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SIR THOMAS WYAT.

1530.

Attached to the Earl of Surrey by a congeniality of disposition and taste, WYAT appears to have assiduously cultivated his poetical talents, which, like those of his friend, were successfully engaged in celebrating the charms of the Fair. Perhaps he more than divides with Surrey the praise of having first imparted to our language a degree of modulation and refinement of which it was hardly conceived susceptible.

Like Surrey, he travelled abroad, and amply availed himself of the treasures of the Italian Muse; like him, he shone with no common lustre in the court of Henry VIII. by whom he was deservedly esteemed for his diplomatic abilities, and highly caressed for his wit.

His personal appearance is described to have been at once awful and engaging; his eyes were penetrating and intelligent. He was born at Allington Castle, in Kent, the seat of his ancestors, in 1503. He was buried in the Abbey church of Sherbourn, where he died in 1541.

YOUR looks so often cast,
Your eyes so friendly roll'd,
Your sight fixed so fast,
Always one to behold;

Though hide it fain ye would,
It plainly doth declare,
Who hath your heart in hold,

And where good-will ye bear.

Fain would ye find a cloke

Your burning fire to hide,
Yet both the flame and smoke
Breaks out on every side.

Ye cannot Love so guide,
That it no issue win;
Abroad needs must it glide,
That burns so hot within.

SONNET.

My heart I gave thee not to do it pain,
But to preserve, lo! it to thee was taken;
I served thee not that I should be forsaken,
But that I should receive reward again :
I was content thy servant to remain,
And not to be repaid on this fashion.
Now, since in thee there is no other reason,
Displease thee not if that I do refrain,
Unsatiate of my woe and thy desire;
Assur'd by craft for to excuse thy fault.
But since it pleaseth thee to feign default,
Farewell, I say, departing from the fire.
For he that doth believe bearing in hand,
Ploweth in the water, and soweth in the sand.

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JOHN HARRINGTON.

1564.

Father of Sir John Harrington, this gentleman is distinguished for the following poem, written, as he informs us, "on ISABELLA MARKHAM, when he first thought her fair; as she stood at the Princess's window, in goodly attire, and talked to divers in the court-yard." He was the friend and admirer of Queen Elizabeth, who rewarded his attachment to her cause, by the reversion of a grant of lands at Thelston, near Bath. He died in 1582."If," says Mr. Ellis, "the poem here selected be rightly attributed to him, he cannot be denied the singular merit of having united an elegance of taste with an artifice of style which far exceeded his contemporaries."

WHENCE Comes my Love?-oh, heart disclose!
'Twas from cheeks that shame the rose;
From lips that spoil the ruby's praise;
From eyes that mock the diamond's blaze :
Whence comes my woe? as freely own-
Ah me! 'twas from a heart like stone.

The blushing cheek speaks modest mind,
The lips befitting words most kind;
The eye does tempt to love's desire,
And seems to say, 'tis Cupid's fire:
Yet all so fairt speak my moan,
Sith nought

Why:

the heart of stone.

so kind bespeak Leweet blushing cheek, ve my pain?

Lifts again.

to cause our moan, at's like your own.

SONNET.

IF amorous faith, or if an heart unfeign'd;
If sweet languor, a great lovely desire;
If honest will, kindled in gentle fire;
If long error in a blind maze chain'd;
If in my visage each thought distain'd;
Or if my sparkling voice, lower or higher,
Which fear and shame so wofully doth tire;
If pale colour, which Love, alas! hath stain'd;
If to have other than myself more dear;
If wailing or sighing continually,
With sorrowful anger feeding busily;
If burned far off, and if freezing near,-
Are cause that I by love myself destroy,
Your's is the fault, and mine the great annoy.

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