 | Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt |  |
CCXLIX
[If euer man might him auaunt]
If euer man might him auaunt
Of fortunes frendly chere,
It was my selfe I must it graunt,
For I haue bought it dere.
And derely haue I helde also
The glory of her name:
In yelding her such tribute, lo,
As did set forth her fame.
Of fortunes frendly chere,
It was my selfe I must it graunt,
For I haue bought it dere.
And derely haue I helde also
The glory of her name:
In yelding her such tribute, lo,
As did set forth her fame.
Some tyme I stode so in her grace:
That as I would require,
Ech ioy I thought did me imbrace,
That furdered my desire.
And all those pleasures (lo) had I,
That fansy might support:
And nothing she did me denye,
That was to my comfort.
That as I would require,
Ech ioy I thought did me imbrace,
That furdered my desire.
And all those pleasures (lo) had I,
That fansy might support:
And nothing she did me denye,
That was to my comfort.
I had (what would you more perdee?)
Ech grace that I did craue.
Thus fortunes will was vnto me
All thing that I would haue.
But all to rathe alas the while,
She built on such a ground:
In little space, to great a guyle
In her now haue I found.
Ech grace that I did craue.
Thus fortunes will was vnto me
All thing that I would haue.
But all to rathe alas the while,
247
In little space, to great a guyle
In her now haue I found.
For she hath turned so her whele:
That I vnhappy man
May waile the time that I did fele
Wherwith she fedde me than.
For broken now are her behestes,
And pleasant lokes she gaue:
And therfore now all my requestes
From perill can not saue.
That I vnhappy man
May waile the time that I did fele
Wherwith she fedde me than.
For broken now are her behestes,
And pleasant lokes she gaue:
And therfore now all my requestes
From perill can not saue.
Yet would I well it might appere
To her my chiefe regard:
Though my desertes haue ben to dere
To merite such reward.
Sith fortunes will is now so bent
To plage me thus, pore man,
I must my selfe therwith content:
And beare it as I can.
To her my chiefe regard:
Though my desertes haue ben to dere
To merite such reward.
Sith fortunes will is now so bent
To plage me thus, pore man,
I must my selfe therwith content:
And beare it as I can.
| Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt | |