PAPER ONE
DUE SEPTEMBER 19

Paper topic 1

Compare Wyatt’s version of the following poem with the version that appears in a sonnet by Francesco Petrarca:

WYATT

Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,
But as for me, hélas, 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.


PETRARCA

Una candida cerva sopra l' erba
Verde m'’apparve, con duo corna d'’oro,
Fra due riviere, a l'’ombra d’ un alloro,
Levando 'l sole, a la stagione acerba.
Era sua vista sí dolce superba,
Ch'’'i’ lasciai, per seguirla, ogni lavoro;
Come l' avaro, che 'n cercar tesoro
Con diletto l'’affanno disacerba.
"Nessun mi tocchi," al bel collo dintorno
Scritto avea di diamenti e di topazi;
"Libera farmi al mio Cesare parve."
Ed era 'l sol già vòlto al mezzo giorno,
Gli occhi miei stanchi di mirar, non sazi;
Quand' io caddi ne l'’acqua, ed ella sparve.


Here is a more or less literal modern prose translation of Petrarch's sonnet by Robert Durling. It appears in Durling’s Petrarch's Lyric Poems: The Rime sparse and Other Lyrics (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1976), no. 190 (p. 336):

A white doe on the green grass appeared to me, with two golden horns, between two rivers, in the shape 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 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.





Paper topic 2

Surrey and Wyatt each wrote his own version of another sonnet by Petrarca, which you might also want to compare and contrast:

SURREY

Love that doth reign and live within my thought
And built his seat within my captive breast,
Clad in the arms wherein with me he fought,
Oft in my face he doth his banner rest.
But she that taught me love and suffer pain,
My doubtful hope and eke my hot desire
With shamefast look to shadow and refrain,
Her smiling grace converteth straight to ire.
And coward Love then to the heart apace
Taketh his flight, where he doth lurk and plain
His purpose lost, and dare not show his face.
For my lord's guilt thus faultless bide I pain;
Yet from my lord shall not my foot remove:
Sweet is the death that taketh end by love.


Remember to make constant use of the version that appears as no. 6 (p. 8) in Hyder Rollins' edition of "Tottel's miscellany."

WYATT

The longë love that in my thought doth harbour
And in mine hert doth keep his residence,
Into my face presseth with bold pretence
And therein campeth, spreading his banner.
She that me learneth to love and suffer
And will that my trust and lustës negligence
Be rayned by reason, shame, and reverence,
With his hardiness taketh displeasure.
Wherewithall unto the hert’s forest he fleeth,
Leaving his enterprise with pain and cry,
And there him hideth and not appeareth.
What may I do when my master feareth
But in the field with him to live and die?
For good is the life ending faithfully.


Remember to make constant use of the version that appears as no. 37 (p. 32) in Hyder Rollins' edition of "Tottel's miscellany."

PETRARCA

Amor, che nel penser mio vive e regna,
E 'l suo seggio maggior nel mio cor têne,
Talor armato ne la fronte vêne:
Ivi si loca, et ivi pon sua insegna.
Quella ch' amare e sofferir ne 'nsegna,
E vôl che 'l gran desio, l' accesa spene
Ragion, vergogna e reverenza affrene,
Di nostro ardir fra sé stessa si sdegna.
Onde Amor paventoso fugge al core,
Lasciando ogni sua impresa, e piange e trema;
Ivi s'asconde, e non appar piú fôre.
Che poss' io far, temendo il mio signore,
Se non star seco infin a l' ora estrema?
Ché bel fin fa chi ben amando more.


Here is a more or less literal modern prose translation of Petrarch's sonnet by Robert Durling (from the same work cited above, no. 140 [p. 284]):

Love, who lives and reigns in my thought and keeps his principal seat in my heart, sometimes comes forth all in armor into my forehead, there camps, and sets up his banner.

She who teaches us to love and to be patient, and wishes my great desire, my kindled hope, to be reined in by reason, shame, and reverence, at our boldness is angry within herself.

Wherefore Love flees terrified to my heart, abandoning his every enterprise, and weeps and trembles; there he hides and no more appears outside.

What can I do, when my lord is afraid, except stay with him until the last hour? For he makes a good end who dies loving well.



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