and eke the palace roof; 
 With such weapons they shope them to defend, 
 Seeing all lost, now at the point of death. 
 The gilt spars, and the beams then threw they 
 
 down; 
 Of old fathers the proud and royal works. 
 And with drawn swords some did beset the gates, 
 Which they did watch, and keep in routs full thick. 
 Our sprites restor'd to rescue the king's house, 
 To help them, and to give the vanquish'd strength. 
 
 A postern with a blind wicket there was, 
 A common trade to pass through Priam's house ; 
 On the back side whereof waste houses stood : 
 
earl of Surrey's poems. 131 
 
 Which way eft-sithes, 1 while that our kingdom 
 
 dured, 
 Th' infortunate Andromache alone 
 Kesorted to the parents of her make ; 
 With young Astyanax, his grandsire to see. 
 Here passed I up to the highest tower, 
 From whence the wretched Troyans did throw 
 
 down 
 Darts, spent in waste. Unto a turret then 
 We stept, the which stood in a place aloft, 
 The top whereof did reach well near the stars ; 
 Where we were wont all Troye to behold, 
 The Greekish navy, and their tents also. 
 With instruments of iron gan we pick, 
 To seek where we might find the joining shrunk 
 From that high seat; which we razed, and threw 
 
 down : 
 Which falling, gave forthwith a rushing sound, 
 And large in breadth on Greekish routs it light. 
 But soon another sort stept in their stead ; 
 No stone unthrown, nor yet no dart uncast. 
 
 Before the gate stood Pyrrhus in the porch 
 Rejoicing in his darts, with glittering arms ; 
 Like to th' adder with venemous herbes fed, 
 Whom cold winter all bolne, hid under ground ; 
 And shining bright, when she her slough had slung, 
 Her slipper back doth roll, w^ith forked tongue 
 And raised breast, lift up against the sun. 
 With that together came great Periphas ; 
 Automedon eke, that guided had some time 
 Achilles' horse, now Pyrrhus armour bare ; 
 And eke with him the warlike Scyrian youth 
 1 Oft-times. 
 
132 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 Assail'd the house ; and threw flame to the top. 
 And he an axe before the foremost raught, 
 Wherewith he gan the strong gates hew, and break ; 
 From whence he beat the staples out of brass, 
 He brake the bars, and through the timber pierc'd 
 So large a hole, whereby they might discern 
 The house, the court, and secret chambers eke 
 Of Priamus, and ancient kings of Troy ; 
 And armed foes in th' entry of the gate. 
 
 But the palace within confounded was, 
 With wailing, and with rueful shrieks and cries ; 
 The hollow halls did howl of women's plaint : 
 The clamour strake up to the golden stars. 
 The fray'd 1 mothers, wandering through the wide 
 
 house, 
 Embracing pillars, did them hold and kiss. 
 Pyrrhus assaileth with his father's might ; 
 Whom the closures ne keepers might hold out. 
 With often pushed ram the gate did shake ; 
 The posts beat down, removed from their hooks : 
 By force they made the way, and th' entry brake. 
 And now the Greeks let in, the foremost slew : 
 And the large palace with soldiers gan to fill. 
 Not so fiercely doth overflow the fields 
 The foaming flood, that breaks out of his banks ; 
 Whose rage of waters bears away what heaps 
 Stand in his way, the cotes, and eke the herds. 
 As in th' entry of slaughter furious 
 I saw Pyrrhus, and either Atrides. 
 
 There Hecuba I saw, with a hundred mo' 
 Of her sons' wives, and Priam at the altar, 
 
 1 Frightened. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 133 
 
 Sprinkling with blood his flame of sacrifice. 
 
 Fifty bed-chambers of his children's wives, 
 
 With loss of so great hope of his offspring, 
 
 The pillars eke proudly beset with gold, 
 
 And with the spoils of other nations, 
 
 Fell to the ground : and what so that with flame 
 
 Untouched was, the Greeks did all possess. 
 
 Percase 1 you would ask what was Priam's fate ? 
 When of his taken town he saw the chance, 
 And the gates of his palace beaten down, 
 His foes amid his secret chambers eke : 
 Th' old man in vain did on his shoulders then, 
 Trembling for age, his cuirass long disused : 
 His bootless sword he girded him about ; 
 And ran amid his foes, ready to die. 
 
 Amid the court, under the heaven, all bare, 
 A great altar there stood, by which there grew 
 An old laurel tree, bowing thereunto, 
 Which with his shadow did embrace the gods. 
 Here Hecuba, with her young daughters all 
 About the altar swarmed were in vain ; 
 Like doves, that flock together in the storm, 
 The statues of the Gods embracing fast. 
 But when she saw Priam had taken there 
 His armour, like as though he had been young : 
 6 What furious thought my wretched spouse/ 
 
 quod she, 
 6 Did move thee now such weapons for to wield ? 
 Why hastest thou ? This time doth not require 
 Such succour, ne yet such defenders now : 
 No, though Hector my son were here again. 
 
 1 Bv chance. 
 
134 
 
 Come hither ; this altar shall save us all : 
 Or we shall die together.' Thus she said. 
 Wherewith she drew him back to her, and set 
 The aged man down in the holy seat. 
 
 But lo ! Polites, one of Priam's sons, 
 Escaped from the slaughter of Pyrrhus, 
 Comes fleeing through the weapons of his foes, 
 Searching, all wounded, the long galleries 
 And the void courts; whom Pyrrhus all in rage 
 Followed fast to reach a mortal wound • 
 And now in hand, well near strikes with his spear. 
 Who fleeing forth till he came now in sight 
 Of his parents, before their face fell down 
 Yielding the ghost with flowing streams of blood. 
 Priamus then, although he were half dead, 
 Might not keep in his wrath, nor yet his words ; 
 But crieth out : ' For this thy wicked work, 
 And boldness eke such thing to enterprise, 
 If in the heavens any justice be, 
 That of such things takes any care or keep, 
 According thanks the Gods may yield to thee ; 
 And send thee eke thy just deserved hire, 
 That made me see the slaughter of my child, 
 And with his blood defile the father's face. 
 But he, by whom thou feign'st thyself begot, 
 Achilles, was to Priam not so stern. 
 For, lo ! he tend'ring my most humble suit, 
 The right, and faith, my Hector's bloodless corpse 
 Render'd, for to be laid in sepulture ; 
 And sent me to my kingdom home again.' 
 
 Thus said the aged man, and therewithal, 
 Forceless he cast his weak unwieldy dart : 
 Which repuls'd from the brass where it gave dint, 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 135 
 
 Without sound, hung vainly in the shield's boss. 
 Quod Pyrrhus : ' Then thou shalt this thing re- 
 port : 
 On message to Pelide my father go ; 
 Shew unto him my cruel deed , and how 
 Neoptolem is swerved out of kind. 
 Now shalt thou die/ quod he. And with that word 
 At the altar him trembling 'gan he draw 
 Wallowing through the bloodshed of his son : 
 And his left hand all clasped in his hair, 
 With his right arm drew forth his shining sword, 
 Which in his side he thrust up to the hilts. 
 Of Priamus this was the fatal fine, 
 The woful end that was allotted him, 
 When he had seen his palace all on flame, 
 With ruin of his Troyan turrets eke. 
 That royal prince of Asia, which of late 
 Reign' d over so many peoples and realms, 
 Like a great stock now lieth on the shore ; 
 His head and shoulders parted been in twain : 
 A body now without renown and fame. 
 
 Then first in me enter'd the grisly fear : 
 Dismay' d I was. Wherewith came to my mind 
 The image eke of my dear father, when 
 I thus beheld the king of equal age, 
 Yield up the spirit with wounds so cruelly. 
 Then thought I of Creusa left alone ; 
 And of my house in danger of the spoil, 
 And the estate of young lulus eke. 
 I looked back to seek what number then 
 I might discern about me of my feres : 
 But wearied they had left me all alone. 
 Some to the ground were lopen from above, 
 
136 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 Some in the flame their irked bodies cast. 
 
 There was no mo' but I left of them all, 
 When that I saw in Vesta's temple sit, 
 Dame Helen, lurking in a secret place ; 
 (Such light the flame did give as I went by, 
 While here and there I cast mine eyen about :) 
 For she in dread lest that the Troians should 
 Revenge on her the ruin of their walls ; 
 And of the Greeks the cruel wreaks also ; 
 The fury eke of her forsaken make, 
 The common bane of Troy, and eke of Greece ! 
 Hateful she sat beside the altars hid. 
 Then boil'd my breast with flame, and burning 
 
 wrath, 
 To revenge my town, unto such ruin brought ; 
 With worthy pains on her to work my will. 
 Thought I : " Shall she pass to the land of Sparte 
 All safe, and see Mycene her native land, 
 And like a queen return with victory 
 Home to her spouse, her parents, and children, 
 Followed with a train of Troyan maids, 
 And served with a band of Phrygian slaves ; 
 A Priam eke with iron murder'd thus, 
 And Troye town consumed all with flame, 
 Whose shore hath been so oft for-bathed in blood ? 
 No ! no ! for though on women the revenge 
 Unseemly is ; such conquest hath no fame : 
 To give an end unto such mischief yet 
 My just revenge shall merit worthy praise ; 
 And quiet eke my mind, for to be wroke l 
 On her which was the causer of this flame, 
 And satisfy the cinder of my feres/ 
 1 Avenged. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 137 
 
 With furious mind while I did argue thus, 
 My blessed mother then appear 'd to me, 
 Whom erst so bright mine eyes had never seen, 
 And with pure light she glistred in the night, 
 Disclosing her in form a goddess like, 
 As she doth seem to such as dwell in heaven. 
 My right hand then she took, and held it fast, 
 And with her rosy lips thus did she say : 
 1 Son ! what fury hath thus provoked thee 
 To such untamed wrath ? what ragest thou ? 
 Or where is now become the care of us ? 
 Wilt thou not first go see where thou hast left 
 Anchises, thy father fordone with age ? 
 Doth Creusa live, and Ascanius thy son ? 
 Whom now the Greekish bands have round beset : 
 And were they not defenced by my cure, 
 Flame had them ranght, 1 and en'mies' sword ere 
 
 this. 
 Not Helen's beauty hateful unto thee, 
 Nor blamed Paris yet, but the Gods' wrath 
 Reft you this wealth, and overthrew your town. 
 Behold ! (and I shall now the cloud remove, 
 Which overcast thy mortal sight doth dim ; 
 Whose moisture doth obscure all things about : 
 And fear not thou to do thy mother's will. 
 Nor her advice refuse thou to perform :) 
 Here, where thou see'st the turrets overthrown, 
 Stone beat from stone, smoke rising mixt with dust, 
 Neptunus there shakes with his mace the walls, 
 And eke the loose foundations of the same, 
 And overwhelms the whole town from his seat : 
 And cruel Juno with the foremost here 
 1 Reached. 
 
138 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 Doth keep the gate that Scea cleped 1 is, 
 
 Near woode 2 for wrath, whereas she stands, and calls 
 
 In harness bright the Greeks out of their ships : 
 
 And in the turrets high behold where stands 
 
 Bright shining Pallas, all in warlike weed, 
 
 And with her shield, where Gorgon's head appears : 
 
 And Jupiter, my father, distributes 
 
 Availing strength, and courage to the Greeks ; 
 
 Yet overmore, against the Troyan power 
 
 He doth provoke the rest of all the Gods. 
 
 Flee then, my son, and give this travail end ; 
 
 Ne shall I thee forsake, in safeguard till 
 
 I have thee brought unto thy father's gate.' 
 
 This did she say : and therewith gan she hide 
 
 Herself, in shadow of the close night. 
 
 Then dreadful figures gan appear to me, 
 And great Gods eke aggrieved with our town. 
 I saw Troye fall down in burning gledes ; 
 Neptunus town, clean razed from the soil. 
 Like as the elm forgrown in mountains high, 
 Round hewen with axe, that husbandmen 
 With thick assaults strive to tear up, doth- threat ; 
 And hack'd beneath trembling doth bend his top, 
 Till yold 3 with strokes, giving the latter crack, 
 Rent from the height, with ruin it doth fall. 
 
 With this I went, and guided by a God 
 I passed through my foes, and eke the flame : 
 Their weapons and the fire eke gave me place. 
 And when that I was come before the gates, 
 And ancient building of my father's house ; 
 My father, whom I hoped to convey 
 To the next hills, and did him thereto 'treat, 
 1 Called. 2 Furious. 3 Yielded. 
 
earl of Surrey's poems. 139 
 
 Refused either to prolong his life, 
 
 Or bide exile after the fall of Troy. 
 
 1 All ye/ quod he, 'in whom young blood is fresh, 
 
 Whose strength remains entire and in full power, 
 
 Take ye your flight. 
 
 For if the Gods my life would have prorogued, 
 
 They had reserved for me this wonning place. 1 
 
 It was enough, alas ! and eke too much, 
 
 To see the town of Troy thus razed once ; 
 
 To have lived after the city taken. 
 
 When ye have said, this corpse laid out forsake ; 
 
 My hand shall seek my death, and pity shall 
 
 Mine en'mies move, or else hope of my spoil. 
 
 As for my grave, I weigh the loss but light : 
 
 For I my years, disdainful to the Gods, 
 
 Have lingered forth, unable to all needs, 
 
 Since that the sire of Gods and king of men 
 
 Strake me with thunder, and with levening blast.' 
 
 Such things he gan rehearse, thus firmly bent : 
 
 But we besprent with tears, my tender son, 
 
 And eke my sweet Creusa, with the rest 
 
 Of the household, my father 'gan beseech, 
 
 Not so with him to perish all at once, 
 
 Nor so to yield unto the cruel fate : 
 
 Which he refused, and stack to his intent. 
 
 Driven I was to harness then again, 
 Miserably my death for to desire. 
 For what advice, or other hope was left ? 
 ' Father ! thought'st thou that I ma}^ once remove,' 
 Quod I, ' a foot, and leave thee here behind ? 
 May such a wrong pass from a father's mouth ? 
 If God's will be, that nothing here be saved 
 1 Dwelling-place. 
 
140 earl of Surrey's poems. 
 
 Of this great town, and thy mind bent to join 
 Both thee and thine to ruin of this town : 
 The way is plain this death for to attain. 
 Pyrrhus shall come besprent with Priam's blood, 
 That gor'd the son before the father's face, 
 And slew the father at the altar eke. 
 sacred Mother ! was it then for this 
 That you me led through flame, and weapons sharp, 
 That I might in my secret chamber see 
 Mine en'mies ; and Ascanius my son, 
 My father, with Creusa my sweet wife, 
 Murder'd, alas ! the one in th' others' blood ? 
 Why, servants ! then, bring me my arms again. 
 The latter day us vanquished doth call. 
 Render me now to the Greeks' sight again : 
 And let me see the fight begun of new ; 
 We shall not all unwroken 1 die this day.' 
 About me then I girt my sword again, 
 And eke my shield on my left shoulder cast, 
 And bent me so to rush out of the house. 
 Lo ! in my gate my spouse, clasping my feet, 
 For against his father young lulus set. 
 ' If thou wilt go/ quod she, ' and spill thyself, 
 Take us with thee in all that may betide. 
 But as expert if thou in arms have set 
 Yet any hope, then first this house defend, 
 Whereas thy son, and eke thy father dear, 
 And I, sometime thine own dear wife, are left.' 
 Her shrill loud voice with plaint thus fill'd the 
 
 house ; 
 When that a sudden monstrous marvel fell : 
 For in their sight, and woful parents' arms, 
 1 Un revenged. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 141 
 
 Behold a light out of the button sprang 
 
 That in tip of lulus cap did stand ; 
 
 With gentle touch whose harmless flame did shine 
 
 Upon his hair, about his temples spread. 
 
 And we afraid, trembling for dreadful fear, 
 
 Bet out the fire from his blazing tress, 
 
 And with water 'gan quench the sacred flame. 
 
 Anchises glad his eyen lift to the stars ; 
 With hands his voice to heaven thus he bent. 
 1 If by prayer, almighty Jupiter, 
 Inclined thou mayst be, behold us then 
 Of ruth 1 at least, if we so much deserve. 
 Grant eke thine aid, Father ! confirm this thing. 
 
 Scarce had the old man said, when that the 
 heavens 
 With sudden noise thunder'd on the left hand : 
 Out of the sky, by the dark night there fell 
 A blazing star, dragging a brand or flame, 
 Which with much light gliding on the house top, 
 In the forest of Ida hid her beams ; 
 The which full bright cendleing 2 a furrow, shone, 
 By a long tract appointing us the way ; 
 And round about of brimstone rose a fume. 
 
 My father vanquished then, beheld the skies, 
 Spake to the Gods, and th' holy star adored : 
 6 Now, now,' quod he, ' no longer I abide : 
 Follow I shall where ye my guide at hand. 
 native Gods ! your family defend ; 
 Preserve your line, this warning comes of you, 
 And Troye stands in your protection now. 
 Now give I place, and whereso that thou go, 
 Refuse I not, my son. to be thy fere.' 
 
 1 Of pity. 2 Kindling. 
 
142 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 This did he say ; and by that time more clear 
 The cracking flame was heard throughout the walls, 
 And more and more the burning heat drew near. 
 ' Why then ! have done, my father dear/ quod I, 
 ' Bestride my neck forthwith, and sit thereon, 
 And I shall with my shoulders thee sustain, 
 Ne shall this labour do me any dere. 
 What so betide, come peril, come welfare, 
 Like to us both and common there shall be. 
 Young lulus shall bear me company ; 
 And my wife shall follow far off my steps. 
 Now ye, my servants, mark well what I say : 
 Without the town ye shall find, on a hill, 
 An old temple there stands, whereas some time 
 Worship was done to Ceres the Goddess ; 
 Beside which grows an aged cypress tree, 
 Preserved long by our forefathers'^ zeal : 
 Behind which place let us together meet. 
 And thou, Father, receive into thy hands 
 The reliques all, and the Gods of the land : 
 The which it were not lawful I should touch, 
 That come but late from slaughter and bloodshed, 
 Till I be washed in the running flood.' 
 
 When I had said these words, my shoulders broad, 
 And laied neck with garments 'gan I spread, 
 And thereon cast a yellow lion's skin ; 
 And thereupon my burden I receive. 
 Young lulus clasped in my right hand, 
 Folio we th me fast with unegal pace ; 
 And at my back my wife. Thus did we pass 
 By places shadowed most with the night. 
 And me, whom late the dart which enemies threw, 
 Nor press of Argive routs could make amaz'd, 
 
EARL or surrey's poems. 143 
 
 Each whisp'ring wind hath power now to fray, 
 And every sound to move my doubtful mind : 
 So much I dread my burden, and my fere. 
 
 And now we 'gan draw near unto the gate, 
 Eight well escap'd the danger, as me thought, 
 When that at hand a sound of feet we heard. 
 My father then, gazing throughout the dark, 
 Cried on me, 6 Flee, son ! they are at hand/ 
 With that bright shields, and shene armours I saw. 
 But then I know not what unfriendly God 
 My troubled wit from me bereft for fear : 
 For while I ran by the most secret streets, 
 Eschewing still the common haunted track, 
 From me catif, alas ! bereaved was 
 Creusa then, my spouse, I wot not how ; 
 Whether by fate, or missing of the way, 
 Or that she was by weariness retain'd : 
 But never sith these eyes might her behold ; 
 Nor did I yet perceive that she was lost, 
 Ne never backward turned I my mind, 
 Till we came to the hill, whereas there stood 
 The old temple dedicate to Ceres. 
 
 And when that we were there assembled all, 
 She was only away, deceiving us 
 Her spouse, her son, and all her company. 
 What God or man did I not then accuse, 
 Near woode for ire ? or what more cruel chance 
 Did hap to me, in all Troy's overthrow ? 
 Ascanius to my feres I then betook, 
 With Anchises, and eke the Troyan Gods. 
 And left them hid within a valley deep. 
 And to the town I 'gan me hie again, 
 Clad in bright arms, and bent for to renew 
 
144 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 Aventures past, to search throughout the town, 
 And yield my head to perils once again. 
 
 And first the walls and dark entry I sought 
 Of the same gate whereat I issued out ; 
 Holding backward the steps where we had come 
 In the dark night, looking all round about : 
 In every place the ugsome sights I saw ; 
 The silence self of night aghast my sprite. 
 From hence again I pass'd unto our house, 
 If she by chance had been returned home. 
 The Greeks were there, and had it all beset : 
 The wasting fire, blown up by drift of wind, 
 Above the roofs the blazing flame sprang up ; 
 The sound whereof with fury pierced the skies. 
 To Priam's palace, and the castle then 
 I made ; and there at Juno's sanctuair, 
 In the void porches, Phenix, Ulysses eke 
 Stern guardians stood, watching of the spoil. 
 The riches here were set, reft from the brent 
 Temples of Troy : the tables of the Gods, 
 The vessels eke that were of massy gold, 
 And vestures spoil'd, were gather'd all in heap : 
 The children orderly, and mothers pale for fright, 
 Long ranged on a row stood round about. 
 
 So bold was I to show my voice that night 
 With clepes and cries to fill the streets through- 
 out, 
 With Creuse' name in sorrow, with vain tears ; 
 And often sithes the same for to repeat. 
 The town restless with fury as I sought, 
 Th' unlucky figure of Creusa's ghost, 
 Of stature more than wont, stood 'fore mine eyen. 
 Abashed then I woxe : therewith my hair 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 145 
 
 'Gan start right up : my voice stack in my throat: 
 When with such words she 'gan my heart remove : 
 1 What helps, to yield unto such furious rage, 
 Sweet spouse ?' quod she, ' Without will of the 
 
 Gods 
 This chanced not : ne lawful was for thee 
 To lead away Creusa hence with thee : 
 The King of the high heaven sufFreth it not. 
 A long exile thou art assigned to bear, 
 Long to furrow large space of stormy seas : 
 So shaft thou reach at last Hesperian land, 
 Where Lidian Tiber with his gentle stream 
 Mildly doth flow along the fruitful fields. 
 There mirthful wealth, there kingdom is for thee ; 
 There a king's child prepar'd to be thy make. 
 For thy beloved Creusa stint thy tears : 
 For now shall I not see the proud abodes 
 Of Myrmidons, nor yet of Dolopes : 
 Ne I, a Troyan lady, and the wife 
 Unto the son of Venus, the Goddess, 
 Shall go a slave to serve the Greekish dames. 
 
 Me here the God's great mother holds. 
 
 And now farewell : and keep in father's breast 
 The tender love of thy young son and mine.' 
 
 This having said, she left me all in tears, 
 And minding much to speak ; but she was gone, 
 And subtly fled into the weightless air. 
 Thrice raught I with mine arms t' accoll 1 her nock : 
 Thrice did my hands vain hold th' image escape, 
 Like nimble winds, and like the flying dream. 
 So night spent out, return I to my feres : 
 And there wond'ring I find together swarm'd 
 1 To embrace. 
 
146 EARL or surrey's poems. 
 
 A new number of mates, mothers, and men, 
 
 A rout exiled, a wretched multitude, 
 
 From each-where flock together, prest to pass 
 
 With heart and goods, to whatsoever land 
 
 By sliding seas, me listed them to lead. 
 
 And now rose Lucifer above the ridge 
 
 Of lusty Ide, and brought the dawning light. 
 
 The Greeks held th ? entries of the gates beset : 
 
 Of help there was no hope. Then gave I place, 
 
 Took up my sire, and hasted to the hill. 
 
THE FOUKTH BOOK OF VIRGIL'S 
 33NEID. 
 
 ^UT now the wounded Queen, with 
 heavy care, 
 Throughout the veins she nourisheth 
 
 the plaie, 
 Surprised with blind flame ; and to 
 her mind 
 'Gan eke resort the prowess of the man, 
 And honour of his race : while in her breast 
 Imprinted stack his words, and pictures form. 
 Ne to her limbs care granteth quiet rest. 
 
 The next morrow, with Phoebus' lamp the earth 
 Alighted clear ; and eke the dawning day 
 The shadows dark ? gan from the pole remove : 
 When all unsound, her sister of like mind 
 Thus spake she to : ' ! Sister Anne, what dreams 
 Be these, that me tormented thus affray ? 
 What new guest is this, that to our realm is come ? 
 What one of cheer ? how stout of heart in arms ? 
 Truly I think (ne vain is my belief) 
 Of Goddish race some offspring should he be : 
 
148 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 Cowardry notes hearts swerved out of kind. 
 He driven, lord ! with how hard destiny ! 
 What battles eke achieved did he recount ! 
 But that my mind is fixt immovably, 
 Never with wight in wedlock aye to join, 
 Sith my first love me left by death dissever'd ; 
 If genial brands and bed me loathed not, 
 To this one guilt perchance yet might I yield. 
 Anne, for I grant, sith wretched Sichee's death, 
 My spouse and house with brother's slaughter 
 
 stain'd, 
 This only man hath made my senses bend, 
 And pricked forth the mind that 'gan to slide : 
 Now feelingly I taste the steps of mine old flame. 
 But first I wish the earth me swallow down, 
 Or with thunder the mighty Lord me send 
 To the pale ghosts of hell, and darkness deep ; 
 Ere I thee stain, shamefastness, or thy laws. 
 He that with me first coupled, took away 
 My love with him ; enjoy it in his grave.' 
 
 Thus did she say, and with supprised tears 
 Bained her breast. Whereto Anne thus replied : 
 
 6 Sister, dearer beloved than the light : 
 Thy youth alone in plaint still wilt thou spill ? 
 Ne children sweet, ne Venus' gifts wilt know ? 
 Cinders, thinkest thou, mind this? or gravedghosts? 
 Time of thy doole, 1 thy spouse new dead, I grant, 
 None might thee move : no, not the Libyan king, 
 Nor yet of Tyre ; Iarbas set so light, 
 And other princes mo' ; whom the rich soil 
 Of Afric breeds, in honours triumphant. 
 Wilt thou also gainstand thy liked love ? 
 1 Dole, or grief. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 149 
 
 Comes not to mind upon whose land thou dwell'st ? 
 
 On this side, lo ! the Getule town behold, 
 
 A people bold, unvanquished in war ; 
 
 Eke the undaunted Numides compass thee ; 
 
 Also the Sirtes unfriendly harbrough. 
 
 On th' other hand, a desert realm for- thrust, 
 
 The Barceans, whose fury stretcheth wide. 
 
 What shall I touch the wars that move from Tyre ? 
 
 Or yet thy brother's threats ? 
 
 By Gods purveyance it blew, and Juno's help, 
 The Troiaynes ships, I think, to run this course. 
 Sister, what town shalt thou see this become ? 
 Through such ally how shall our kingdom rise ? 
 And by the aid of Troyan arms how great ? 
 How many ways shall Carthages glory grow ? 
 Thou only now beseech the Gods of grace 
 By sacrifice : which ended, to thy house 
 Receive him, and forge causes of abode : 
 Whiles winter frets the seas, and wat'ry Orion, 
 The ships shaken, unfriendly the season.' 
 
 Such words inflamed the kindled mind with love, 
 Loosed all shame, and gave the doubtful hope. 
 And to the temples first they haste, and seek 
 By sacrifice for grace, with hogrels 1 of two years, 
 Chosen, as ought, to Ceres that gave laws, 
 To Phoebus, Bacchus, and to Juno chief, 
 Which hath in care the bands of marriage. 
 Fair Dido held in her right hand the cup, 
 Which 'twixt the horns of a white cow she shed 
 In presence of the Gods, passing before 
 The altars fat ; which she renewed oft 
 With gifts that day, and beasts deboweled ; 
 2 Sheep two years old. 
 
150 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 Gazing for counsel on the entrails warm. 
 Ay me ! unskilful minds of prophesy ! 
 Temples or vows, what boot they in her rage ? 
 A gentle flame the marrow doth devour, 
 Whiles in the breast the silent wound keeps life. 
 Unhappy Dido burns, and in her rage 
 Throughout the town she wand'reth up and down. 
 Like the stricken hind with shaft, in Crete 
 Throughout the woods which chasing with his dart 
 Aloof, the shepherd smiteth at unwares, 
 And leaves unwist in her the thirling head : 
 That through the groves, and lands glides in her 
 
 flighty 
 Amid whose side the mortal arrow sticks* 
 
 ^Eneas now about the walls she leads, 
 The town prepared, and Carthage wealth to shew, 
 Offering to speak, amid her voice, she whists. 
 And when the day gan fail new feasts she makes ; 
 The Troies travails to hear a-new she lists, 
 Enraged all ; and stareth in his face 
 That tells the tale. And when they were all gone, 
 And the dim moon doth eft withhold the light, 
 And sliding stars provoked unto sleep ; 
 Alone she mourns within her palace void, 
 And sets her down on her forsaken bed. 
 And, absent, him she bears, when he is gone, 
 And seeth eke. Oft in her lap she holds 
 Ascanius, trapp'd by his father's form : 
 So to beguile the love, cannot be told. 
 
 The turrets now arise not, erst begun ; 
 Neither the youth wields arms, nor they advance 
 The ports, nor other meet defence for war : 
 Broken there hang the works and mighty frames 
 
EARL OF SURBEV'S POEMS. 151 
 
 Of walls high raised, threatening the sky. 
 Whom as soon as Jove's dear wife saw infect 
 With such a plague, ne fame resist the rage ; 
 Saturnes' daughter thus burdes Venus then : 
 * Great praise/ quod she, i and worth}- spoils you 
 
 win, 
 You and your son; great Gods of memory ! 
 By both your wiles one woman to devour. 
 Yet am not I deceived, that foreknew 
 Ye dread our walls, and buildings gan suspect 
 Of high Carthage. But what shall be the end ? 
 Or whereunto now serveth such debate ? 
 But rather peace, and bridal bands knit we, 
 Sith thou hast sped of that thy heart desired ; 
 Dido doth burn with love : rage frets her bones, 
 This people now as common to us both, 
 With equal favour let us govern then ; 
 Lawful be it to serve a Trojan spouse ; 
 And Tyrians yield to thy right hand in dower.' 
 
 To whom Venus replied thus, that knew 
 Her words proceeded from a feigned mind, 
 To Libyan coasts to turn th' empire from Rome. 
 ' What wight so fond such offer to refuse ? 
 Or yet with thee had liever 1 strive in war ? 
 So be it fortune thy tale bring t' effect : 
 But destinies I doubt ; lest Jove nil! 2 grant, 
 That folk of Tyre, and such as came from Troy, 
 Should hold one town ; or grant these nations 
 Mingled to be, or joined aye in league. 
 Thou art his wife : lawful it is for thee 
 For to attempt his fancy by request ■ 
 Pass on before ; and follow thee I shall.' 
 1 Rather. 2 Will not. 
 
152 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 Queen Juno then thus took her tale again : 
 ' This travail be it mine. But by what mean 
 -(Mark, in few words I shall thee learn eftsoons.) 
 This work in hand may now be compassed. 
 iEneas now, and wretched Dido eke, 
 To the forest a hunting mind to wend 
 To-morn, as soon as Titan shall ascend, 
 And with his beams hath overspread the world : 
 And whiles the wings of youth do swarm about, 
 And whiles they range to overset the groves, 
 A cloudy shower mingled with hail I shall 
 Pour down, and then with thunder shake the skies. 
 Th' assembly scattered the mist shall cloke. 
 Dido a cave, the Troyan prince the same 
 Shall enter too ; and I will be at hand : 
 And if thy will stick unto mine, I shall 
 In wedlock sure knit, and make her his own : 
 Thus shall the marriage be.' To whose request 
 Without debate Venus did seem to yield, 
 And smiled soft, as she that found the wile. 
 
 Then from the seas the dawning gan arise : 
 The sun once up, the chosen youth gan throng- 
 Out at the gates : the hayes so rarely knit, 
 The hunting staves with their broad heads of steel ; 
 And of Masile the horsemen forth they brake ; 
 Of scenting hounds a kennel huge likewise. 
 And at the threshold of her chamber door 
 The Carthage lords did on the Queen attend. 
 The trampling steed, with gold and purple trapp'd, 
 Chawing the foamy bit, there fiercely stood. 
 Then issued she, awaited with great train, 
 Clad in a cloak of Tyre embroider'd rich. 
 Her quiver hung behind her back, her tress 
 
 
earl of Surrey's poems. 153 
 
 Knotted in gold, her purple vesture eke 
 
 Button'd with gold. The Troyans of her train 
 
 Before her go, with gladsome lulus. 
 
 ^Eneas eke, the goodliest of the rout, 
 
 Makes one of them, and joineth close the throngs : 
 
 Like when Apollo leaveth Lycia, 
 
 His wintering place, and Xanthus 5 floods likewise, 
 
 To visit Delos, his mother's mansion, 
 
 Repairing eft and furnishing her choir : 
 
 The Candians, and folks of Driopes, 
 
 With painted Aga thyrsi es shout, and cry, 
 
 Environing the altars round about ; 
 
 When that he walks upon mount Cynthus' top : 
 
 His sparkled tress repress'd with garlands soft 
 
 Of tender leaves, and trussed up in gold ; 
 
 His quivering darts clatt'ring behind his back. 
 
 So fresh and lusty did .Eneas seem ; 
 
 Such lordly port in present countenance. 
 
 But to the hills and wild holts when they came ; 
 From the rock's top the driven savage rose. 
 Lo from the hill above, on th' other side, 
 Through the wide lawns they gan to take their 
 
 course. 
 The harts likewise in troops taking their flight, 
 Raising the dust, the mountain -fast forsake. 
 The child lulus, blithe of his swift steed, 
 Amid the plain now pricks by them, now these ; 
 And to encounter wisheth oft in mind 
 The foaming Boar, instead of fearful beasts, 
 Or Lion brown, might from the hill descend. 
 
 In the mean while the skies gan rumble sore ; 
 In tail thereof, a mingled shower with hail. 
 The Tyrian folk, and eke the Troyans youth. 
 
154 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 And Venus' nephew the cottages, for fear, 
 Sought round about; the floods fell from the hills. 
 Dido a den, the Troyan prince the same, 
 Chanced upon. Our mother then, the Earth, 
 And Juno that hath charge of marriage, 
 First tokens gave with burning gleads of flame ; 
 And, privy to the wedlock, lightning skies ; 
 And the Nymphs yelled from the mountains top. 
 
 Ay me ! this was the first day of their mirth, 
 And of their harms the first occasion eke. 
 Respect of fame no longer her withholds : 
 Nor museth now to frame her love by stealth. 
 Wedlock she calls it : under the pretence 
 Of which fair name she cloaketh now her fault. 
 
 Forthwith Flame flieth through the great Libyan 
 towns : 
 A mischief Fame, there is none else so swift ; 
 That moving grows, and flitting gathers force. 
 First small for dread, soon after climbs the skies ; 
 Stayeth on earth, and hides her head in clouds. 
 Whom our mother the earth, tempted by wrath 
 Of Gods, begat ; the last Sister (they write) 
 To Caeus, and to Enceladus eke : 
 Speedy of foot, of wing likewise as swift, 
 A monster huge, and dreadful to descrive. 1 
 In every plume that on her body sticks 
 (A thing indeed much marvelous to hear) 
 As many waker eyes lurk underneath, 
 So many mouths to speak, and listening ears. 
 By night she flies amid the cloudy sky, 
 Shrieking, by the dark shadow of the earth, 
 Ne doth decline to the sweet sleep her eyes. 
 1 Describe. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 155 
 
 By day she sits to mark on the house top, 
 Or turrets high ; and the great towns affrays ; 
 As mindful of ill and lies, as biasing truth. 
 
 This monster blithe with many a tale gan sow 
 This rumour then into the common ears : 
 As well things done, as that was never wrought : 
 As, that there comen is to Tyrian's court 
 iEneas, one outsprung of Troyan blood, 
 To whom fair Dido would herself be wed : 
 And that, the while, the winter long they pass 
 In foul delight, forgetting charge of reign ; 
 Led against honour with unhonest lust. 
 
 This in each mouth the filthy Goddess spreads ; 
 And takes her course to king Hiarbas straight, 
 Kindling his mind ; with tales she feeds his wrath ; 
 Gotten was he by Amnion Jupiter 
 Upon the ravish' d nymph of Garamant. 
 A hundred hugy, great temples he built 
 In his far stretching realms to Jupiter ; 
 Altars as many kept with waking flame, 
 A watch always upon the Gods to tend ; 
 The floors embru'd with yielded blood of beasts, 
 And threshold spread with garlands of strange hue. 
 He woode x of mind, kindled by bitter bruit 
 Tofore 2 th ? altars, in presence of the Gods, 
 With reared hands gan humbly Jove entreat : 
 
 6 Almighty God ! whom the Moores nation 
 Fed at rich tables presenteth with wine, 
 See'st thou these things ? or fear we thee in vain, 
 When thou lettest fly thy thunder from the clouds ? 
 Or do those flames with vain noise us affray ? 
 A woman, that wandering in our coasts hath bought 
 1 Mad, furious. 2 Before. 
 
156 earl of Surrey's poems. 
 
 A plot for price, where she a city set ; 
 To whom we gave the strond for to manure, 
 And laws to rule her town, our wedlock loathed, 
 Hath chose ^Eneas to command her realm. 
 That Paris now, with his unmanly sort, 
 With mitred hats, with ointed bush and beard, 
 His rape enjoy eth : whiles to thy temples we 
 Our offerings bring, and follow rumours vain.' 
 
 Whom praying in such sort, and griping eke 
 The altars fast, the mighty father heard ; 
 And writhed his look toward the royal walls, 
 And lovers eke, forgetting their good name. 
 To Mercury then gave he thus in charge : 
 ' Hence, son, in haste ! and call to thee the winds ; 
 Slide with thy plumes, and tell the Troyan prince 
 That now in Carthage loitereth, rechless 
 Of the towns granted him by destiny. 
 Swift through the skies see thou these words convey: 
 His fair Mother behight him not to us 
 Such one to be ; ne therefore twice him saved 
 From Greekish arms : but such a one 
 As meet might seem great Italy to rule, 
 Dreadful in arms, charged with seigniory, 
 Shewing in proof his worthy Teucrian race ; 
 And under laws the whole world to subdue. 
 If glory of such things nought him enflame, 
 Ne that he lists seek honour by some pain ; 
 The towers yet of Rome, being his sire, 
 Doth he envy to young Ascanius ? 
 What mindeth he to frame ? or on what hope 
 In en'mies land doth he make his abode ? 
 Ne his offspring in Italy regards ? 
 Ne yet the land of Lavine doth behold ? 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 157 
 
 Bid him make sail : have here the sum and end ; 
 Our message thus report.' When Jove had said, 
 Then Mercury 'gan bend him to obey 
 His mighty father's will : and to his heels 
 His golden wings he knits, w T hich him transport, 
 With a light wind above the earth and seas. 
 And then with him his wand he took, whereby 
 He calls from hell pale ghosts ; and other some 
 Thither also he sendeth comfortless : 
 Whereby he forceth sleeps, and them bereaves ; 
 And mortal eyes he closeth up in death. 
 By power whereof he drives the winds away, 
 And passeth eke amid the troubled clouds, 
 Till in his flight he gan descry the top 
 And the steep flanks of rocky Atlas' hill, 
 That with his crown sustains the welkin up : 
 Whose head forgrown with pine, circled alway 
 With misty clouds, is beaten with wind and storm ; 
 His shoulders spread with snow ; and from his chin 
 The springs descend ; his beard frozen with ice. 
 Here Mercury with equal shining wings 
 First touched ; and with body headling bet, 
 To the water then took he his descent : 
 Like to the fowl that endlong coasts and stronds 
 Swarming with fish, flies sweeping by the sea ; 
 Cutting betwixt the winds and Libyan lands, 
 From his grandfather by the mother's side, 
 Cyllene's child so came, and then alight 
 Upon the houses with his w T inged feet ; 
 Tofore the towers where he ^Eneas saw 
 Foundations cast, arearing lodges new ; 
 Girt with a sword of jasper, starry bright; 
 A shining 'parel, flamed with stately eye 
 
158 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 Of Tyrian purple, hung his shoulders down, 
 The gift and work of wealthy Dido's hand, 
 Striped throughout with a thin thread of gold. 
 
 Thus he encounters him : ' Oh careless wight ! 
 Both of thy realm, and of thine own affairs ; 
 A wife-bound man now dost thou rear the walls "* 
 Of high Carthage, to build a goodly town ! 
 From the bright skies the ruler of the Gods 
 Sent me to thee, that with his beck commands 
 Both heav'n and earth : in haste he gave me charge 
 Through the light air this message thee to say. 
 What framest thou ? or on what hope thy time 
 In idleness dost waste in Afric land ? 
 Of so great things if nought the fame thee stir, 
 Ne list by travail honour to pursue ; 
 Ascanius yet, that waxeth fast, behold ; 
 And the hope of lulus' seed, thine heir ; 
 To whom the realm of Italy belongs, 
 And soil of Eome.' When Mercury had said, 
 Amid his tale far off from mortal eyes 
 Into light air he vanish'd out of sight. 
 
 ./Eneas with that vision striken down, 
 Well near bestraught, 1 upstart his hair for dread, 
 Amid his throatal his voice likewise 'gan stick. 
 For to depart by night he longeth now, 
 And the sweet land to leave, astoined sore 
 With this advise and message of the Gods. 
 What may he do, alas ! or by what words 
 Dare he persuade the raging Queen in love ? 
 Or in what sort may he his tale begin ? 
 Now here, now there his rechless mind 'gan run, 
 And diversely him draws, discoursing all. 
 1 Distracted. 
 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 159 
 
 After long doubts this sentence seemed best : 
 Mnestheus first, and strong Cloanthns eke 
 He calls to him, with Sergest ; unto whom 
 He gave in charge his navy secretly 
 For to prepare, and drive to the sea coast 
 His people ; and their armour to address ; 
 And for the cause of change to feign excuse : 
 And that he, when good Dido least foreknew, 
 Or did suspect so great a love could break, 
 Would wait his time to speak thereof most meet ; 
 The nearest way to hasten his intent. 
 Gladly his will and biddings they obey. 
 
 Full soon the Queen this crafty sleight 'gan smell, 
 (Who can deceive a lover in forecast ?) 
 And first foresaw the motions for to come ; 
 Things most assured fearing. Unto whom 
 That wicked Fame reported, how to flight 
 Was arm'd the fleet, all ready to avale. 
 Then ill bested of counsel, rageth she ; 
 And whisketh through the town : like Bacchus' nun, 
 As Thy as stirs, the sacred rites begun, 
 And when the wonted third years sacrifice 
 Doth prick her forth, hearing Bacchus' name hal- 
 lowed, 
 And that the feastful night of Citheron 
 Doth call her forth, with noise of dancing. 
 At length herself bordeth iEneas thus : 
 6 Unfaithful wight ! to cover such a fault 
 Couldest thou hope ? unwist to leave my land ? 
 Not thee our love, nor yet right hand betrothed, 
 Ne cruel death of Dido may withhold ? 
 But that thou wilt in winter ships prepare, 
 And try the seas in broil of whirling winds ? 
 
160 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 What if the land thou seekest were not strange ! 
 
 If not unknowen ? or ancient Troy yet stood ? 
 
 In rough seas yet should Troye town be sought ? 
 
 Shunnest thou me ? By these tears, and right hand, 
 
 (For nought else have I, wretched, left myself) 
 
 By our spousals and marriage begun, 
 
 If I of thee deserved ever well, 
 
 Or thing of mine were ever to thee lief; 
 
 Eue on this realm, whose ruin is at hand. 
 
 If ought be left that prayer may avail, 
 
 I thee beseech to do away this mind. 
 
 The Libyans, and tyrants of Nomadane, 
 
 For thee me hate : my Tyrians eke for thee 
 
 Are wroth ; by thee my shamefastness eke stained, 
 
 And good renown, whereby up to the stars 
 
 Peerless I clamb. To whom wilt thou me leave, 
 
 Eeady to die, my sweet guest ? sith this name 
 
 Is all, as now, that of a spouse remains. 
 
 But whereto now should I prolong my death ? 
 
 What ! until my brother Pigmalion 
 
 Beat down my walls ? or the Getulian king 
 
 Hiarbas, yet captive lead me away ? 
 
 Before thy flight a child had I once borne, 
 
 Or seen a young iEneas in my court 
 
 Play up and down, that might present thy face, 
 
 All utterly I could not seem forsaken/ 
 
 Thus said the Queen. He to the God's advice, 
 Unmoved held his eyes, and in his breast 
 Represt his care, and strove against his will : 
 And these few words at last then forth he cast. 
 ' Never shall I deny, Queen, thy desert ; 
 Greater than thou in words mny well express. 
 To think on thee ne irk me aye it shall, 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 161 
 
 Whiles of myself I shall have memory ; 
 And whiles the spirit these limbs of mine shall rule. 
 For present purpose somewhat shall I say. 
 Never meant I to cloak the same by stealth. 
 Slander me not, ne to escape by flight : 
 Nor I to thee pretended marriage ; 
 Ne hither came to join me in such league. 
 If destiny at mine own liberty, 
 To lead my life would have permitted me, 
 After my will, my sorrow to redoub, 1 
 Troy and the remainder of our folk 
 Restore I should : and with these scaped hands, 
 The walls again unto these vanquished, 
 And palace high of Priam eke repair. 
 But now Apollo, called Grineus, 
 And prophecies of Lycia me advise 
 To seize upon the realm of Italy : 
 That is my love, my country, and my land. 
 • If Carthage turrets thee, Phoenician born, 
 And of a Libyan town the sight detain ; 
 To us Troyans why do est thou then envy 
 In Italy to make our resting seat ? 
 Lawful is eke for us strange realms to seek. 
 As oft as night doth cloak with shadows dark 
 The earth, as oft as flaming stars appear, 
 The troubled ghost of my father Anchises 
 So oft in sleep doth fray me, and advise : 
 The wronged head by me of my dear son, 
 Whom I defraud of the Hesperian crown, 
 And lands allotted him by destiny. 
 The messenger eke of the Gods but late 
 Sent down from Jove (I swear by either head) 
 1 Redub, to remedy, redress. 
 
162 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 Passing the air, did this to me report. 
 In bright day-light the God myself I saw 
 Enter these walls, and with these ears him heard. 
 Leave then with plaint to vex both thee and me : 
 Against my will to Italy I go.' 
 
 Whiles in this sort he did his tale pronounce, 
 With wayward look she ? gan him aye behold, 
 And rolling eyes, that moved to and fro ; 
 With silent look discoursing over all : 
 And forth in rage at last thus ? gan she upbraid : 
 
 ' Faithless ! forsworn ! ne Goddess was thy dam ! 
 Nor Dardanus beginner of thy race ! 
 But of hard rocks mount Caucase monstruous 
 Bred thee, and teats of tyger gave thee suck. 
 But what should I dissemble now my cheer ? 
 Or me reserve to hope of greater things ? 
 Minds he our tears ? or ever moved his eyen ? 
 Wept he for ruth ? or pitied he our love ? 
 What shall I set before ? or where begin ? 
 Juno, nor Jove with just eyes this beholds. 
 Faith is no where in surety to be found. 
 Did I not him, thrown up upon my shore 
 In need receive, and fonded eke invest 
 Of half my realm ? his navy lost, repair ? 
 From death's danger his fellows eke defend ? 
 Ay me ! with rage and furies, lo ! I drive. 
 Apollo now, now Lycian prophecies, 
 Another while, the messenger of Gods, 
 He says, sent down from mighty Jove himself. 
 The dreadful charge amid the skies hath brought. 
 As though that were the travail of the Gods, 
 Or such a care their quietness might move ! 
 I hold thee not, nor yet gainsay thy words ; 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 163 
 
 To Italy pass on by help of winds ; 
 And through the floods go search thy kingdom new. 
 If ruthful Gods have any power, I trust 
 Amid the rocks thy guerdon thou shalt find ; 
 When thou shalt clepe full oft on Dido's name. 
 With burial brandes I, absent, shall thee chase : 
 And when cold death from life these limbs divides, 
 My ghost each where shall still on thee await. 
 Thou shalt abye 1 ; and I shall hear thereof, 
 Among the souls below the bruit shall come.' 
 
 With such like words she cut off half her tale, 
 With pensive heart abandoning the light. 
 And from his sight herself gan far remove ; 
 Forsaking him, that many things in fear 
 Imagined, and did prepare to say. 
 Her swouning limbs her damsels 'gan relieve, 
 And to her chamber bare of marble stone ; 
 And laid her on her bed with tapets 2 spread. 
 
 But just ^Eneas, though he did desire 
 With comfort sweet her sorrows to appease, 
 And with his words to banish all her care ; 
 Wailing her much, with great love overcome : 
 The Gods' will yet he worketh, and resorts 
 Unto his navy. Where the Troyans fast 
 Fell to their work, from the shore to linstock 
 High rigged ships : now fletes the tallowed keel; 
 Their oars with leaves yet green from wood they 
 
 bring ; 
 And masts unshave for haste, to take their flight. 
 You might have seen them throng out of the town 
 Like ants, when they do spoil the bing of corr i; 
 
 1 To expiate, to pay for. 
 
 2 Cloth of any kind, as tapestry. 
 
164 
 
 For winter's dread, which they bear to their den : 
 When the black swarm creeps over all the fields, 
 And thwart the grass by strait paths drags their prey • 
 The great grains then some on their shoulders truss, 
 Some drive the troop, some chastise eke the slow : 
 That with their travail chafed is each path. 
 
 Beholding this, what thought might Dido have ? 
 What sighs gave she ? when from her towers high 
 The large coasts she saw haunted with Troyan's 
 
 works, 
 And in her sight the seas with din confounded ? 
 0, witless Love ! what thing is that to do 
 A mortal mind thou canst not force thereto ? 
 Forced she is to tears ay to return, 
 With new requests to yield her heart to love : 
 And lest she should before her causeless death 
 Leave any thing untried : ' sister Anne !' 
 Quoth she, ' behold the whole coast round about, 
 How they prepare, assembled every where ; 
 The streaming sails abiding but for wind : 
 The shipmen crown their ships with boughs for joy. 
 
 sister ! if so great a sorrow I 
 Mistrusted had, it were more light to bear. 
 Yet natheless this for me wretched wight, 
 Anne, shalt thou do : for faithless, thee alone 
 He reverenced, thee eke his secrets told ; 
 
 The meetest time thou knowest to borde the man : 
 To my proud foe thus, sister, humbly say ; 
 
 1 with the Greeks within the port Aulide 
 Conjured not, the Troyans to destroy ; 
 Nor to the walls of Troy yet sent my fleet : 
 Nor cinders of his father Anchises 
 Disturbed have, out of his sepulture. 
 
earl or Surrey's poems. 165 
 
 Why lets he not my words sink in his ears 
 
 So hard to overtreat ? Whither whirls he ? 
 
 This last boon yet grant he to wretched love. 
 
 Prosperous winds for to depart with ease 
 
 Let him abide ; the foresaid marriage now, 
 
 That he betray'd, I do not him require ; 
 
 Nor that he should fair Italy forgo : 
 
 Neither I would he should his kingdom leave. 
 
 Quiet I ask, and a time of delay, 
 
 And respite eke my fury to assuage, 
 
 Till my mishap teach me, all comfortless, 
 
 How for to wail my grief. This latter grace, 
 
 Sister, I crave : have thou remorse of me ; 
 
 Which, if thou shalt vouchsafe, with heaps I shall 
 
 Leave by my death redoubled unto thee.' 
 
 Moisted with tears thus wretched 'gan she plain : 
 Which Anne reports, and answer brings again. 
 Nought tears him move, ne yet to any words 
 He can be framed with gentle mind to yield. 
 The Werdes 1 withstand, a God stops his meek ears. 
 Like to the aged boisteous bodied oak, 
 The which among the Alps the Northern winds 
 Blowing now from this quarter, now from that, 
 Betwixt them strive to overwhelm with blasts : 
 The whistling air among the branches roars, 
 Which all at once bow to the earth her crops, 
 The stock once smit : whiles in the rocks the tree 
 Sticks fast ; and look, how high to the heav'n her top 
 Rears up, so deep her root spreads down to hell. 
 So was this Lord now here now there beset 
 With words ; in whose stout breast wrought many 
 cares. 
 
 1 The Fates. 
 
166 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 But still his mind in one remains ; in vain 
 
 The tears were shed. Then Dido, fray'd of Fates, 
 
 Wisheth for death, irked 1 to see the skies. 
 
 And that she might the rather work her will, 
 
 And leave the light, (a grisly thing to tell) 
 
 Upon the altars burning full of 'cense 
 
 When she set gifts of sacrifice, she saw 
 
 The holy water stocks wax black within ; 
 
 The wine eke shed, change into filthy gore : 
 
 This she to none, not to her sister told. 
 
 A marble temple in her palace eke, 
 
 In memory of her old spouse, there stood, 
 
 In great honour and worship, which she held, 
 
 With snow white clothes deck'd, and with boughs 
 
 of feast : 
 Whereoutwas heard her husband's voice, and speech 
 Cleping for her, when dark night hid the earth : 
 And oft the owl with rueful song complain'd 
 From the housetop, drawing long doleful tunes. 
 And many things forespoke by prophets past 
 With dreadful warning 'gan her now affray : 
 And stern ^Eneas seemed in her sleep 
 To chase her still about, distraught in rage : 
 And still her thought, that she was left alone 
 Uncompanied, great voyages to wend, 
 In desert land, her Tyrian folk to seek. 
 Like Pentheus, that in his madness saw 
 Swarming in flocks the furies all of hell ; 
 Two suns remove, and Thebes town shew twain. 
 Or like Orestes Agamemnon's son, 
 In tragedies who represented aye 
 Is driven about, that from his mother fled 
 1 Wearied. 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 167 
 
 Armed with brands, and eke with serpent's black ; 
 That sitting found within the temple's porch 
 The ugly furies his slaughter to revenge. 
 
 Yelden to woe, when phrensy had her caught, 
 Within herself then 'gan she well debate, 
 Full bent to die, the time and eke the mean ; 
 And to her woful sister thus she said, 
 In outward cheer dissembling her intent, 
 Presenting hope under a semblant glad : 
 
 ' Sister, rejoice ! for I have found the way 
 Him to return, or loose me from his love. 
 Toward the end of the great ocean flood, 
 Whereas the wandering sun descendeth hence,' 
 In the extremes of Ethiope, is a place 
 Where huge Atlas doth on his shoulders turn 
 The sphere so round with flaming stars beset. 
 Born of Massyle, I hear should. be a Nun ; 
 That of the Hesperian sisters' temple old, 
 And of their goodly garden keeper was ; 
 That gives unto the Dragon eke his food, 
 That on the tree preserves the holy fruit ; 
 That honey moist, and sleeping poppy casts. 
 This woman doth avaunt, by force of charm, 
 What heart she list to set at liberty ; 
 And other some to pierce with heavy cares : 
 In running flood to stop the waters' course ; 
 And eke the stars their movings to reverse ; 
 T' assemble eke the ghosts that walk by night : 
 Under thy feet the earth thou shalt behold 
 Tremble and roar; the oaks come from the hill. 
 The Gods and thee, dear sister, now I call 
 In witness, and thy head to me so sweet, 
 To magic arts against my will I bend. 
 
168 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 Right secretly within our inner court, 
 In open air rear up a stack of wood ; 
 And hang thereon the weapon of this man, 
 The which he left within my chamber, stick : 
 His weeds dispoiled all, and bridal bed, 
 Wherein, alas ! Sister, I found my bane, 
 Charge thereupon ; for so the Nun commands, 
 To do away what did to him belong, 
 Of that false wight that might remembrance bring.' 
 Then whisted she ; the pale her face 'gan stain. 
 Ne could yet Anne believe, her sister meant 
 To cloke her death by this new sacrifice ; 
 Nor in her breast such fury did conceive : 
 Neither doth she now dread more grievous thing 
 Than followed Sichees death ; wherefore 
 She put her will in ure. But then the Queen, 
 When that the stack of wood was reared up 
 Under the air within the inward court 
 With cloven oak, and billets made of fir, 
 With garlands she doth all beset the place, 
 And with green boughs eke crown the funeral, 
 And thereupon his weeds and sword yleft, 
 And on a bed his picture she bestows, 
 As she that well foreknew what was to come. 
 The altars stand about, and eke the Nun 
 With sparkled tress ; the which three hundred Gods 
 With a loud voice doth thunder out at once, 
 Erebus the grisly, and Chaos huge, 
 And eke the threefold Goddess Hecate, 
 And three faces of Diana the virgin : 
 And sprinkles eke the water counterfeit 
 Like unto black A vermis' lake in hell : 
 And springing herbs reap'd up with brazen scythes 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 169 
 
 Were sought, after the right course of the Moon ; 
 The venom black intermingled with rnilk ; 
 The lump of flesh 'tween the new-born foals eyen 
 To reave, that winneth from the dam her love. 
 She, with the mole all in her hands devout, 
 Stood near the altar, bare of the one foot, 
 With vesture loose, the bands unlaced all ; 
 Bent for to die, calls the Gods to record, 
 And guilty stars eke of her destiny : 
 And if there were any God that had care 
 Of lovers' hearts not moved w r ith love alike, 
 Him she requires of justice to remember. 
 
 It was then night ; the sound and quiet sleep 
 Had through the earth the wearied bodies caught ; 
 The woods, the raging seas were fallen to rest ; 
 When that the stars had half their course declined; 
 The fields whist, 1 beasts, and fowls of divers hue, 
 And what so that in the broad lakes remained, 
 Or yet among the bushy thicks of brier, 
 Laid down to sleep by silence of the night 
 ? Gan swage their cares, mindless of travails past. 
 Not so the spirit of this Phenician ; 
 Unhappy she that on no sleep could chance, 
 Nor yet night's rest enter in eye or breast : 
 Her cares redouble ; love doth rise and rage again, 
 And overflows with swelling storms of wrath. 
 Thus thinks she then, this rolls she in her mind : 
 
 ' What shall I do ? shall I now bear the scorn, 
 For to assay mine old wooers again ? 
 And humbly yet a Numid spouse require, 
 Whose marriage I have so oft disdained ? 
 The Troyan navy, and Teucrian vile commands 
 1 Hushed, silent. 
 
170 EARL or surrey's poems. 
 
 Follow shall I ? as though it should avail, 
 That whilom by my help they were relieved ; 
 Or for because with kind and mindful folk 
 Right well doth sit the passed thankful deed ? 
 Who would me suffer (admit this were my will) ? 
 Or me scorned to their proud ships receive ? 
 Oh, woe-begone ! full little knowest thou yet 
 The broken oaths of Laomedon's kind. 
 What then ? alone on merry mariners 
 Shall I wait ? or board them with my power 
 Of Tyrians assembled me about ? 
 And such as I with travail brought from Tyre 
 Drive to the seas, and force them sail again ? 
 But rather die, even has thou hast deserved ; 
 And to this woe with iron give thou end. 
 And thou, sister, first vanquished with my tears, 
 Thou in my rage with all these mischiefs first 
 Didst burden me, and yield me to my foe. 
 Was it not granted me from spousals free, 
 Like to wild beasts, to live without offence, 
 Without taste of such cares ? is there no faith 
 Reserved to the cinders of Sychee ? ' 
 
 Such great complaints brake forth out of her 
 breast : 
 Whiles ^Eneas full minded to depart, 
 All things prepared, slept in the poop on high. 
 To whom in sleep the wonted Godhead's form 
 ? Gan aye appear, returning in like shape 
 As seemed him ; and 'gan him thus advise : 
 Like unto Mercury in voice and hue, 
 With yellow bush, and comely limbs of youth. 
 i Goddess son, in such case canst thou sleep ? 
 Ne yet, bestraught, the dangers dost foresee, 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 171 
 
 That compass thee ? nor hear'st the fair winds 
 
 blow? 
 Dido in mind rolls vengeance and deceit ; 
 Determ'd to die, swells with unstable ire. 
 Wilt thou not flee whiles thou hast time of flight ? 
 Straight shalt thou see the seas covered with sails, 
 The blazing brands the shore all spread with flame, 
 And if the morrow steal upon thee here. 
 Come off, have done, set all delay aside ; 
 For full of change these women be alway.' 
 This said, in the dark night he 'gan him hide. 
 
 iEneas, of this sudden vision 
 Adread, starts up out of his sleep in haste ; 
 Calls up his feres : ' Awake, get up, my men, 
 Aboard your ships, and hoise up sail with speed ; 
 A God me wills, sent from above again, 
 To haste my flight, and wreathen cables cut. 
 holy God, what so thou art, we shall 
 Follow thee, and all blithe obey thy will ; 
 Be at our hand, and friendly us assist ; 
 Address the stars with prosperous influence/ 
 And with that word his glistering sword unsheaths; 
 With which drawn he the cables cut in twain. 
 The like desire the rest embraced all. 
 All thing in haste they cast, and forth they whirl ; 
 The shores they leave ; with ships the seas are 
 
 spread ; 
 Cutting the foam by the blue seas they sweep. 
 
 Aurora now from Titan's purple bed 
 With new daylight had overspread the earth ; 
 When by her windows the Queen the peeping day 
 Espied, and navy with 'splay'd sails depart 
 The shore, and eke the port of vessels void. 
 
172 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 Her comely breast thrice or four times she smote 
 With her own hand, and tore her golden tress. 
 6 Jove/ quoth she, ' shall he then thus depart, 
 A stranger thus, and scorn our kingdom so ? 
 Shall not my men do on their armour prest, 
 And eke pursue them throughout all the town ? 
 Out of the road soon shall the vessel warp. 
 Haste on, cast flame, set sail, and wield your oars. 
 What said I ? but where am I ? what phrensy 
 Alters thy mind ? Unhappy Dido, now 
 Hath thee beset a froward destiny. 
 Then it behoved, when thou didst give to him 
 His sceptre. Lo ! his faith and his right hand ! 
 That leads with him, they say, his country Gods, 
 That on his back his aged father bore ! 
 His body might I not have caught and rent ? 
 And in the seas drenched him and his feres ? 
 And from Ascanius his life with iron reft, 
 And set him on his father's board for meat? 
 Of such debate perchance the fortune might 
 Have been doubtful : would God it were assay 'd ! 
 Whom should I fear, sith I myself must die ? 
 Might I have throwen into that navy brands, 
 And filled eke their decks with flaming fire, 
 The father, son, and all their nation 
 Destroy'd, and fallen myself dead over all ! 
 Sun with thy beams, that mortal works descriest ; 
 And thou, Juno, that well these travails know'st *, 
 Proserpine, thou, upon whom folk do use 
 To howl, and call in forked ways by night ; 
 Infernal Furies eke, ye wreakers of wrong ; 
 And Dido's Gods, who stands at point of death, 
 Receive these words, and eke your heavy power 
 
earl of Surrey's poems. 173 
 
 Withdraw from me, that wicked folk deserve : 
 
 And our request accept we you beseech : 
 
 If so that yonder wicked head must needs 
 
 Recover port, and sail to land of force ; 
 
 xlnd if Jove's will have so resolved it, 
 
 And such end set as no wight can foredo ; 
 
 Yet at the least assailed might he be 
 
 With arms and wars of hardy nations ; 
 
 From the bounds of his kingdom far exiled ; 
 
 lulus eke ravish'd out of his arms ; 
 
 Driven to call for help, that he may see 
 
 The guiltless corpses of his folk lie dead : 
 
 And after hard conditions of peace, 
 
 His realm, nor life desired may he brook ; 
 
 But fall before his time, ungraved amid the sands. 
 
 This I require ; these words with blood I shed. 
 
 And, Tyrians, ye his stock and all his race 
 
 Pursue with hate ; reward our cinders so. 
 
 No love nor league betwixt our peoples be ; 
 
 And of our bones some wreaker may there spring, 
 
 With sword and flame that Troyans may pursue : 
 
 And from henceforth, when that our power may 
 
 stretch, 
 Our coasts to them contrary be for aye, 
 I crave of God ; and our streams to their floods ; 
 Arms unto arms ; and offspring of each race 
 With mortal war each other may fordo.' 
 
 This said, her mind she writhed on all- sides, 
 Seeking with speed to end her irksome life. 
 To Sichees' nurse, Barcen, then thus she said, 
 (For hers at home in ashes did remain) : 
 ' Call unto me, dear nurse, my sister Anne : 
 Bid her in haste in water of the flood 
 
174 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 She sprinkle the body, and bring the beasts, 
 
 And purging sacrifice I did her shew ; 
 
 So let her come : and thou thy temples bind 
 
 With sacred garlands : for the sacrifice 
 
 That I to Pluto have begun, my mind 
 
 Is to perform, and give end to these cares ; 
 
 And Troyan statue throw into the flame.' 
 
 When she had said, redouble 'gan her nurse 
 Her steps, forth on an aged woman's trot. 
 
 But trembling Dido eagerly now bent 
 Upon her stern determination ; 
 Her bloodshot eyes rolling within her head ; 
 Her quivering^ cheeks flecked with deadly stain, 
 Both pale and wan to think on death to come ; 
 Into the inward wards of her palace 
 She rusheth in, and clamb up, as distraught, 
 The burial stack, and drew the Troyan sword, 
 Her gift sometime, but meant to no such use. 
 Where when she saw his weed, and wellknowen bed, 
 Weeping awhile in study 'gan she stay, 
 Fell on the bed, and these last words she said : 
 
 6 Sweet spoils, whiles God and destinies it would, 
 Eeceive this sprite, and rid me of these cares : 
 I lived and ran the course fortune did grant • 
 And under earth my great ghost now shall wend : 
 A goodly town I built, and saw my walls ; 
 Happy, alas, too happy, if these coasts 
 The Troyan ships had never touched aye.' 
 
 This said, she laid her mouth close to the bed. 
 * Why then,' quoth she, ( unwroken shall we die? 
 But let us die : for this ! and in this sort 
 It liketh us to seek the shadows dark ! 
 And from the seas the cruel Troyan's eyes 
 
EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 175 
 
 Shall well discern this flame ; and take with him 
 Eke these unlucky tokens of my death ! ' 
 
 As she had said, her damsels might perceive 
 Her with these words fall pierced on a sword ; 
 The blade embrued, and hands besprent with gore. 
 The clamour rang unto the palace top ; 
 The bruit ran throughout all th' astonied tQwn : 
 With wailing great, and women's shrill yelling 
 The roofs 'gan roar ; the air resound with plaint : 
 As though Carthage, or th' ancient town of Tyre 
 With press of enter'd enemies swarmed full : 
 Or when the rage of furious flame doth take 
 The temples' tops, and mansions eke of men. 
 
 Her sister Anne, spriteless for dread to hear 
 This fearful stir, with nails 'gan tear her face ; 
 She smote her breast, and rushed through the rout : 
 And her dying she clepes 1 thus by her name : 
 
 ' Sister, for this with craft did you me bourd? 2 
 The stack, the flame, the altars, bred they this? 
 What shall I first complain, forsaken wight ? 
 Loathest thou in death thy sister's fellowship ? 
 Thou shouldst have eall'd me to like destiny ; 
 One woe, one sword, one hour, might end us both. 
 This funeral stack built I with these hands, 
 And with this voice cleped our native Gods ? 
 And, cruel, so absentest me from thy death ? 
 Destroy'd thou hast, sister, both thee and me, 
 Thy people eke, and princes born of Tyre. 
 Give here ; I shall with water wash her wounds ; 
 And suck with mouth her breath, if ought be left.' 
 
 This said, unto the high degrees she mounted, 
 Embracing fast her sister now half dead, 
 1 Calls. 2 Deceive. 
 
176 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 With wailful plaint : whom in her lap she laid, 
 The black swart gore wiping dry with her clothes. 
 But Dido striveth to lift up again 
 Her heavy eyen, and hath no power thereto : 
 Deep in her breast that fixed wound doth gape. 
 Thrice leaning on her elbow gan she raise 
 Herself upward ; and thrice she overthrew 
 Upon the bed : ranging with wand'ring eyes 
 The skies for light, and wept when she it found. 
 
 Almighty Juno having ruth by this 
 Of her long pains, and eke her lingering death, 
 From heaven she sent the Goddess Iris down, 
 The throwing sprite, and jointed limbs to loose. 
 For that neither by lot of destiny, 
 Nor yet by kindly death she perished, 
 But wretchedly before her fatal day, 
 And kindled with a sudden rage of flame, 
 Proserpine had not from her head bereft 
 The golden hair, nor judged her to hell. 
 The dewy Iris thus with golden wings, 
 A thousand hues shewing against the Sun, 
 Amid the skies then did she fly adown 
 On Dido's head : where as she 'gan alight, 
 ' This hair,' quod she, ' to Pluto consecrate, 
 Commanded I reave ; and thy spirit unloose 
 From this body.' And when she thus had sai 
 With her right hand she cut the hair in twain : 
 And therewithal the kindly heat 'gan quench, 
 And into wind the life forthwith resolve. 
 
The two following poems are given from a very curious MS. 
 of the time of Henry the Vlllth, belonging to the Duke 
 of Devonshire. The greater part of the poems in that 
 MS. have the names, or the initials of their respective 
 authors subscribed. The signatures originally affixed to 
 those here printed have been much effaced. What re- 
 mains of them, however, is sufficient to lead to some con- 
 jecture. The first is subscribed "Finis q d . W t;" 
 the second, " Finis q d . S e." Respecting the first 
 of these names I apprehend no doubt can be entertained, 
 especially as a large number of the poems in the volume 
 bear Wyatt's signature. That the latter name was de- 
 signed for Surrey's, I think extremely probable ; for his 
 name was then generally spelt " Surrey e :" and the 
 letter preceding the final " e," though erased in part, 
 seems to have been " y." I believe that many composi- 
 tions have been ascribed to authors on presumptive evi- 
 dence less strong than the present, It should be observed, 
 that Surrey and Wyatt were in the habit of frequently 
 communicating their verses to each other. See the poems 
 in this volume, which begin ; " As oft as I behold and 
 see;" p. 37 : and iC Love that liveth and reigneth in my 
 thought;" p. 12.— Dr. Nott. 
 
 PRIMUS. 
 
 Y fearful hope from me is fled, 
 Which of long time hath been my guide. 
 Now faithful trust is in his stead. 
 And bids me set all fear aside. 
 ? truth it is, I not deny, 
 
178 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 All lovers may not live in ease. 
 Yet some by hap doth hit truly ; 
 So like may I, if that she please. 
 
 Why ! so it is a gift, ye wot, 
 By nature one to love another. 
 And since that love doth fall by lot ; 
 Then why not I, as well as other. 
 
 It may so be the cause is why, 
 She knoweth no part to my poor mind : 
 But yet as one assuredly 
 I speak nothing but as I find. 
 
 If Nature will, it shall so be : 
 No reason ruleth Fantasy. 
 Yet in this case, as seemeth me, 
 I take all thing indifferently. 
 
 Yet uncertain I will rejoice, 
 And think to have, though yet thou hast. 
 I put my chance unto her choice 
 With patience, for power is past. 
 
 No ! no ! I know the like is fair 
 Without disdain or cruelty : 
 And so to end, from all despair; 
 Until I find the contrary. 
 
KA.RL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 170 
 
 SECUNDUS. 
 
 ||OUR fearful hope cannot prevail ; 
 Nor yet faithful trust also. 
 Some thinks to hit, ofttimes do fail ; 
 Whereby they change their wealth to 
 woe. 
 
 What though ! in that yet put no trust : 
 But always after as ye see. 
 For say your will, and do your lust ; 
 There is no place for you to be. 
 
 No such within ; ye are far out. 
 Your labour lost ye hope to save. 
 But once I put ye out of doubt ; 
 The thing is had that ye would have. 
 
 Though to remain without remorse, 
 And pitiless to be opprest ; 
 Yet is the course of Love, by force 
 To take all things unto the best. 
 
 Well ! yet beware, if thou be wise : 
 And leave thy hope thy heat to cool : 
 For fear lest she thy love despise, 
 Reputing thee but as a fool. 
 
 Since this to follow of force thou must, 
 And by no reason can refrain ; 
 Thy chance shall change thy least mistrust ; 
 As thou shalt prove unto thy pain. 
 
180 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 
 
 When with such pain thou shalt be paid, 
 The which shall pass all remedy ; 
 Then think on this that I have said ; 
 And blame thy foolish Fantasy. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
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