Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt Edited by Kenneth Muir and Patricia Thomson |
21 |
13 | I. |
II. |
4 | III. |
4 | CVIII. |
IV. |
2 | V. |
VI. |
2 | VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt | ||
230
CCXXVI
[Now all of chaunge]
Now all of chaunge
Must be my songe
And from mye bonde nowe must I breke,
Sins she so strange
Vnto my wrong
Doth stopp her eris to here me speke.
Must be my songe
And from mye bonde nowe must I breke,
Sins she so strange
Vnto my wrong
Doth stopp her eris to here me speke.
Yet none doth kno
So well as she
My greefe wiche can have no restrainte;
That faine wolde follo
Nowe nedes must fle
For faute of ere vnto my playnte.
So well as she
My greefe wiche can have no restrainte;
That faine wolde follo
Nowe nedes must fle
For faute of ere vnto my playnte.
I am not he
Bye fals assayes
Nor faynid faith can bere in hande,
Tho most I see
That such alwaies
Are best for to be vndrestonde.
Bye fals assayes
Nor faynid faith can bere in hande,
Tho most I see
That such alwaies
Are best for to be vndrestonde.
But I that truth
Hath alwaies ment
Dothe still procede to serue in vayne;
Desire pursuithe
My tyme mispent,
And doth not passe vppon my payne.
Hath alwaies ment
Dothe still procede to serue in vayne;
Desire pursuithe
My tyme mispent,
And doth not passe vppon my payne.
O fortunes might
That eche compellis,
And me the most yt dothe suffise,
Now for my right
To aske nought ells
But to withdrawe this entreprise.
That eche compellis,
And me the most yt dothe suffise,
Now for my right
To aske nought ells
But to withdrawe this entreprise.
And for the gaine
Of that good howre,
Wiche of my woo shalbe relefe,
I shall refrayne
Bye paynefull powre
The thing that most hathe bene my grefe.
Of that good howre,
Wiche of my woo shalbe relefe,
231
Bye paynefull powre
The thing that most hathe bene my grefe.
I shall not misse
To exersyse
The helpe therof wich doth me teche,
That after this
In any wise
To kepe right within my reche.
To exersyse
The helpe therof wich doth me teche,
That after this
In any wise
To kepe right within my reche.
And she vniuste
Wich ferithe not,
Yn this her fame to be defilyd,
Yett ons I truste
Shalbe my lott,
To quite the crafte that me begild.
Wich ferithe not,
Yn this her fame to be defilyd,
Yett ons I truste
Shalbe my lott,
To quite the crafte that me begild.
Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt | ||