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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408227" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Of the Death of Sir T.W. the Elder</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Wyatt resteth here, that quick could never rest;<br>Whose heavenly gifts increased by disdain,<br>And virtue sank the deeper in his breast;<br>Such profit he by envy could obtain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A head where wisdom mysteries did frame,<br>Whose hammers beat still in that lively brain<br>As on a stithy where that some work of fame<br>Was daily wrought, to turn to Britain's gain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A visage stern and mild, where both did grow,<br>Vice to contemn, in virtue to rejoice;<br>Amid great storms, whom grace assured so<br>To live upright and smile at fortune's choice.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A hand that taught what might be said in rhyme;<br>That reft Chaucer the glory of his wit:<br>A mark, the which (unparfited, for time)<br>Some may approach, but never none shall hit.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A tongue that served in foreign realms his king;<br>Whose courteous talk to virtue did enflame<br>Each noble heart; a worthy guide to bring<br>Our English youth by travail unto fame.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">An eye whose judgment none affect could blind,<br>Friends to allure, and foes to reconcile;<br>Whose piercing look did represent a mind<br>With virtue fraught, reposed, void of guile.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A heart where dread was never so impress'd,<br>To hide the thought that might the truth advance;<br>In neither fortune loft, nor yet repress'd,<br>To swell in wealth, or yield unto mischance.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A valiant corps, where force and beauty met;<br>Happy, alas, too happy, but for foes!<br>Lived, and ran the race, that Nature set:<br>Of manhood's shape, where she the mould did lose.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But to the heavens that simple soul is fled,<br>Which left with such as covet Christ to know<br>Witness of faith that never shall be dead,<br>Sent for our health, but not received so.<br>Thus, for our guilt, this jewel have we lost;<br>The earth his bones, the heavens possess his ghost.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Howard">Henry Howard</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408227" data-title="Of the Death of Sir T.W. the Elder de Henry Howard" data-description="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 l..."></div>
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