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

Let theim frowne on that leste doth gaine
Who ded reioise must nedes be gladd
And tho with wordis thou wenist to rayne,
Yt doth suffise that ons I had.

Sins that in chekes thus overthwarte
And coylye lookis thou doste delight,
Yt doth suffise that myne thou wart;
Tho change hathe put thye faith to flight.

Alas it is a pevishe spight
To yelde thi silf and then to parte;
But sins thou settst thie faithe so light,
Yt doth suffise that myne thou warte.

And sins thy love dothe thus declyne
And in thye herte suche hate dothe grow
Yt dothe suffise that thou warte myne
And with good will I quite yt soo.

224

Some tyme my frinde, fare well my fooe
Sins thou change I am not thyne,
But for relef of all my woo
Yt doth suffise that thou warte myne.

Prayeng you all that heris this song
To iudge no wight, nor none to blame;
Yt dothe suffise she dothe me wrong,
And that herself doth kno the same.

And tho she change, it is no shame;
Theire kinde it is, and hath bene long;
Yet I proteste she hathe no name:
Yt dothe suffise she dothe me wrong.