Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt Edited by Kenneth Muir and Patricia Thomson |
21 |
13 | I. |
II. |
4 | III. |
IV. |
2 | V. |
CLXXVIII. |
CLXXIX. |
1 | CLXXX. |
CLXXXI. |
CLXXXII. |
CLXXXIII. |
CLXXXIV. |
CLXXXV. |
CLXXXVI. |
CLXXXVII. |
CLXXXVIII. |
CLXXXIX. |
CXC. |
CXCI. |
CXCII. |
CXCIII. |
CXCIV. |
CXCV. |
CXCVI. |
CXCVII. |
CXCVIII. |
CXCIX. |
CC. |
CCI. |
CCII. |
CCIII. |
CCIV. |
CCV. |
CCVI. |
CCVII. |
CCVIII. |
1 | CCIX. |
CCX. |
CCXI. |
CCXII. |
CCXIII. |
CCXIV. |
CCXV. |
CCXVI. |
CCXVII. |
CCXVIII. |
CCXIX. |
CCXX. |
CCXXI. |
CCXXII. |
CCXXIII. |
CCXXIV. |
CCXXV. | CCXXV
|
CCXXVI. |
CCXXVII. |
CCXXVIII. |
CCXXIX. |
CCXXX. |
CCXXXI. |
CCXXXII. |
CCXXXIII. |
VI. |
2 | VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt | ||
CCXXV
[Lengre to muse]
Lengre to muse
On this refuse
I will not vse,
But studye to forget;
Letting all goo,
Sins well I kno
To be my foo
Her herte is fermelye sett.
On this refuse
I will not vse,
But studye to forget;
Letting all goo,
Sins well I kno
To be my foo
Her herte is fermelye sett.
Sins my entent
So trulye mente
Cannot contente
Her minde as I doo see,
To tell you playne
Yt ware yn vayne
For so small gaine
To lese my libretie.
So trulye mente
Cannot contente
Her minde as I doo see,
229
Yt ware yn vayne
For so small gaine
To lese my libretie.
For if he thryve
That will goo stryve
A shippe to dryve
Againste the streme and winde,
Vndoutedlye
Then thryve shuld I
To love trulye
A cruell-hertid mynde.
That will goo stryve
A shippe to dryve
Againste the streme and winde,
Vndoutedlye
Then thryve shuld I
To love trulye
A cruell-hertid mynde.
But sithe that so
The worlde dothe goo
That everye woo
Bye yelding doth incresse,
As I have tolde
I wilbe bolde
Therebye my paynis to cese.
The worlde dothe goo
That everye woo
Bye yelding doth incresse,
As I have tolde
I wilbe bolde
Therebye my paynis to cese.
Prayeng you all
That after shall
Bye fortune fall
Ynto this folishe trade,
Have yn your minde,
As I do finde,
That oft be kinde
All womens love do fade.
That after shall
Bye fortune fall
Ynto this folishe trade,
Have yn your minde,
As I do finde,
That oft be kinde
All womens love do fade.
Wherefore apace,
Come, take my place,
Some man that hase
A lust to berne the fete;
For sins that she
Refusith me,
I must agre
And studye to forgett.
Come, take my place,
Some man that hase
A lust to berne the fete;
For sins that she
Refusith me,
I must agre
And studye to forgett.
Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt | ||