Analysis of The Country Mouse and the Town Mouse

Sir Thomas Wyatt 1503 (Allington Castle, Kent) – 1542 (Clifton Maybank House, Dorset)



My mother's maids, when they did sew and spin,
They sang sometime a song of the field mouse,
That for because her livelood was but thin
Would needs go seek her townish sister's house.
She thought herself endured to much pain:
The stormy blasts her cave so sore did souse
That when the furrows swimmed with the rain
She must lie cold and wet in sorry plight,
And, worse than that, bare meat there did remain
To comfort her when she her house had dight:
Sometime a barleycorn, sometime a bean,
For which she labored hard both day and night
In harvest time, whilst she might go and glean.
And when her store was 'stroyed with the flood,
Then well away, for she undone was clean.
Then was she fain to take, instead of food,
Sleep if she might, her hunger to beguile.
"My sister," qoth she, "hath a living good,
And hence from me she dwelleth not a mile.
In cold and storm she lieth warm and dry
In bed of down, and dirt doth not defile
Her tender foot, she laboreth not as I.
Richly she feedeth and at the rich man's cost,
And for her meat she needs not crave nor cry.
By sea, by land, of the delicates the most
Her cater seeks and spareth for no peril.
She feedeth on boiled, baken meat, and roast,
And hath thereof neither charge nor travail.
And, when she list, the liquor of the grape
Doth goad her heart till that her belly swell."
And at this journey she maketh but a jape:
So forth she goeth, trusting of all this wealth
With her sister her part so for to shape
That, if she might keep herself in health,
To live a lady while her life doth last.
And to the door now is she come by stealth,
And with her foot anon she scrapeth full fast.
The other for fear durst not well scarce appear,
Of every noise so was the wretch aghast.
"Peace," quoth the town mouse, "why speakest thou so loud?"
And by the hand she took her fair and well.
"Welcome," quoth she, "my sister, by the rood."
She feasted her that joy is was to tell
The fare they had; they drank the wine so clear;
And as to purpose now and then it fell
She cheered her with: "How, sister, what cheer?"
Amids this joy there fell a sorry chance,
That, wellaway, the stranger bought full dear
The fare she had. For as she looks, askance,
Under a stool she spied two steaming eyes
In a round head with sharp ears. In France
was never mouse so feared, for though the unwise
Had not yseen such a beast before,
Yet had nature taught her after her guise
To know her foe and dread him evermore.
The town mouse fled; she knew whither to go.
The other had no shift, but wondrous sore
Feared of her life, at home she wished her, though.
And to the door, alas, as she did skip
(Th' heaven it would, lo, and eke her chance was so)
At the threshold her silly foot did trip,
And ere she might recover it again
The traitor cat had caught her by the hip
And made her there against her will remain
That had forgotten her poor surety, and rest,
For seeming wealth wherein she thought to reign.
Alas, my Poynz, how men do seek the best
And find the worst, by error as they stray.
And no marvel, when sight is so opprest
And blind the guide. Anon out of the way
Goeth guide and all in seeking quiet life.
O wretched minds, there is no gold that may
Grant that ye seek, no war, no peace, no strife,
No, no, although thy head was hoopt with gold,
Sergeant with mace, haubert, sword, nor knife
Cannot repulse the care that follow should.
Each kind of life hath with him his disease:
Live in delight even as thy lust would,
And thou shalt find when lust doth most thee please
It irketh strait and by itself doth fade.
A small thing it is that may thy mind appease.
None of ye all there is that is so mad
To seek grapes upon brambles or breers,
Not none I trow that hath his wit so bad
To set his hay for conies over rivers,
Ne ye set not a drag net for an hare
And yet the thing that most is your desire
Ye do misseek with more travail and care.
Make plain thine heart, that it be not notted
With hope or dread, and see thy will be bare
>From all effects whom vice hath ever spotted.
Thyself content with that is thee assigned,
And use it well that is to thee allotted,
Then seek no more out of thyself to find
The thing that thou hast sought so long before,
For thou shalt find it sitting in thy mind.
Mad, if ye list to continue your sore,
Let present pass, and gape on time to come,
And deep yourself in travail more


Scheme Text too long
Poetic Form
Metre 1101111101 111011011 110101111 111101101 110101111 0101011111 11011101 1111010101 0111111101 1100110111 101101 1111011101 0101111101 010111101 1101110111 1111110111 1111010101 1101110101 011111101 010111101 011101111 010111111 1011010111 0101111111 111110101 0101011110 11111101 011101101 0111010101 1101110101 0111011101 1111101111 1010011111 111110101 1101010111 0101111111 010111111 01011111101 11001110101 1101111111 0101110101 1011110101 1100111111 0111110111 0111010111 110111011 111110101 11010111 0111111101 1001111101 001111101 11011111001 11110101 1110101001 110101110 0111111011 0101111101 1101111101 0101011111 1110111010111 101010111 0111010101 0101110101 0101010101 110100110001 1101011111 0111111101 0101110111 011011111 010111101 1101010101 1101111111 1111111111 111111111 101110111 1001011101 1111111101 1001101111 0111111111 111010111 01111111101 1111111111 111011011 1111111111 1111111010 1111011111 01011111010 111110101 111111111 1111011111 11011111010 110111101 01111111010 111111111 0111111101 1111110011 1111101011 1101011111 01010011
Closest metre Iambic pentameter
Characters 4,342
Words 859
Sentences 33
Stanzas 1
Stanza Lengths 99
Lines Amount 99
Letters per line (avg) 34
Words per line (avg) 9
Letters per stanza (avg) 3,354
Words per stanza (avg) 852
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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on March 05, 2023

4:16 min read
138

Sir Thomas Wyatt

Sir Thomas Wyatt was a 16th-century English politician, ambassador, and lyric poet credited with introducing the sonnet to English literature. more…

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