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

I may by no meanes surmyse
My fantasy to resyst,
But after the old gyse
To call on had I wyst
And thought it to suffyce
That agayne I shall haue none.
Yet can I not deuyse
To get agayne myne owne.

It is my hart that I haue lost:
God send it me againe.
I should it haue what euer it cost,
Or else I am but slaine. [OMITTED]

I study day and night
And loud I cry and cal
To be deliuered quyte
From her that I am thral.
And yet agaynst al right
Of force I must stil mone,
For it doth passe my might
To get agayne myne owne.

259

In tormentes I am torne
That no rest find I can,
None so vnhappye borne
Sence that the world began;
I aske but such corne
And suche sede that was sowne;
And yet though I had sworne,
I cannot get my owne.

But seyng that I cannot
Attayne my true desyre
Nor by no meanes may not
Crepe out of the fyre, [OMITTED]
Geue ought of your owne
By reason that you should not
Let me to haue myne owne.