Thomas Wyatt

“ With Venus, and Bacchus, all their life long;
Nor hold my peace of them, although I smart
I cannot crouch nor kneel to such a wrong;
To worship them like God on earth alone,
That are as wolves these sely lambs among.
I cannot with my words complain and moan,
And suffer nought; nor smart without complaint:
Nor turn the word that from my mouth is gone.
I cannot speak and look like as a saint ”

“ In eloquence: and cruelty to name
Zeal of justice, and change in time and place:
And he that suffereth offence without blame,
Call him pitiful; and him true and plain,
That raileth rechless unto each man’s shame.
Say he is rude, that cannot lie and feign;
The lecher a lover; and tyranny
To be the right of a prince’s reign:
I cannot I, no, no, it will not be.
This is the cause that I could never yet
Hang on their sleeves that weigh, as thou mayst see,
A chip of chance more than a pound of wit:
This maketh me at home to hunt and hawk:
And in foul weather at my book to sit ”