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

For want of will, in wo I playne
Vnder colour of sobernesse,
Renewyng with my sute my payne,
My wanhope with your stedfastnesse.
Awake therfore of gentlenesse.
Regard at length, I you require,
The sweltyng paynes of my desire.

Betimes who geueth willingly,
Redoubled thankes aye doth deserue.
And I that sue vnfaynedly,
In frutelesse hope (alas) do sterue.
How great my cause is for to swerue!
And yet how stedfast is my sute
Lo, here ye see: where is the frute?

246

As hounde that hath his keper lost,
Seke I your presence to obtayne:
In which my hart deliteth most,
And shall delight though I be slayne.
You may release my band of payne.
Lose then the care that makes me crye
For want of helpe, or els I dye.

I dye, though not incontinent,
By processe yet consumingly
As waste of fire, which doth relent,
If you as wilfull wyll denye.
Wherfore cease of such crueltye:
And take me wholy in your grace:
Which lacketh will to change his place.