Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt :: :: University of Virginia Library

Alas the greiff, and dedly wofull smert,
The carefull chaunce, shapen afore my shert,
The sorrowfull teres, the sighes hote as fyer,
That cruell love hath long soked from myn hert,
And for reward of ouer greate desire
Disdaynfull dowblenes have I for my hiere!

O lost seruise! O payn ill rewarded!
O pitiful hert with payn enlarged!
O faithfull mynd, too sodenly assented!
Retourne, Alas, sethens thou art not regarded;
Too great a prouf of true faith presented
Causeth by right suche faith to be repented.

O cruel causer of vnderserued chaunge
By great desire vnconstantly to raunge
Is this your waye for prouf of stedfastnes?
Perdy you knowe—the thing was not so straunge—
By former prouff to muche my faithfulnes:
What nedeth, then, suche coloured dowblenes?

I have wailed thus weping in nyghtly payne
In sobbes, and sighes, Alas! and all in vayne,
In inward plaint

and hertes wofull torment;
And yet, Alas, lo! crueltie and disdayn
Have set at noght a faithfull true intent
And price hath priuilege trouth to prevent.

But though I sterue and to my deth still morne,
And pece mele in peces though I be torne,
And though I dye, yelding my weried goost,
Shall never thing again make me retorne:
I qwite th'entreprise of that that I have lost
To whome so euer lust for to proffer moost.