Sir Thomas Wyatt
Courtier, diplomat, poet
1503-1542
‘Alas I tred an endles maze’
Life and times
Literary influences
Imitation and
originality
Poetic voices
Allington Castle, Kent
c.1520
1524
1525
1526
1527
1528
15291532
Marriage to Elizabeth Brooke; they separated after
having one son (born c.1521)
Clerk of the King’s Jewels
Esquire of the King’s Body
Member of diplomatic mission to France
Diplomatic mission to the Papal court in Rome,
Venice and Ferrara
Presented Katherine of Aragon with Quyete of
Mynde, translated by himself from a Latin version of a
Plutarch text
High Marshall of Calais; commissioner of the peace
for Essex; becoming friendly with Thomas
Cromwell, the blacksmith’s son who was to become
Henry VIII’s chief minister
 ‘Wyatt, like the other court writers, was merely
supplying material for social occasions’ (H. A. Mason,
quoted by Greenblatt).
 ‘We are having a little music after supper…all the
confessional or autobiographical tone of the
songs falls away’ (C. S. Lewis, quoted by Greenblatt).
 ‘Entertainments in the court of Henry VIII were
perhaps less lighthearted than Lewis’s charming
account suggests; conversation with the king
himself must have been like small talk with Stalin’
(Stephen Greenblatt, Renaissance Self-Fashioning).
‘A code that associated gentlemanly conduct with masculine
assertiveness existed alongside the client courtier’s need for
deference, flexibility, and, on occasion, tolerance of humiliation. […]
Service to the king involved attendance at court, traditionally
perceived as a place of idleness, vice and insecurity […] associated
with women and a threatening effeminacy.’
‘Accomplished performance in the various pastimes of the court
was a necessary prelude to promotion in the royal service. […]
Courtly lyrics may be understood [in the context] of a need to
assert masculine credentials in aggression and competitive display.
Like tournaments, balets [verses] were designed as much to vaunt
the machismo and display the skill of the writer, as to please and
divert an ostensibly female audience’ (Elizabeth Heale, Wyatt,
Surrey and Early Tudor Poetry).
‘Through a discourse of misogyny, balet-making, singing, the
exchanges of erotic dalliance could be wrested to assert a male
solidarity and scorn of women. The threat of dishonour could be
commuted from royal service to amorous service, bringing with it the
the imagined possibility of retaliation and the returned insult. Desires
and resentments aroused by the fickle favours of monarchs could be
explored and expressed in balets in terms of a feminized Dame
Fortune, or fickle mistress. By strenuously asserting his own masculine
trustiness in the face of a feminized treachery and betrayal, the
courtier could display his own reliability and virtue … a poetic
discourse of misogyny could displace into safer forms the frustrations
and resentments of courtly life.’
‘Wyatt’s poetry can be understood in terms of its negotiation between
what was conceived of as the dangerous charisma of a riggish
[promiscuous] court, and a defensive rhetoric of male selfdetermination and honour.’ (Heale)
1533 Joined the court of Anne Boleyn
1534 Imprisoned in the Fleet for affray in which a sergeant was
killed
1536 Imprisoned in the Tower along with those accused of
adultery with Anne Boleyn, where he probably witnessed
her execution; released (also probably) thanks to Thomas
Cromwell, and sent temporarily to Allington
1537 About this time Elizabeth Darrell, former maid-of-honour
to Katherine of Aragon, became his mistress; they had
one known son
‘If waker care’
(Scribal hand, revised by Wyatt
‘Book of Sir Thomas Wyatt,
BL, Egerton MS 2711)
If waker care, if sodayne pale Coulor
if many sighes wt litle speche to playne
now ioy, now woo, if they my chere distayne
for hope of smalle if muche to fere therfor
To hast to slake my passe lesse or more
by [?be] signe of love then do I love agayne
if thow aske whome, sure sins I did refrayne
brunet
my welth
such
her yt did set or country in  a rore
Thunfayned chere of phillis hath ye place
yt brunet had she hath and ever shal
she from my self now hath me in her grace
She hath in hand my witt my will and all
my hert alone wel worthie she doth staye
wtout whose helpe skant do I live a daye
1537- Ambassador to Holy Roman Emperor, Charles V;
1540 allegations of treason made against Wyatt
1540 Thomas Cromwell executed (‘The pillar perished is’
probably written in response); allegations revived and
Wyatt imprisoned in Tower; pardoned after intervention
by Queen Katherine (Howard) on condition that he take
back his wife
1542 Following rapid rehabilitation, Wyatt resumed his courtly
career; contracted a fever after going to meet a Spanish
envoy at Falmouth, and died October 1642
Reherse here the lawe of wordes. Declare, my lords, I
beseke you, the meaninge thereof. This includythe that
wordes maliciouslie spoken or trayterously agaynste the
kynges persone shuld be taken for treasone […] For in some
lyttell thynge may apere the truthe which I dare saye you
seke for your consciens sake. And besydys that, yt is a smale
thynge in alteringe of one syllable ether with penne or
worde that may mayk in the conceavinge of the truthe
myche matter or error. For in thys thynge ‘I fere’, or ‘I
truste’, semethe but one smale syllable chaynged, and yet it
makethe a great dyfferaunce […] yea and the settinge of the
wordes one in an others place may mayke greate
dyfferaunce, tho the wordes were all one – as a ‘myll horse’
and ‘a horse myll’.
‘Defence’ To the Iudges after the Indictement and the evidence, summer 1641)
‘It may be good’
The Lover taught, mistrusteth Allurements
It may be good like it who list
but I do dowbt who can me blame
for oft assured yet have I myst
and now again I fere the same
The wyndy wordes the Ies quaynt game
of soden chaunge maketh me agast
for dred to fall I stond not fast
Alas I tred an endles maze
that seketh to accorde two contraries
and hope still & nothing hase
imprisoned in libertes
as oon unhard & and still that cries
alwaies thursty & yet nothing I tast
for dred to fall I stond not fast
Assured I dowbt I be not sure
and should I trust to suche suretie
that oft hath put the prouff in ure
and never hath founde it trusty
nay sir In faith it were great foly
and yet my liff thus I do wast
for dred to fall I stond not fast
IT may be good, like it who list;
But I do doubt: who can me blame?
For oft assured, yet have I mist;
And now again I fear the same.
The words that from your mouth last came
Of sudden change, make me aghast;
For dread to fall, I stand not fast.
Alas, I tread an endless maze,
That seek t’ accord two contraries;
And hope thus still, and nothing hase,
Imprisoned in liberties;
As one unheard, and still that cries;
Always thirsty, and nought doth taste;
For dread to fall, I stand not fast.
Assured, I doubt I be not sure;
Should I then trust unto such surety;
That oft hath put the proof in ure,
And never yet have found it trusty?
Nay, sir, in faith, it were great folly:
And yet my life thus do I waste;
For dread to fall, I stand not fast.
Tagus, fare well, that westward with thy stremis,
Turns up the grayns of gold already tryd :
With spurr and sayle for I go seke the Temis,
Gaynward the sonne that showth her welthi pryd :
And to the town which Brutus sowght by dremis.
Like bendyd mone doth lend her lusty syd :
My Kyng my Contry alone for whome I lyve :
Of myghty love the winges for this me gyve.
(Egerton MS, Wyatt’s hand)
Tagus, farewell, that westward with thy streams,
Turns up the grains of gold already tried,
With spur and sail for I go seek the Thames,
Gainward the sun that shew’th her wealthy pride,
And, to the town which Brutus sought by dreams,
Like bended moon doth lend her lusty side.
My king, my country, alone for whom I live,
Of mighty love the wings for this me give.
(Complete Poems, ed. Rebholz)
Petrarch (Francesco Petrarca)
(1304-74)
Rime Sparse (‘scattered rhymes’) or
Il Canzoniere (‘the songbook’)
The Rime consist of a series of 366 poems, of
which 317 are sonnets, written over 40 years
‘Imitation’ as a literary form came out of the rediscovery of the
classics, resurrecting them by imitating and responding to them;
‘what Petrarch chose to do as a poet was to write verse … that
demanded to be subread, verse bearing within it the latent
presence of an ancient author’; ‘it is an intimate, delicate, and
subtle conversation with a voice of the ancient past’. It involves
recognition of ‘otherness’, a discovery that cultural styles alter
with time, like languages (Thomas M. Greene, The Light in Troy).
‘A proper imitator should take care that what he writes resemble
the original without reproducing it. The resemblance should not
be that of a portrait to the sitter … but it should be the
resemblance of a son to his father’ (letter of Petrarch).
‘Imitation at its most powerful requires a profound act of selfknowledge and then a creative act of self-definition’ (Greene).
Geoffrey Chaucer reading his poems
to Richard II and his court
(Frontispiece to Troilus and Criseyde;
Corpus Christi, Cambridge, MS 61,
c. 1415)
In Troilus Chaucer translated and
imitated Petrarch’s sonnet 132, but
didn’t use the sonnet form; like the
rest of the poem it’s in rhyme royal,
the form used by Wyatt for ‘They
flee from me’.
Wyatt’s metrical intentions remain one of the most enduring of prosodic
mysteries, and I have no solution to offer.
Derek Attridge, The Rhythms of English Poetry (1982)
Wyatt’s revisions of his poems in the Egerton MS […] suggest his priorities in
composition: first, sense or meaning; second, rhyme; third, the iambic
pentameter line; and finally, the line of five feet. Wyatt, I think, regards
precision, clarity, or concentration of meaning as of primary importance.
R. A. Rebholz, introduction to Sir Thomas Wyatt: the Complete Poems
(Penguin, 1978)
Disruption of an iambic meter [is] attainable in several ways: extra stresses in
the line, missing stresses in the line, or extra unstressed syllables […]. The
general principles of rhythm apply: as long as the reader’s perceptual frame,
“the metrical set,” is not broken, considerable variation is possible; […] so
long as the iambic metrical set is preserved, they are perceived as
complications, not violations.
The Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics (2012)
Poetic forms and genres
‘Balets’ or lyric verse





Sonnets
Rondeaux
Epigrams
Strambotti
Ballades
Epistolary satires
 ‘Mine own John Poins’
 ‘My mother’s maids when they did sew and spin’
 ‘“A spending hand that alway poureth out”’
Penitential Psalms
The pillar perished is whereto I lent
The strongest stay of mine unquiet mind;
The like of it no man again can find –
From east to west still seeking though he went –
To mine unhap for hap away hath rent
Of all my joy the very bark and rind,
And I, alas, by chance am thus assigned
Dearly to mourn till death do it relent,
But since that thus it is by destiny,
What can I more but have a woeful heart,
My pen in plaint, my voice in woeful cry,
My mind in woe, my body full of smart,
And I myself myself always to hate
Till dreadfull death do cease my dolefull state?
Sonnet generally regarded
as written on the death of
Thomas Cromwell, in
imitation of Petrarch’s
poem on the deaths of his
patron Giovanni Colonna
and ‘Laura’
Broken are the high Column and green Laurel that gave shade to my weary cares; I have lost
what I do not hope to find again, from Boreas to Auster or from the Indian to the Moorish Sea.
You have taken from me, O Death, my double treasure that made me live glad and walk
proudly; neither land nor empire can restore it, not orient gem, nor the power of gold.
But, since this is the intent of destiny, what can I do except have my soul sad, my eyes always
wet, and my face bent down?
Oh our life that is so beautiful to see, how easily it loses on one morning what has been
acquired with great difficulty over many years!
(Petrarch, Rime 269, trans. Robert M. Durling)
Stand whoso list upon the slipper top
Of court’s estates, and let me here rejoice
And use me quiet without let or stop,
Unknown in court that hath such brackish joys.
In hidden place so let my days forth pass
That, when my years be done withouten noise,
I may die aged after the common trace.
For him death grip’th right hard by the crop
That is much known of other, and of himself, alas,
Doth die unknown, dazed, with dreadful face.
Chorus of Citizens of Mycenae. Let him stand who will, in pride of power, on
empire’s slippery height; let me be filled with sweet repose; in humble
station fixed, let me enjoy untroubled ease, and to my fellow citizens
unknown, let my life’s stream flow in silence. So when my days have passed
noiselessly away, lowly may I die and full of years. On him does death lie
heavily, who, but too well known to all, dies to himself unknown.
Seneca, Thyestes, trans. Frank Justus Miller
Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,
But as for me, helas, I may no more.
The vain travail hath wearied me so sore,
I am of them that farthest cometh behind.
Yet may I by no means my wearied mind
Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore
Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore
Sithens in a net I seek to hold the wind.
Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,
As well as I may spend his time in vain.
And graven with diamonds in letters plain
There is written her fair neck round about:
‘Noli me tangere for Caesar’s I am,
And wild for to hold though I seem tame.’
A white doe on the green grass appeared to me, with two golden horns, between two
rivers, in the shade of a laurel, when the sun was rising in the unripe season.
Her look was so sweet and proud that to follow her I left every task, like the miser who as
he seeks treasure sweetens his trouble with delight.
‘Let no one touch me,’ she bore written with diamonds and topazes around her lovely neck.
‘It has pleased my Caesar to make me free.’
And the sun had already turned at midday; my eyes were tired by looking but not sated,
when I fell into the water, and she disappeared.
(Petrarch, Rime 190, trans. Robert M. Durling)
Hans Holbein the Younger, Noli me Tangere (1524)
They flee from me that sometime did me seek
With naked foot stalking in my chamber.
I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek
That now are wild and do not remember
That sometime they put themself in danger
To take bread at my hand; and now they range
Busily seeking with a continual change.
Thanked be fortune it hath been otherwise
Twenty times better, but once in special,
In thin array after a pleasant guise,
When her loose gown from her shoulders did fall
And she caught me in her arms long and small,
Therewithal sweetly did me kiss
And softly said, ‘Dear heart, how like you this?’
It was no dream: I lay broad waking.
But all is turned thorough my gentleness
Into a strange fashion of forsaking.
And I have leave to go of her goodness
And she also to use newfangleness.
But since that I so kindly am served
I would fain know what she hath deserved.
Mine own John Poins, since ye delight to know
The cause why that homeward I me draw,
(And flee 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 for because I scorn or mock
The power of them, to whom Fortune 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 doth inward resort.
[…]
The friendly foe, with his double face
Say he is gentle and courteous therewithal;
And say that favel hath a goodly grace
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 reckless to every 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 to hawk,
And in foul weather at my book to sit;
In frost and snow then with my bow to stalk;
No man doth mark whereso I ride or go:
In lusty leas at liberty I walk.
And of these news I feel nor weal nor woe,
Save that a clog doth hang yet at my heel.
No force for that, for it is ordered so,
That I may leap both hedge and dyke full well.
I am not now in France, to judge the wine,
With sav’ry sauce the delicates to feel;
Nor yet in Spain, where one must him incline
Rather than to be, outwardly to seem:
I meddle not with wits that be so fine.
[…]
But here I am in Kent and Christendom
Among the Muses, where I read and rhyme;
Where if thou list, my Poins, for to come,
Thou shalt be judge how I do spend my time.