| |
| WYATT resteth here, that quick 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; | 5 |
| Whose hammers beat still in that lively brain, | |
| As on a stithe, 1 where that some work of fame | |
| Was daily wrought, to turn to Britain’s gain. | |
| A visage stern, and mild; where both did grow | |
| Vice to contemn, in virtue to rejoice: | 10 |
| 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) | 15 |
| 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. | 20 |
| An eye, whose judgment none effect 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 | 25 |
| To hide the thought that might the truth advance; | |
| 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, | 30 |
| 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; | 35 |
| 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 ghost. | |
