life; he obtained permission to retire to Allington Castle, and Henry bestowed upon him. some lands in Lambeth, and made him High Steward of the manor of Maidstone. He now devoted himself to the cultivation of poetry, and the improvement of his estates. It was at Allington, amid his own woods, and on the banks of the sweet stream that ran through them, that he penned his satires addressed to John Poyntz, on the vices of courts and the quiet pleasures of the country.

Mine own John Poyntz, since ye delight to know
The causes why that homeward I me draw,
And fly the press of Courts whereso they go;
Rather than to live thrall under the awe

Of lordly looks, wrapped within my cloak;
To will and lust, learning to set a law,

It is not that because I scorn or mock

The power of them, whom Fortune here hath lent
Charge over us, of right to strike the stroke;

But true it is that I have always meant
Less to esteem them than the common sort,
Of outward things that judge in their intent,
Without regard what inward doth resort.
I grant, sometime of glory that the fire
Doth touch my heart. Me list not to report
Blame by honour, and honour to desire.
But how may I this honour now attain,
That cannot dye the colour black a liar?
My Poyntz, I cannot frame my tongue to feign,
To cloak the truth, for praise without desert
Of them that list all vice for to retain.

I cannot honour them that set their part
With Venus and with Bacchus all 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,
Yet 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;
Use wiles for wit, and make deceit a pleasure;
Call craft council,-for lucre still to pant:

I cannot wrest the law to fill the coffer,
With innocent blood to feed myself to fat,

And do most hurt where that most help I offer.

*

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;

In frost and snow then with my bow to stalk;

Noman doth mark whereso I ride or go.
In lusty leas at liberty I walk,

And of these news I feel nor weal nor woe,

So I am here in Kent and Christendom,*
Among the muses where I read and rhyme,
Where, if thou list, mine own John Poyntz to come
Thou shalt be judge how I do spend my time.

* The following explanation of this strange phrase "neither in Kent nor Christendom," which is still in use, is given by Fuller, the author of the "Worthies." "This seems a very insolent expression, and as unequal a division. Surely the first author thereof had small skill in even distribution, to measure an inch against an ell; yea, to weigh a grain against a pound. But know, reader, that this home proverb is English Christendom, whereof Kent was first converted to the faith. So then Kent and Christendom (parallel to Rome and Italy) is as much as the first cut and all the loaf besides. I know there passes a report, that Henry IV, King of France, mustering his soldiers at the siege of a city, found more Kentish men therein than foreigners of all Christendom besides, which (being but seventy years since) is by some made the original of this proverb, which was more ancient in use, and therefore I adhere to the former interpretation." Grose quoting this explanation in his Provincial Glossary, says, "the proverb rather seems intended as an ironical reproof to the good people of Kent for overrating the importance of their county; the Kentish men formerly claiming the right of marching in the van of the English army." A more obvious interpretation seems, as the words imply, that Kent by the satirist, who invented the saying, was considered so rude and barbarous as not to be included in Christendom. Wyatt, who was a Kentish man, did not like this distinction, and takes care to say that he lived both in Kent and Christendom.

VOL. II.

Y

In another satire addressed about the same time to the same gentleman, the poet tells the fable of the town mouse and the country mouse, and expresses his own determination not to imitate the latter, and be swallowed by a cat for his pains; an allusion apparently to his royal master. He concludes, speaking of the Court and its inmates:

Henceforth, my Pointz, this shall be all and sum,

These wretched fools shall have no more of me;
But to the great God, and unto his doom,

None other pain pray I for them to be:
But when the rage doth lead them from the right,
That looking backward, Virtue they may see,
Even as she is, so goodly fair and bright;

And whilst they clasp their lust in arms across,
Grant them, good Lord, as Thou mayst of thy might,
To fret inward for losing such a loss.

Notwithstanding his love of the country, and his ardent hope that he might have no more to do with courts, he was not allowed to remain in his darling privacy. On the arrival of ambassadors from the Emperor of Germany in the autumn of 1542, the King commanded Wyatt to meet them at Falmouth, and escort them to London. He was certainly, from his previous employment, the fittest person for the duty, and as he could not disobey the mandate, he set out immediately. But he never

reached his destination. The weather was extremely unfavourable for travelling; he overheated himself too, by hard riding, and on his arrival at Sherborne, near Basingstoke, in Hampshire, he was seized with a fever, from which he never recovered. He had some friends in the town who paid the utmost attention to him, and especially Mr. Horsey, who was unremitting in his kindness. But all aid was unavailing; his constitution gave way, and he expired after a few days' illness, in the thirty-ninth year of his age. He was interred at Sherborne, in the family vault of the Horseys; but no inscription marks the spot where he sleeps.

Of all the mourners that he left behind him, none mourned so sincerely as his friend the Earl of Surrey,-himself destined, at no distant period, to join his heart's co-mate in an untimely death. He has left in the following lines, an eloquent description of the character and acquirements of his friend.

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;
Whose hammers beat still in that lively brain,
As on a forge, where that some work of fame
Was ever wrought to turn to Britain's gain.