“Wyatt descansa aquí”
Elegía escrita por el Conde de Surrey, tras la muerte de su amigo Thomas Wyatt.
Henry Howard, Conde de Surrey.
Wyatt resteth here, that quick could never rest;
Whose heavenly giftes encreased by disdain
And vertue sank the deper in his brest:
Such profit he by envy could obtain.
A hed, where wisdom misteries did frame;
Whose hammers bet styll in that lively brayn
As on a stithe, where that some work of fame
Was dayly wrought to turne to Britaines gayn.
A visage stern and myld; where bothe did grow
Vice to contemne, in vertue to rejoice;
Amid great stormes whom grace assured so
To lyve upright and smile at fortunes choyce.
A hand that taught what might be sayd in ryme;
That reft Chaucer the glory of his wit;
A mark the which, unparfited for time,
Some may approche, but never none shall hit.
A toung that served in forein realmes his king;
Whose courteous talke to vertue did enflame
Eche noble hart; a worthy guide to bring
Our English youth by travail unto fame.
An eye, whose judgement none affect could blinde,
Frendes to allure, and foes to reconcile;
Whose persing loke did represent a mynde
With vertue fraught, reposed, voyd of gyle.
A hart, where drede was never so imprest
To hyde the thought that might the trouth avance;
In neyther fortune loft nor yet represt,
To swell in wealth, or yeld unto mischance.
A valiant corps, where force and beawty met;
Happy, alas, to happy, but for foes;
Lived and ran the race that nature set;
Of manhodes shape, where she the molde did lose.
But to the heavens that simple soule is fled,
Which left such as covet Christ to know
Witnesse of faith that never shall be ded;
Sent for our helth, but not received so.
Thus, for our gilte, this jewel have we lost.
The earth his bones, the heavens possesse his gost.
Whose heavenly giftes encreased by disdain
And vertue sank the deper in his brest:
Such profit he by envy could obtain.
A hed, where wisdom misteries did frame;
Whose hammers bet styll in that lively brayn
As on a stithe, where that some work of fame
Was dayly wrought to turne to Britaines gayn.
A visage stern and myld; where bothe did grow
Vice to contemne, in vertue to rejoice;
Amid great stormes whom grace assured so
To lyve upright and smile at fortunes choyce.
A hand that taught what might be sayd in ryme;
That reft Chaucer the glory of his wit;
A mark the which, unparfited for time,
Some may approche, but never none shall hit.
A toung that served in forein realmes his king;
Whose courteous talke to vertue did enflame
Eche noble hart; a worthy guide to bring
Our English youth by travail unto fame.
An eye, whose judgement none affect could blinde,
Frendes to allure, and foes to reconcile;
Whose persing loke did represent a mynde
With vertue fraught, reposed, voyd of gyle.
A hart, where drede was never so imprest
To hyde the thought that might the trouth avance;
In neyther fortune loft nor yet represt,
To swell in wealth, or yeld unto mischance.
A valiant corps, where force and beawty met;
Happy, alas, to happy, but for foes;
Lived and ran the race that nature set;
Of manhodes shape, where she the molde did lose.
But to the heavens that simple soule is fled,
Which left such as covet Christ to know
Witnesse of faith that never shall be ded;
Sent for our helth, but not received so.
Thus, for our gilte, this jewel have we lost.
The earth his bones, the heavens possesse his gost.
