 | The Poems of Henry Howard
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44 A TRIBUTE TO WYATT
In the rude age when scyence was not so rife,
If Jove in Crete, and other where they taught
Artes to reverte to profyte of our lyfe,
Wan after deathe to have their temples sought;
If vertue yet, in no vnthankful tyme,
Fayled of some to blast her endles fame—
A goodlie meane bothe to deter from cryme
And to her steppes our sequell to enflame;
In deyes of treuthe, if Wyattes frendes then waile—
The onelye debte that ded of quycke may clayme—
That rare wit spent, employde to our avayle,
Where Christe is taught, deserve they mannis blame?
His livelie face thy brest how did it freate,
Whose cynders yet with envye doo the eate.
| The Poems of Henry Howard
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