Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt Edited by Kenneth Muir and Patricia Thomson |
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Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt | ||
XLV
[What no, perdy, ye may be sure!]
What no, perdy, ye may be sure!
Thinck not to make me to your lure,
With wordes and chere so contrarieng,
Swete and sowre contrewaing;
To much of it were still to endure.
Trouth is trayed where craft is in vre;
But though ye have had my hertes cure,
Trow ye I dote withoute ending?
What no, perdy!
Thinck not to make me to your lure,
With wordes and chere so contrarieng,
Swete and sowre contrewaing;
To much of it were still to endure.
Trouth is trayed where craft is in vre;
But though ye have had my hertes cure,
Trow ye I dote withoute ending?
What no, perdy!
Though that with pain I do procure
For to forgett that ons was pure
Within my hert shall still that thing,
Vnstable, vnsure and wavering,
Be in my mynde withoute recure?
What no, perdye!
For to forgett that ons was pure
Within my hert shall still that thing,
Vnstable, vnsure and wavering,
Be in my mynde withoute recure?
What no, perdye!
Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt | ||