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

O crewell hart, wher ys thy ffaythe?
Wher ys become thy stedffast vowe?
Thy sobbyng syghys, with ffayntyng breathe,
Thy bitter tearys, where ar theay now?

Thy carffull lokys, thy petus playnte,
Thy woffull wordis, thy wontyd chere?
Now may I see thou dydst but paynt,
And all thy craft does playn Appere.

For now thy syghes ar out of thought,
Thyn othe thou dost no thyng Regard,
Thy tears hathe quenchet thy lov so hote,
And spyt ffor love ys my Reward.

Yet love ffor love I had Awhyle,
Tho thyn were ffalse and myn were true;
Thy ffayned tearys dyd me begylle,
And causyd me trust the most vntrue.

To trust why dyd I condyssend,
And yeld my selffe so ernystlye
To her that dyd nothyng intend
But thus to trappe me craftyllye?

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O ffalshed ffaythe, hast thou fforgot
That ons of latte thou wart myn owne?
But slaklye tyed may slepe the knot,
No marvell then tho thou arte gonne.

Myn owne but late assuredlye,
With ffaythe and truthe so justlye bounde,
And thus to chaung so sodenlye,
Eche thyng vpon thy shame shall sownd.

Eche thyng shall sownd vppon thy shame;
Syns that thy ffaythe ys not to trust,
What mor Reproche ys to thy name
Then of thy word to prove vnjust?

And ffrom thy wordis yf thow wylt swerue,
And swere thou dydst them neuer seye,
Thy letters yet I do Reserve,
That shall declare the owre and daye.

The owre and day, the tyme and where
That thou thy selffe dyddyst them indyte,
Wherin thou showdyst what dred and ffeare
Thou haddyst ons spyed thy byllys to wrytte.

Thys proffe I thynk may well ssuffyse
To prove yt tru that her I speake;
No fforgyd taylis I wyll devyse,
But with thy hand I shall me wreake.

When tyme and place therto I see,
No dobt ther ys, but thou shalt know
That thou dydst payn me wrongffully,
Without offence to fforge my woo.

And thus ffarwell, most crewell hart;
Ffarwell, thy falshyd ffayth also;
Ffarwell my syghes, ffarwell my smart;
Ffarwell my love, and all my woo.