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Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt

Edited by Kenneth Muir and Patricia Thomson

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LXVII

[If chaunce assynd]

If chaunce assynd
Were to my mynde
By very kynd
Of destyne,
Yet would I crave
Nought else to have
But only liff and libertie.
Then were I sure
I myght endure
The displeasure
Of crueltie,
Where now I plain
Alas in vain,
Lacking my liff for libertie.
For withoute th'one
Th'othre is gone
And there can none
It remedy;
If th'one be past,
Th'othre doeth wast,
And all for lack of libertie.
And so I dryve
As yet alyve

51

All tho I stryve
With myserie,
Drawing my breth,
Lowking for deth
And losse of liff for libertie.
But thou that still
Maist at thy will
Torne all this ill
Aduersitie,
For the repare
Of my welfare
Graunt me but liff and libertie.
And if not so,
Then let all goo
To wretched woo,
And let me dye;
For th'one or th'othre
There is none othre,
My deth or liff with libertie.