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

For to the flame wherwith I burne
My thought and my desyre,
When into ashes hit shuld turne
My harte by faruent fyer,
You send a stormy rayne
That doth yt quench agayne
And makes my Eyes expresse
The teyres that do redresse
My lyffe in wretchednes.

Then when they shuld haue drowned
And ouerwhelmed my harte,
The hete doth them confound,
Renewyng all my Smarte;
Then doth the flame encresse,
My turment cannot seasse;
My paynes doth than revyve,
And I remayne alyve,
With deth styll for to stryve.

But yf that you wyll haue my deth,
And that you wold no nother,
Then shortly for to stope my breth
Withdrawe the one or other;
For this youre cruelnes
Doth let yt self doughtles,
And that ys reason why
No man a lyve nor I
Of dowble deth canne dy.

131

CXV

[Alle ye that knowe of care and heuynes]

Alle ye that knowe of care and heuynes,
My wofull fatte when ye haue hard,
Then judge the truthe in this my great distresse,
Yf any woo may be therto compared;
And marke my thought as I shall yt expresse,
For cause hit self doth nother mar nor make,
But euyn as the pacyent doth hit take.

I thyncke whoo soo doth behold my payne
Sees the Soule of Sorow grounded in gryff,
The rotte of woo portred in payne,
The cloude of care dispayred of Relyff,
The lothed lyff thorow dartyd with dysdayne,
Sorow ys I and I evyn the same,
Ine that all men do call me by that name.

When I doo cast my careful lok doun Right
Vpon the ground, as thoo that I wolld fall,
Theryn me thynckes ys gravyn with my sight
The pyctour of my Sorowfull thoughtes all;
Ye, and the wormes that appere agaynst the nyght,
As me Semes, they thynck that deth doth mych yll
To leve me thus to lyve agaynst my wyll.

Where I do vse to lye Right secretly,
Apon a banck ouer a Ryuer clere,
Soo ofte I there be wayle my desteyne
That the water disdayneth hit to here,
And at my wepyng takes great envy,
Lest the teres that ffrome my nyes do rayne
Shuld cause the fysshe theryn to morne and playne.

Alone when I doo walke the woodes wandryng,
Vttryng my care with paynefull sighes and groans,
The birdes, which on the bowes syt syngyng,
To here my Cry then ses they all attons,
Hauyng great grudge at me and my wellyng,
By cause yt was so grevous shyrle and lowde,
That hit stonnyd their song thorow all the woode.

132

CXVI

[Accusyd thoo I be without desert]

Accusyd thoo I be without desert,
Noone can hit proue, yet ye beleue hit treue;
Nor neuer yet, sens that ye had my hart,
Entended I to be false or untrewe.
Soner I wold of deth sustayne the Smart
Than breke one thyng of that I promast you;
Accept therfore my seruyce in good parte;
Noon ys a lyve that yll tonges can Extew.
Hold them as false and let not vs depart
Oure frendship old in hope of any new.
Put not thy trust in suche as vse to fayne,
Except thow mynd to put thy frynds to payne.

CXVII

[Agaynste the Rock I clyme both hy and hard]

Agaynste the Rock I clyme both hy and hard,
When at the foote the ford doth bray so lowde
That saue the hart So faythfully had vowyed,
Seith frome the foote in medeway I was forward,
No hart soo hardy nor corryge that cowld
Aventure to clyme Soo hy a Shrowd:
Hoppe byddes me hoppe of payne the right reward.
Now past the vale of Daunger and Dispyt,
Mounted the Rock of Loue and perfit Joye;
Bayned in the forde, Dispere to washe awaye,
Hoppyng hereafter frome Darke to fynd the Light,
Brought to the hyiste, am of the Deptyst agast,
For Dred to falle, my hand now hold the fast.

CXVIII

[A face that shuld content me wonders well]

A face that shuld content me wonders well
Shuld not be faire but cumley to behold,
Wyth gladsum loke all gref for to expell;

133

With sober chere so wold I that yt shuld
Speke withowt wordes, such wordes as non can tell;
The tresse also shuld be of cryspyd goold;
With wytt, and these myght chance I myght be tyed,
And knytt agayne the knott that shuld not slyde.

CXIX

[Alas! my Dere, the word thow spakest]

Alas! my Dere, the word thow spakest
Hath smotte the Stroke within my brest
Of Cruell Deth, sens thow forsackyst
Me and my faithfull ment behest.
Too long I Shewed that word to here,
That doth renew my great onrest
And mornyng Chere.

And mornyng Chere, which by dispayre
For wante of hoppe ys myche increst,
So that now past both hoppe and fere,
Of my judgement I know the best
Ys Lyf a while in paynefull woo;
And how soon Deth wyll pers my brest,
I doo not know.

I do not know when, nor how sone,
The stroke thow smast within my hart
Wyll blede me to a dedely sowne,
But well I know, tho thow revert,
Till yt do blede and I stark dede,
I shall renew with dayly smart
This Lyffe I Lede.

This Lyffe I Lede and Lyve to Long,
Agayn my wyll in ters to melt,
Sens none ther ys may ryght my wrong;

134

But I must fele that I haue felt
The Stroke of Deth, and cannot Dy,
Gaylyd within the strongist belt
Of Crueltie.

Of Crueltie and cruell Deth,
Forst to abyde Extremytie,
And yet to lyve, thoo I want breth,
To Show further how cruelly
My hope ys turned to murnyng chere,
And ye the cause thereof onely,
Alas, my dere.

CXX

[By belstred wordes I am borne in hand]

By belstred wordes I am borne in hand,
As whoo saith, byddyn I shuld obbey.
Ye may thret twys, er ons ye maye
Prevayle by poure to vnderband,
That I shuld yeld and nat withstand.
Youre wordes doo well, your wittes bewraye
Wenyng to bere so great a Swaye,
To wene my will when ye commaunde.
The ffre ye fforse by ffere,
To seke obedyens of the thrall.
Youre thretnyng wordes of poer but small
Ys wasted wynd to vse them here;
For lyke aquytaunce of lyke scathe
Ys my noo force of your no faith.

CXXI

[Beyng as noone ys I doo complayne]

Beyng as noone ys I doo complayne
Of my myshapp, turment, and my woo,
Wysshyng for Dethe with all my myght and mayne,
For Lyffe ys to me as my Chief Deadly foo.
Alas, alas, of Comford I haue noo moo;
Left but onely to syng this Dulphull song:
Paciens, parforce content thy self with wrong.

135

Euer I hoppe sum faver to obteyne,
Trustyng that she wyll recompence at Last,
As reason were, my passyng deadly payne;
And styll I percevered, and they incresed soo fast,
That hoppe me Left, and I, as all agaste,
Had noo comford, but Lernd to syng this song:
Paciens, parforce content thy self with wrong.

I Burne and boyle withoute redres;
I syegh, I wepe, and all in vayne.
Now Hotte, now Cold, whoo can expresse
The thowsaund parte of my great payne?
But yf I myte her faver Atteigne,
Then wold I trust to chaunge this song,
With pety for paciens, and consciens for wrong.

CXXII

[Complaynyng, alas, without redres]

Complaynyng, alas, without redres,
Thus wofully do I my Lyfe Lede,
My harte Lamentyng in heuynes,
Through whose mekenes I am nere dede.

This I induer alwayes in payne,
Dewoyd of pyty as in this Case,
Yet my pore Harte cannot refrayne;
Wherfore, Alas, I Dy, Alas!

Soo vnkynd, alas, saw I never noone,
So hard hartid, so mych without pyty
As she to whome I make my mone;
Wherefore, alas, I Dy, I Dy.

Where I Love best, I am refused;
Where I am Louyd, I doo not passe;
Where I wold faynest, I am dysdayned;
Wherefore I Dy, alas, alas!

Comforthles, complaynyng, thus I remayne;
Merceles, remaynyng without remedy;

136

Cruelnes incressyng through fals dysdayne,
Pytyles remaynyng, alas, I Dy, I Dy.

But from hensforth I hold it best
Them for to loue that loueth me;
And then my hart shall haue sum rest,
Where now for payne I Dy, I Dy.

CXXIII

[“Comeforthe at hand, pluck vp thy harte!]

“Comeforthe at hand, pluck vp thy harte!
Lok Lowe! se where hit doth stand!
Synes the redresse of all thy smart
Douth Ley soo good a hand,
Pluck vp thy hart.

Pluck vp thy harte! why Droupest thow soo?”
So Sayde I me thought;
And frome the Hile I loked Loo
And with myn eye I Sought
Comforth at hand.

Comeforth at hand myn eye hath found;
My thought, therfore be glade;
Yf she be there may hele thy wounde,
Why shuldyst thou then be sad?
Pluck vp thy hart.

Pluck vp thy hart! A mornyng man
Doth gett noo good by woo.
Be glad alway, for whoo soo can
Shall fynd, wher soo He goo,
Comeforth at hand.

Comeforth at hand! goo seecke and fynd!
Loke yf there be redresse:
Yf not, abyde a better wynd,
In hope of Sum reles,
Pluck vp thy hart.

137

CXXIV

[Durese of paynes and grevus Smarte]

Durese of paynes and grevus Smarte
Hath brought me Low and wonderusse weke,
That I cannot cumfort my hart:
Why Syest thou, hart, and wilt not breke?

Thy syghes, thy playntes ar all in vayne;
The teres that from thyne eyes doo Leke;
This Lyffe ys Dethe, this joye ys payne:
Why Syest thow, hart, and wil not breke?

Thow clymest to catche where ys noo hold,
Thow stryves where strength ys all to weke,
Thy carefull lyff cannot be told:
Why Syest thow, hart, and wyll not breke?

The faithfuller thow dust endure,
Les she regards to here the speke;
And seyng pety will not the Cure,
Why Syest thow, hart, and wyll not Breke?

As good thow wart asvnder ryve,
As thus in thought thy self to breke;
Better were dethe then thus alyve
Euer to sighe and never breke.

Wherefore, pety, now shew redresse,
Or elles cum Dethe, thy vengeance wreke!
And sens thow fyndes noo gentylnes,
Harte, syghe no more, I pray the Breke.

138

CXXV

[Do way, do way, ye lytyll wyly prat!]

Do way, do way, ye lytyll wyly prat!
Youre slyly slynkyng cannot you excuse,
Nor wordes Dysymmblyd cannot hid that
That wyll pere owt, yf oftyn ye yt vse.
Yf ye thynke other, youre self ye do abuse,
For hartly Loue unspyd Long to Last,
Yf ye asay, youre wyttes sore ye waste.

Yff yt be possible, that frome a fyer gret
The blak Smoke shall not yssu owt,
Or a fore a Cryppyll to halt and countefet
And be not spyd, then quycly goo aboute
Vs to begyle; for truly without dowte
We know the craft, the Lokys and the prys.
Wherfore trust me yt ys hard to blere our yes.

Yff that we to you of this do speke,
For good wyll to make ye leue your folly,
Then wyll ye not stynt till ye be wreke;
And redy to swere and styll wyll deny
That that ys trew, yet wyll ye neuer apply
To youre own fawtes, but alwayes ye excuse.
Leve, fy for shame! ye make men to thynk and muse.

Ye thynck to cloke that cloked cannot be,
And thincke to hide that open ys in sight.
Alas! my thynckith yt ys a great pety
Youre self to bryng in suche a plyght,
That shuld vs cause to thynck ye Light.
Leue of, therfore: in faith ye ar to blame;
Ye hurt your self and lesyth your good name.

CXXVI

[Desyre to Sorow doth me constrayne]

Desyre to Sorow doth me constrayne,
Dayly incressyng my Smart and payne;
I Se there ys no remedy playne,
But paciens.

139

Dispayre doth put hym self in prese
To cause my sorows to encrese:
I trust at Last that yt wyll sesse
By paciens.

Good hoope doth byd me be content,
And not my self thus to torment,
Promassyng me my hole intent
Through paciens.

I wyll not stryve agaynst the tyde,
For well I Se who doth abide;
That sufferans to hartes desyre ys gyde
By pacyens.

CXXVII

[Defamed gyltynes by sylens vnkept]

Defamed gyltynes by sylens vnkept,
My name alle slaunderus, my faut detect,
Gylty, I graunt that I haue don amys.
Shall I neuer do soo agayne, forgyve me this.

Betrayed by trust and soo begyled,
By promas vnjust my name defyled;
Wherfore I graunt that I haue done amys.
Wyll I neuer do so agayne, forgyue me this.

Accept myne Excuse for this Offens,
And spare not to refuse me your presens,
Onles ye perceyue ye do refrayne
From doyng amys, wyle I Lyue agayne.

CXXVIII

[Dryven by Desire I Dyd this Dede]

Dryven by Desire I Dyd this Dede,
To Daunger my self without cause why:
To trust the vntrue, not Lyke to sped,
To speke and promas faithfully;
But now the prouf Doth verefy

140

That whoo soo trustith ere he knoo
Doth hurt hym self and pleas his foo.

Sens that my Language without eloquence
Ys playne vnpaynted and not vnknowen,
Dyspache myn answere with redy vtteraunce:
The question ys youres or elles my owne.
To be vpholdyn and styll to fawne,
I know non cause of such obedyence.
To haue suche corne as sede was sowen,
That ys the worst: therfore gyve centaunce.

But yf youre wyll be in this case
To vphold me Styll, what nedith that?
Sith ye or nay my question was:
So Long delay yt nedith not.
Yf I haue ye, than haue I that
That I haue sought to bryng to pas;
Yf I haue nay, yet reke I nat:
Where aught ys got, ther ys no lose.

The ye desyred, the nay not;
No gref so gret, nor desire so sore
But that I may forbere to dote.
Yf ye, for euer; yf nay, no more
To trubbyll ye thus: speke on therfore.
Yf that ye wyll, say ye; yf not,
We shalbe frendes euyn as before,
And I myn own, that yours may not.

CXXIX

[Dryuyn to Desyre, a drad also to Dare]

Dryuyn to Desyre, a drad also to Dare,
Bitwene two stoles my tayle goith to the ground.
Dred and desire the reson doth confound,
The tonge put to sylence, the hart in hope and fere,
Doth Dred that hit Dare and hyde that wold appere.

141

Desyrus and Dredfull, at Lybertye I goo bound,
For presyng to proffer me thynckes I here the sonde.
Back of thy Boldnes, thy corage passith care.
This Daungerus Dought whether to obey
My Dred or my Desire soo sore douthe me troubyll,
That cause causith for Dred of my Dekey.
In thowght al wone, in dedes to shoo me Dobyll,
Ferefull and faithfull, yet take me as I am,
Though Dowbell in Dedes, a inward perfit man.

CXXX

[Dobell, dyuerse, soleyn and straunge]

Dobell, dyuerse, soleyn and straunge,
But I haue sped and skappt vnspyd.
Thancked be fortune of frendly chaunge,
The Dede ys Don and I not Denyed.
My traught mystakyn, and I vntryed,
Yf Dobbell Drabbes were soo Defyed,
As worthy ys there wandryng wyt.
I wysse with reson doth not sit:
To Do and vndo, and Scapp vnquyt.
For youre noo faith, such faute were fyt,
Forborne for fere, nay Loue ys hit
Wherby ys bound the body soo.
Thancked be fortune of euery chaunce,
Of my myshappe I thanck my self.
Payne or pleasure, woo or welth.
Wounded by wordes, and Lackes avaunce.

CXXXI

[Dydo am I, the fownder first of Cartage]

Dydo am I, the fownder first of Cartage,
That as thou seyst my nowne deth do procuer
To saue my fayth, and for no new loues rage
To fley Iarbes, and kepe my promes suer.
But se fortune, that wold in nother age
Myne honest wyll in perfayte blisse assuer;
For while I lyuyd, she made my day short;
And now with Lyes my shame she doth report.

142

CXXXII

[Dysdayne not, madam, on hym to louke]

Dysdayne not, madam, on hym to louke,
Whom sumtyme you haue louyd;
And, tho you forswar yt on a bouke,
Error yt may be prouyd:
Tho now your loue be gon and spent,
May happe you may yt soon repent.

Syns that hieraufter coums not yet,
Nor now ys so good as than,
Yet throw hym not doun, but let hym syt,
That so longe hathe been your man:
The tym may comm he may you ees,
Wyche now so soor dothe you dysplees.

Onys I was he that now I am not;
Your selff knos thys full well.
My mynd you kno wel enou by rot—
You nyd no fashion to spell:
Feyr wourds to you I use,
Tho that you cruelly me refuse.

What tho nu broum suype very clyne,
Yet cast not the olde awey;
That seruys not sumtym ys often syen
To serue well a nouther dey:
And stoer of housolde ys well had,
To kype the best and leue the bad.

CXXXIII

[Had I wiste that now I wott]

Had I wiste that now I wott,
For to haue found that now I fynd,
I wold haue Don that I Dyd not;
But fayned faith dyd make me blynd,
And by great othes fixed in my mynd,
His faith to be faithfull to trust,
The Dede now proued, I fynd vnjust.

143

Hit ys not the thing that I pas on:
Of his faith though I had assuraunce,
Of that no more I wyll trust one
Then of a thyng that Lyeth in balance.
Truth Laide aparte falsed ys: his mayntenaunce,
Euer Dubbell, neuer wyll be true;
Roted at the hart must nedes contynew.

CXXXIV

[Horrybell of hew, hidyus to behold]

Horrybell of hew, hidyus to behold,
Carefull of countenaunce, his here all clustred,
With dead dropy blude that down his face rowled,
Pale, paynefull, and petyvsly persyd,
His hart in sunder sorofully Shyvered,
Me thought a man, thus marvelyusly murdred,
This night to me Came and carefully cryed.

‘O man mysfortunate, more then any Creytour,
That paynefully yet lyues more payne to perceyue,
What hardenyd hath thy hart this harme to suffer?
Thy Doughtfull hope, hit doo the but disceyue.
No good nor grace to glade the shalt receyve,
By payne frome thy payne then payne to procure,
Moe bitter hit were then endles Deth to endure.

‘Folowe me’, Seith he, ‘hold here my hand.
To longe ys Dethe in ters to Proue.
The se shall Soner quenche the brand
Of the Desyre that hath the thus ondon;
Or soner send the to a deadly sowne.
Hold in thy hand the hafte herof this knyfe,
And with the blade boldely bereyve thy lyffe.’

‘Cum of’, quod he. ‘I cum’, quod I.
Then therwith as me thought
My brest I persyd paynefully,
My hart right sowne I hit raught.
But, lord! alas! hit was for naught:
For with that stroke I dyd awake.
My hart for sorow yet fele I quake.

144

CXXXV

[Happe happith ofte vnloked for]

Happe happith ofte vnloked for,
As men may se before theire yes;
For he that Dayly Doth labour
And studith all he can Devyse
To bryng his purpose to affect,
Yet by myshap most commenly
From his entent he ys abiect;
And happe doth happe clene contrary,
So that the prouf Doth verefye,
As I haue wryttyn here before,
That happ happes ofte vnloked for.

Some to myshapp when they ar borne,
Ar prefate by there Distyne;
To sume, tho all the world had sworn,
Fortune wyl not be contrary:
This happ doth happ at his own lust.
Sum men to welth and sum to woo;
Sum tyme the stronge he throyth yth Dust;
Sum tyme the lame he maketh goo,
And the Starke blynd to se alsoo;
Sum tyme the hole he maketh sore:
Alle this happs ofte vnloked for.

Sum by good happe ar braught alofte,
And sum by myshap ar throwen doun;
And sum by hap ar set full softe,
That thynck neuer for to come downe.
But I wyll rede them to take hede,
Seith hap doth turne soo sodenly,
Lest he by chaunge do chaunce them lede
Into sum trade clene contrary,
And bryng hym low that was full hy,
And set hym hard that set full softe:
Vnloked for all this happs ofte.

145

CXXXVI

[Hate whome ye lyste, I care not]

Hate whome ye lyste, I care not;
Loue whome ye lyste and spare not;
Doo what ye lyst and fere not;
Sey what ye lyst and dred not;
For as for me, I am not
But euyn as one that rekyth not
Whether ye hate or hate not,
For in youre loue I dote not;
Wherfore I pray you forget not,
But loue whome ye lyst and spare not.

CXXXVII

[Your lokes so often cast]

Your lokes so often cast,
Your eyes so frendly rold,
Your syght fyxid so fast,
All ways one to behold:
Thoughe hyd yt fayne you would,
Yet playnly dothe declaer
Who hathe your hart in hold,
And wheer goudwil ye baer.

Fayne woulde you fynde a cloke
Your byrninge fier to hyde,
Yet bothe the flame and smoke
Brekes out on euery syed:
Ye can not Love so gide
That yt not issue wynn;
Abrode nydes must it glide
That burnes so hot within.

For cawse your selff dothe winke,
Ye iuge all other blynde;
And that Secret you thinke
That euery man dothe fynde;

146

In wast oft spend your wynde,
Your selfe from Loue to quitt,
For agues of that kynde
Wyl sho who hathe the fytt.

Cawses you fet from far,
And all to wrap your wo;
Yet ar you neuer the nar;
Men ar not blyndyd so.
Dyply oft swer you no,
But all thos othes ar vayne,
So wel your eye dothe sho
The cawse of all your payne.

Thynke not therfor to hyde
That styll yt selffe betrays,
Nor syek menes to prouid
To darke the sounny deys.
Forget thos wontyd weys,
Leue of dyssemblynge chyer:
Theer woul be found no steys
To stop a thynge so cleer.

CXXXVIII
The answere

Evyn when you lust ye may refrayne
To payne youre self thus wilfully.
Nother new nor old I doo retayne:
Hit ys naught but your fantesy.

Youre profferd seruice ys nothing Swete,
Yet wold you fayne yt properly.
I doo not love but where yt ys mete:
I chaunge nothing my fantesy.

Youre meate and Drynke though hit be gone,
Ye toke enouff when yt was by:

147

Or ye may call for more a noone,
When hit shall please your fantesy.

Hit was youre febyll founded love
That fancy, founded fowlyshely,
That made me love, lenger to prove
Shuch fowlyshe fayned fantesy.

Yf that youre fancy, as you say,
Doth cause you playne thus petiously,
Esely to turne, perdy you may,
When hit shall please your fantesy.

Your chaine ys long, thow you be bound,
For ye leppe far and Diversly;
To small effect your wordes doth sound:
They come but of your fantesy.

As ye Dyd knyt, soo Dyd I knyt.
Evyn slack for slack right wisely:
I Dought yt mych your new fangled wyt,
Which proued ys by your fantesy.

Thus to comeplayne withouten gryffe,
Therto ye lust your self Apply.
The Smartles nedith no relyff:
I am not Rulyd by fantesy.

CXXXIX

[I am redy and euer wyll be]

I am redy and euer wyll be
To doo you seruice with honeste.
Ther ys nothing that lackys in me
But that I haue not.

My pore hart alwayes and my mynd
Fixed in youres you shall styll fynd;
To Loue you best reson doth bynd,
Although I haue not.

148

And for youre sake I wold be glad
To haue myche more then I haue had,
The Lacke wherof doth make me sad,
Because I haue not.

For I doo loue ye faithfully,
And ye me agayne right secretly;
Of let ther ys no cause why,
But that I haue not.

Yff I you ons of that myght suer,
Oure loue shuld increse and induer;
To study therfore hit ys my cure
How I myght haue.

Such ar cald frendes now a Dayes,
Which do muse and study alwayes
Bitwixt yong Lovers to put Dylayes
By cause they haue not.

But this resisteth all my trust verely,
That ye agayne wyll love me stedfastly,
And let thy word pas as yt hath don hardely,
Till that we haue.

But for this tyme, swete hart, adew.
Contynew faithfull, and I wylbe true:
And loue thee styll, what soeuer insew,
Although I haue not.

CXL

[I am as I am and so wil I be]

I am as I am and so wil I be,
But how that I am none knoith trulie;
Be yt evill, be yt well, be I bonde, be I fre,
I am as I am and so will I be.

I lede my lif indifferentelye,
I meane no thing but honestelie,
And thoughe folkis judge full dyverslye,
I am as I am and so will I dye.

149

I doo not rejoise nor yet complayne;
Both myrth and sadness I do refrayne;
And vse the mene sens folkys wyll fayne;
Yet I am as I am, be hit pleasure or payne.

Men doo juge as they doo trow,
Sum of pleasure, and sum of woo;
Yet for all that nothing they know;
But I am as I am wheresoeuer I goo.

But sens that Judgers take that way,
Let euery man his judgement say;
I wyll hit take in sport and play,
Yet I am as I am whoosoeuer say nay.

Who Judggis well, god well them send;
Whoo Judgith yll, god them amend;
To juge the best therefore intend;
For I am as I am and soo wyll I end.

Yet sum therbe that take delyght
To Judge folkes thowght by outward sight;
But whether they Judge wrong or Right,
I am as I am and soo doo I wright.

I pray ye all that this doo rede,
To trust hit as ye doo your cred,
And thynck not that I wyll change my wede,
For I am as I am how sooeuer I spede.

But how that ys I leue to you;
Judge as ye lyst, false or trew;
Ye know no more then afore ye knew;
But I am as I am whatsoeuer insew.

And frome this mynd I wyll not flee;
But to all them that mysejudge me

150

I do protest, as ye doo se,
That I am as I am and soo wyll I dy.

CXLI

[I muste go walke the woodes so wyld]

I muste go walke the woodes so wyld,
And wander here and there
In dred and Dedly fere;
For wher I trust, I am begilyd,
And all for your Loue, my dere.

I am banysshed from my blys
By craft and fals pretens,
Fawtles, without offens,
And of return no certen ys,
And all for your Loue, my dere.

Banysshed am I, remedyles,
To wildernes alone,
Alone to sigh and mone,
And of relefe all comfortles,
And all for your Loue, my dere.

My house shalbe the grene wood tre,
A tuft of brakys my bede,
And this my lyf I lede
As one that from his Joy doth fly,
And all for your Loue, my dere.

The runnyng stremes shalbe my drynke,
Akehornes shalbe my foode;
Naught Elles shall doo me good,
But on your beawty for to thynke,
And all for your Loue, my dere.

And when the Dere draw to the grene
Makys me thynke on a row,
How I haue sene ye goo
Aboue the fayrest, fayrest besene,
And all for your Loue, my dere.

151

But where I se in any cost
To turkylles set and play,
Rejoysing all the day,
Alas, I thinck this haue I lost,
And all for your Loue, my dere.

No Byrd no bushe, no bowgh I se
But bryngith to my mynd
Sumthing wherby I fynd
My hart far wandred, far fro me,
And all for your Loue, my dere.

The tune of byrdes when I doo here,
My hart doth bled, alas,
Remembryng how I was
Wont for to here your wayes so clere,
And all for your Loue, my dere.

My thought doth please me for the while:
While I se my Desire
Naught Elles I do requyer.
So with my thought I me begyle,
And all for your Loue, my dere.

Yet I am further from my thought
Then yerth from hevyn aboue:
And yet for to remoue
My payne, alas, avayleth naught,
And all for your Loue, my dere.

And where I ly Secret, alone,
I marke that face a none,
That stayith my Lyff, as one
That other comfort can get non,
And all for your Loue, my dere.

The Sumer Dayes that be so long,
I walked and wandred wyde,
Alone, without a gyde,
Alwayes thynkyng how I haue wrong,
And all for your loue, my dere.

152

The wynter nyghtes that ar so cold,
I ly amyd the
Vnwrapt in pryckyng thornes,
Remembryng my sorowes old,
And all for your loue, my dere.

A wofull man such desprat lyfe
Becummyth best of all;
But wo myght them befall
That are the causers of this stryfe,
And all for your Loue, my dere.

CXLII

[Yf I myght hau at myne owne wyll]

Yf I myght hau at myne owne wyll
Suche fflud of tearis wherwith to drowne
Or ffyer so hott as Ætna hyll
With fervent ffyere that I myght burne,
Then shulde I ende this carffull paygne
That fforce perforce I do sustayne.

Or yf the syghis of woffull hart
Could cause my selffe a sonder brake,
Then by that means I shulde departe
My mornynge dayes, and so to wreake
My weryede lyfe and carffull payne
That fors perforce I do sustayne.

Or yf my hand suche happe myght ffinde,
With sword or knyfe to ese my woo,
Then shulde I ease my paynffull mynd;
But syns my hap cannote hap soo,
I must Abyd this carffull payne
That fforce perforce I do sustayne.

Or yf I myght haue at my wyshe
The hevyn to ffall to short my lyfe,
So by suche chaunce I coulde not myse
But I shuld ende this carfull stryfe

153

That dothe increase the woffull payne
That ffors perforce I do sustayne.

Or yf the yerthe at my request
Had powere to opyne, as in my wyll,
I know Ryght well my weryed breast
Shuld ned no more to syghe his ffyll,
For then shulde end this carffull payne
That fforce perforce I do sustayne.

CXLIII

[I wyll allthow I may not]

I wyll allthow I may not,
The more yt ys my paygne;
What thow I wyll, I shall not,
Wherffor my wyll ys vayne.

My wyll wylling ys vayne,
This Ryght well may I see,
Tho wyll wold neuer so ffayne,
Yet my wyll wyll not be.

By cawse I will and may not,
My will is not my owne;
For lacke of will I can not,
The cawse wherof I mone.

Ffor that I wyll and cannot,
The more I wyll certayne:
Thus betwene wyll and shall not
My wyll I may optayne.

Thus wyshyrs want ther wyll
And they that wyll do crave;
But they that wyll not wyll
Ther wyll they soonest have.

154

Syns that I will and shall not,
My will I will refrayne,
Thus for to will and will not
Will willinge is but vayne.

CXLIV

[I knowe not where my heuy syghys to hyd]

I knowe not where my heuy syghys to hyd
My sorrowffull hart ys so vexed with paygne
I wander fforthe as one without a gyd,
That sekythe to ffynd a thyng partyd in twaine,
And so fforthe ronne that skant can torne Agayne;
Thus tyme I passe and wast ffull petuslye,
Ffor Dethe yt ys owte off thy syght to bee.

I skantlye know ffrome whome commys all my greff,
But that I wast as one dothe in seknes,
And cannot tell whiche way commes my mescheff;
Ffor All I tast to me ys betyrnes,
And of my helthe I have no sykernes
Nor shall not have tyll that I do the see:
Yt ys my Dethe out of thy syght to be.

I leve in yerthe as one that wold be dead,
And cannot dye: Alas! the more my payne.
Ffamyshed I am, and yet Alwayes am ffed:
Thus contrary all thyng dothe me constrayne
To laugh, to morne, to walke, to joye, to playne,
And shall do styll, ther ys no remedye,
Vntyll the tyme that in thy syght I be.

Ther nys syknes but helth yt dothe desyer,
Nor povertye but Ryches lyke to haue,
Nor shypp in storme but stering douthe Requyer
Harbor to fynd, so that she may her saue;

155

And I, Alas, nought in thys world do craue
Save that thow lyst on hym to haue mercye,
Whose dethe yt ys out of thy syght to be.

CXLV

[I have benne a lover]

I have benne a lover
Ffull long and many days,
And oft tymes a prover
Of the most paynffull wayes;
But all that I have past
Ar tryffylles to the last.

By prouffe I know the payne
Of them that serue and serue;
And nothyng can attayne
Of that whiche they deserue;
But those payngys haue I past
As tryffylles to this last.

I haue er this bene thrall
And durst yt neuer shewe;
But glad to suffer all,
And so to clok my woo;
Yet that pang haue I past
As tryffelles to this last.

By lenthe of tyme or nowe
I haue attayned grace;
And or I west well howe
A nothyr had my place;
Yet that pang haue I past
As tryffelles to this last.

My loue well ner ons wonne,
And I ffull lyk to sped,
Evyll tonges haue then begonne

156

With lyes to let my med;
Yet that pang haue I past
As tryfflles to thys last.

Somtyme I lovyd one
That lykyd well my suete;
But of my dedly mone
Ffayr wordys was all the ffruite;
Yet that pang haue I past
As tryfflles to this last.

My stedffast ffaythe and wyll
With ffayr wordes haue I told;
Yet haue I ffownd them styll
In ther beleve to colde;
But that pang haue I past
As tryfflles to thys last.

In love when I haue benne
With them that loved me,
Suche daunger haue I senne
That we wold not Agree;
Yet that pang haue I past
As tryffelles to this last.

Abssence of tymes or this
Hathe doblyd my deasease
In causying me to mysse
That thing that myght me please;
Yet that pang haue I past
As tryfflles to this last.

To promys love ffor love,
And mak to long delayes,
Hath mad me ffor to prove
Of love the paynffull wayes;
Yet that pang haue I past
As tryfflles to this last.

157

Ffull many tormentes more
In lovyng I haue ffound,
Whiche oft hathe payned sore
My hart when yt was bound;
Yet all that haue I past
As tryfflles to this last.

Nowe gesse all ye that lyst
And juge now as ye please;
For oftymes haue ye myst
In Jugyng my dessease;
Be nothyng then agast,
Tho ye mysiug these last.

CXLVI

[In mornyng wyse syns daylye I Increas]

In mornyng wyse syns daylye I Increas,
Thus shuld I cloke the cause of all my greffe;
So pensyve mynd with tong to hold his pease,
My reasone sayethe there can be no relyeffe:
Wherffor geve ere, I vmble you requyre,
The affectes to know that thus dothe mak me mone.
The cause ys great of all my dolffull chere,
Ffor those that were, and now be dead and gonne.

What thoughe to Dethe Desert be now ther call,
As by ther ffautis yt dothe apere ryght playne,
Of fforce I must lament that suche a ffall
Shuld lyght on those so welthily dyd Raygne;
Thoughe some perchaunce wyll saye of crewell hart,
A tratores dethe why shuld we thus bemone?
But I, Alas, set this offence apart,
Must nedis bewayle the dethe of some begonn.

As ffor them all I do not thus lament,
But as of Ryght my Reason dothe me bynd;
But as the most doth all ther dethes repent,
Evyn so do I by fforce of mornyng mynd.
Some say: ‘Rochefford, hadyst thou benne not so prowde,

158

Ffor thy gryt wytte eche man wold the bemone;
Syns as yt ys so, many crye alowde:
Yt ys great losse that thow art dead and gonne.’

A! Norrys, Norres, my tearys begyne to Rune
To thynk what hap dyd the so led or gyd,
Wherby thou hast bothe the and thyn vndone.
That ys bewaylyd in court of euery syde;
In place also wher thou hast neuer bene
Both man and chyld doth petusly the mone.
They say: ‘Alas, thou art ffar ouer seene
By there offences to be thus ded and gonne.’

A! Weston, Weston, that pleasant was and yonge;
In actyve thynges who myght with the compayre?
All wordis exsept that thou dydyst speake with tonge;
So well estemyd with eche wher thou dydyst fare.
And we that now in court dothe led our lyffe
Most part in mynd doth the lament and mone;
But that thy ffaultis we daylye here so Ryffe
All we shuld weppe that thou art dead and gone.

Brewton, ffarwell, as one that lest I knewe.
Great was thy love with dyuers as I here;
But common voyce dothe not so sore the Rewe,
As other twayne that dothe beffore appere.
But yet no dobt but thy frendes thee lament
And other her ther petus crye and mone.
So dothe eche hart ffor the lykwyse Relent,
That thou gevyst cause thus to be ded and gonne.

A! Mark what mone shuld I ffor the mak more?
Syns that thy dethe thou hast deseruyd best,
Save only that myn eye ys fforsyd sore
With petus playnt to mone the with the Rest.
A tym thou haddyst aboue thy poore degree,
The ffall wherof thy frendis may well bemone.
A Rottyn twygge apon so hyghe a tree
Hathe slepyd thy hold and thou art dead and goonn.

159

And thus ffarwell eche one in hartye wyse!
The Axe ys home, your hedys be in the stret;
The trykklyngge tearys dothe ffall so from my yes,
I skarse may wryt, my paper ys so wet.
But what can helpe when dethe hath playd his part,
Thoughe naturs cours wyll thus lament and mone?
Leve sobes therffor, and euery crestyn hart
Pray ffor the sowlis of thos be dead and goone.

CXLVII

[Longer to troo ye]

Longer to troo ye
What may hyt avayle me?
For ryght well knoo ye
Ye sware hyt vnto me
Styll for to loue me
Alone and no moo;
But ye haue deceyvd me:
Who cold haue thowght soo?

Yowr fayth and yowr othe
Fly abrode in the wynd;
I woold be ryght loth
To stay that by kynde
Cold never yet fynd
In change to say whoo:
Thys mene I by your mynd.
Who cold haue thowght soo?

Your gret assuerance
Full oftyms dyd glade me;
But the parformance
Hath as well made me,
As reson bade me,
To lett your loue goo.

160

Wyth lyse ye haue lade me:
Who cold haue thowght soo?

But trust well that I
Shall neuer mystrust ye;
I care not a fley;
Go loue wher hyt lust ye,
For nedes change must ye
In wele and in woo—
In that most I trust ye.
Who cold haue thowght soo?

Farewell, vnstabyll,
For here I forsake thee;
Tru love ys not abyll
Tru louer to make the.
Therfore betake the
To them that do knoo
The ways how to brake the,
Where I cold not soo.

Youre faire wordes caught me
And made me your mickell,
But tyme hath taught me,
Their truthe is to tickell,
Sence faithe is fickell
And flitted you froe
Your ware is to brickell;
Whoe wolde have thought soe?

Sence waxe nor wryting
Can certain assure ye
Nor Love nor lyking
Can no waies allure ye
Once to procure ye
To staidnesse to growe,
I can not endure ye,
I care not whoe knowe.

161

CXLVIII

[Love hathe agayne]

Love hathe agayne
Put me to payne,
And yet all ys but lost:
I serue in vayne
And am certayne
Of all myslyked most.

Bothe het and cold
Dothe so me holde,
And combres so my mynd
That when I shuld
Speak and be bold
Yt draweth me styll behynd.

My wyttes be past,
My lyfe dothe wast,
My comffort ys exyled;
And I in hast
Am lyk to tast
How love hathe me begylled.

Onles that Ryght
May in her syght
Optayne pety and grace,
Why shuld a wyght
Haue bewty bryght
Yf marsye haue no place?

Yet I Alas
Am in suche case
That bak I cannot goo;
But styll forthe trace
A pacient pace
And suffer seckret woo.

Ffor wythe the wynde
My fyered mynd
Dothe styll incres in flame,

162

And she vnkynd
That dyd me bynd
Dothe torne yt all to game.

Yet can no paygne
Make me reffrayne
Nor here nor ther to range;
I shall Retayne
Hope to obtayne
A hart that ys so strange.

But I requyer
The paynffull ffyre
That oft dothe mak me swete
For all my hyer
With lyk desyere
To geve here hart a hette.

Then shall she prove
How I her love,
And what I haue her offeryd,
Whiche shuld her move
Ffor to Remove
The payne that I haue sufferd.

A better ffee
Then she gave me
She shall of me attayne;
Ffor wher as she
Showyd creweltye
She shall my hart optayne.

CXLIX

[Lyue thowe gladly, yff so thowe may]

Lyue thowe gladly, yff so thowe may;
Pyne thou not in loukynge for me;
Syns that dispayr hathe shut the wey,
Thoue to see me, or I to see the.

163

Make thoue a vertu of a constreynte;
Deme no faulte wer non ys wourthy;
Myns ys to muche, what nedes thy playnt?
God he knoythe who ys for me.

Cast apon the Lorde thy cuer,
Prey ounto hym thy cause to iuge;
Beleuye, and he shall send recur:
Vayne ys all trust of mans refuge.

CL

[Mornyng my hart dothe sore opres]

Mornyng my hart dothe sore opres,
That ffors constraynethe me to complayne;
Ffor wher as I shuld haue redres,
Alas, I cannot be lovyd Againe.

I serue, I sewe, all of one sorte;
My trust, my trayvell ys all in vayne;
As in dispere without comfforte:
Alas, I cannot be lovyd Agayne.

Perdye, yt ys but now of late,
Not long ago ye knew my paygne;
Wyll your Rygore neuer Abate?
Alas, when shall I be louyd agayne?

It ys bothe dethe and dedlye smart,
No sharp sorrow can now susstayne,
Then ffor to love with ffaythffull harte,
Alas, and cannot be lovyd agayne.

CLI

[Madame, I you requyere]

Madame, I you requyere
No longer tyme detract;
Let truth in you aper,
And geve me that I lak.

164

Ye wot as well as I
That promys ye dyd mak,
When tyme I cold aspye
I shuld haue that I lak.

Bothe tyme and place ye haue
My fervent paygnes to slak;
Nothyng, Alas, I crave,
But onlye that I lak.

Whyche thyng me thynk ys deue,
Remembryng what ye spake;
Ffor yf your wordes be trewe,
I must haue that I lake.

CLII
The Aunswere

Your ffolyshe fayned hast
Ffull small effecte shall tak;
Your wordes in vayne ye wrast;
Ye get not that ye lack.

I wot, as ye shall ffind,
The promys I dyd mak;
No promys shall me bynd:
Ye get not that ye lack.

Tho tyme and place I haue
To slyd yf truthe wer slacke,
Tho styll ye crye and crave,
Ye get not that ye lacke.

Bycause ye thynck yt deue,
I spek that that I spake;
And this word shalbe trewe:
Ye get not that ye lacke.

CLIII

[Myght I as well within my songe belaye]

Myght I as well within my songe belaye
The thing I wolde, as in my hart I maye.

165

Repentens shulde drawe frome those eyes
Salt tearis, with cryes, remorce, and grudge of harte,
Causles by cause that I haue ssuffred smart.

Or myght I ellis enclose my paynfull breast,
That that myght be in syght, my great vnrest,
Ther shulde ye see tormentes Remayn
As hell of payne to move your crewell hart,
Causles by cause that I haue suffred smart.

Ther ys in hell not such a feruent fyere
As secret hete of inward hotte desyere,
That wyll not let the flame appayre
That I haue here within my wastyd hart,
Causles by cause that I haue suffred smart.

Yet you cause yt, and ye may cause my welthe;
Ons cause yt, then retorne vnto my helthe;
And of all mene releve that man
That nothyng can but crye: ‘Releve this hart,
Causles by cause that I haue suffred smart.’

Redres ye ought that harme that ye haue donne,
Yt ys no game that ye nowe haue bygonne;
But worthye blame ye shall remayne
To do hym payne that knowythe not thought of hart,
Causeles by cause that I haue suffred smart.

CLIV

[My swet, alas, fforget me not]

My swet, alas, fforget me not,
That am your owne ffull suer posseste;
And ffor my part, as well ye woot,
I cannot swarue ffrome my behest;
Sens that my lyffe lyethe in your lott,
At this my pore and just request,
Fforget me not.

Yet wott how suer that I am tryed,
My menyng clene, devoyde of blott;

166

Yours ys the proffe; ye haue me tryed,
And in me, swet, ye ffound no spott;
Of all my welthe and helth is the gyd,
That of my lyff doth knyt the knot,
Fforget me not.

Ffor yours I am and wilbe styll,
Although dalye ye se me not;
Sek ffor to saue, that ye may spyll,
Syns of my lyffe ye hold the shott;
Then grant me this ffor my goodwyll,
Which ys but Ryght, as god yt wot,
Fforget me not.

Consyder how I am your thrall,
To serue you bothe in cold and hott;
My ffawtes ffor thinking nought at all;
In prysone strong tho I shuld Rott,
Then in your earys let petye ffall,
And leste I peryshe, in your lott
Fforget me not.

CLV

[O what vndeseruyd creweltye]

O what vndeseruyd creweltye
Hathe ffortune shewed vnto me!
When all my welthe, joye and ffelycytie
Ar tornyd to me most contrarye.

My joye ys woo, my pleasure payne,
My ease ys trayvell—what remedye?
My myrthe ys mornyng, hoppe ys in vayne:
Thus all thyng tornythe clen contrayrye.

The place of slepe that shuld my rest restore
Ys vnto me an vnquyet enymye,
And most my woo reuiuythe euermore;
Thus all thyng tornythe to me contrayrye.

167

I borne ffor cold, I sterve ffor hete;
That lust lykythe desyre dothe yt denye;
I ffast ffrom joye, sorrow ys my meate;
Thus euery joy tornythe to me contrayrye.

The place of my reffuge ys my exylle;
In desdaynes pryson desperat I leye,
Therto abyd the tyme and wooffull whyle,
Till my carffull lyfe may torne contrarye.

CLVI

[Ons in your grace I knowe I was]

Ons in your grace I knowe I was,
Evyn as well as now ys he;
Tho ffortune so hath tornyd my case,
That I am doune, and he ffull hye,
Yet ons I was.

Ons I was he that dyd you please
So well that nothyng dyd I dobte;
And tho that nowe ye thinke yt ease
To take him in and throw me out,
Yet ons I was.

Ons I was he in tyms past
That as your owne ye did Retayne;
And tho ye haue me nowe out cast,
Shoyng vntruthe in you to Raygne,
Yet ons I was.

Ons I was he that knyt the knot,
The whyche ye swore not to vnknyt;
And tho ye fayne yt now fforgot,
In vsynge yowr newffanglyd wyt,
Yet ons I was.

Ons I was he to whome ye sayd:
‘Welcomm, my joy, my hole delight!’
And tho ye ar nowe well apayd

168

Of me, your owne, to clame ye quyt,
Yet ons I was.

Ons I was he to whome ye spake:
‘Haue here my hart, yt ys thy owne!’
And tho thes wordis ye now fforsake,
Sayng therof my part ys none,
Yet ons I was.

Ons I was he before Reherst,
And nowe am he that nedes must dye;
And tho I dye, yet at the lest,
In your Remembrance let yt lye
That ons I was.

CLVII

[O crewell hart, wher ys thy ffaythe?]

O crewell hart, wher ys thy ffaythe?
Wher ys become thy stedffast vowe?
Thy sobbyng syghys, with ffayntyng breathe,
Thy bitter tearys, where ar theay now?

Thy carffull lokys, thy petus playnte,
Thy woffull wordis, thy wontyd chere?
Now may I see thou dydst but paynt,
And all thy craft does playn Appere.

For now thy syghes ar out of thought,
Thyn othe thou dost no thyng Regard,
Thy tears hathe quenchet thy lov so hote,
And spyt ffor love ys my Reward.

Yet love ffor love I had Awhyle,
Tho thyn were ffalse and myn were true;
Thy ffayned tearys dyd me begylle,
And causyd me trust the most vntrue.

To trust why dyd I condyssend,
And yeld my selffe so ernystlye
To her that dyd nothyng intend
But thus to trappe me craftyllye?

169

O ffalshed ffaythe, hast thou fforgot
That ons of latte thou wart myn owne?
But slaklye tyed may slepe the knot,
No marvell then tho thou arte gonne.

Myn owne but late assuredlye,
With ffaythe and truthe so justlye bounde,
And thus to chaung so sodenlye,
Eche thyng vpon thy shame shall sownd.

Eche thyng shall sownd vppon thy shame;
Syns that thy ffaythe ys not to trust,
What mor Reproche ys to thy name
Then of thy word to prove vnjust?

And ffrom thy wordis yf thow wylt swerue,
And swere thou dydst them neuer seye,
Thy letters yet I do Reserve,
That shall declare the owre and daye.

The owre and day, the tyme and where
That thou thy selffe dyddyst them indyte,
Wherin thou showdyst what dred and ffeare
Thou haddyst ons spyed thy byllys to wrytte.

Thys proffe I thynk may well ssuffyse
To prove yt tru that her I speake;
No fforgyd taylis I wyll devyse,
But with thy hand I shall me wreake.

When tyme and place therto I see,
No dobt ther ys, but thou shalt know
That thou dydst payn me wrongffully,
Without offence to fforge my woo.

And thus ffarwell, most crewell hart;
Ffarwell, thy falshyd ffayth also;
Ffarwell my syghes, ffarwell my smart;
Ffarwell my love, and all my woo.

170

CLVIII

[Perdy I sayd hytt nott]

Perdy I sayd hytt nott,
Nor never thought to doo,
As well as I ye wott
I haue no powr thertoo;
And yff I dyd, the lott
That furst dyd me inchayne
Do never slake the knoott
But strayter to my payne.

And yff I dyd, ech thyng
That may do harm or woo
Contynually may wryng
My hart wher so hytt goo;
Report may alway ryng
Off shame on me for aye,
Yf in my hart dyd spryng
Theys wordes that ye do say.

And yff I dyd, ech starr
That ys in heavyn aboue
May frown on me to mar
The hope I haue in loue;
And yff I dyd, such war
As they browght in to Troy
Bryng all my lyfe afar
From all hys lust and joy.

And yf I dyd so say,
The bewty that me bound
Incresse from day to day
More cruell to my wound,
Wyth all the mone that may
To playnt may turn my song;
My lyfe may sone decay,
Wythowt redresse my wrong.

171

Yf I be clere from thowght,
Why do ye then complayn?
Then ys thys thyng but sowght
To put me to more payn.
Then that that ye haue wrowght
Ye must hyt now redresse;
Off ryght therfore ye ought
Such rygor to represse.

And as I haue deseruyd,
So grant me now my hyer;
Ye kno I never swarvyd,
Ye never fownd me lyer.
For Rakhell haue I seruyd,
For Lya caryd I never;
And her I haue reseruyd
Wythin my hart for euer.

CLIX

[Pas fourthe, my wountyd cries]

Pas fourthe, my wountyd cries,
Thos cruel eares to pearce,
Whyche in most hatful wyse
Dothe styll my playntes reuers.
Doo you, my tears, also
So weet hir bareyn hart,
That pite ther may gro
And cruelty depart.

For thoughe hard roks amonge
She semis to haue beyn bred,
And wythe tygers ful Longe
Ben norysshed and fed;
Yet shall that natuer change,
Yff pyte wons wyn place,
Whome as ounknown and strange
She nowe away dothe chase.

172

And as the water soufte,
Wytheout forsinge of strength,
Wher that it fallythe oft,
Hard stonnes dothe perce at Lengthe,
So in hyr stony hart
My playntes at Lengthe shall grave,
And, rygor set apart,
Cawse hir graunt that I craue.

Wherfor, my pleyntes, present
Styl so to hyr my sut,
As it, through hir assent,
May brynge to me some frut;
And as she shall me proue,
So byd hir me regard,
And render Loue for Loue:
Wyche is my iust reward.

CLX

[Quondam was I in my Ladys gras]

Quondam was I in my Ladys gras,
I thynk as well as nou be you;
And when that you haue trod the tras,
Then shal you kno my woordes be tru,
That quondam was I.

Quondam was I. She sayd for euer:
That euer lastyd but a short whyl;
Promis mad not to dysseuer.
I thoght she laughte—she dyd but smyl:
Than quondam was I.

Quondam was I: he that full oft lay
In hyr armes wythe kysses many whon.
Yt is enou that thys I may saey:
Tho amonge the moo nou I be gon,
Yet quondam was I.

173

Quondam was I: yet she wyl you tell
That syns the ouer she was furst borne
She neuer louyd non halffe so well
As you. But what altho she had sworne,
Suer quondam was I.

CLXI

[Ffortune what ayleth the]

Ffortune what ayleth the
Thus for to banyshe me
Her company whome I loue best?
For to complayne me
Nothyng avaylethe me;
Adew, fare well thys nyghtes rest.

Her demure countenaunce,
Her homely pacience,
Hath wounded me thorough Venus darte,
That I cannot refrayne me
Nother yet abstayne me,
But nedes I must loue her with all my hart.

Long haue I loued her,
Ofte haue I prayd her,
Yet, alas, she thorow dysdayn
Nothyng regardes me
Nor yet rewardes me
But lets me ly in mortall payn.

Yet shall I loue her styll
With all my hart and wyl
Wher so euer I ryde or go;
My hart, my seruyce,
Afore al ladyes
Is hers al onely and no mo.

She hath my hart and euer shall
In this terrestrial;
What can she more of me require?

174

Her whom I loue best,
God send her good rest,
And me hartely my whole desyre.

CLXII

[Sche that shuld most, percevythe lest]

Sche that shuld most, percevythe lest
The vnffayned sufferance of my gret smart;
Yt ys to her sport to haue me oprest;
But theay of suche lyffe whiche be expert
Say that I borne vnsertayne in my hart:
But wher jug ye? no mor! ye kno not.
Ye ar to blame to saye I cam to late.

To lat? naye, to soon methynke Rather,
Thus to be intretyd and haue seruyd ffaythffully.
Lo! thus am I Rewardyd amonge the other.
I thoughe vnvysyd whiche was to besye,
Ffor ffere of to late I cam to hastylye;
But thether I cam not, yet cam I ffor all that:
But whether so euer I cam, I cam to late.

Who hathe mor cause to playn then I?
Ther as I am jugyd to lat, I came;
And there as I cam, I cam to hastylye.
Thus may I playn as I that am
Mysjugyd, mysintretyd more then any man.
Now juge, let se of this debate,
Whether I cam to hastelye, or to late.

CLXIII

[Spytt off the spytt whiche they in vayne]

Spytt off the spytt whiche they in vayne
Do styk to fforce my fantysye,
I am proffest, ffor losse or gayne,
To be thyn owne assuredlye.
Who lyst therat by spytt to sporne:
My ffancy ys to hard to torne.

175

Altho that some of bessye witt
Do babyll styll, ye, ye, what tho?
I haue no ffeare, nor wyll not flytt
As dothe the water to and ffroo.
Spytt then ther spytt that lyst to sporne,
My ffancye ys to hard to torne.

Who ys affrayd? ye, let hym fflee,
Ffor I full well shall byd the bront,
May grece ther lyppis that lyst to lye
Of bessye brayns as ys ther wont;
And yet agaynst the pryk thay sporne:
My fancy ys to hard to torne.

Ffor I am set and wyll not swerve,
Whose ffaythffull spetche removyth nought;
And well I may thy grace deserue;
I think yt ys not derely bought;
And yf thay bothe do spyt and sporne,
My ffancy ys to hard to torne.

Who lyst therat to lyst or louere,
I am not he that ought dothe reche;
Ther ys no payne that hathe the power
Out of my brest this thought to seche;
Then though theay spytt therat and sporne,
My ffancy ys to hard to torne.

CLXIV

[Syethe yt ys so that I am thus refusyd]

Syethe yt ys so that I am thus refusyd,
And by no meanys I can yt Remedye,
Me thynckes of Right I ought to be excusyd,
Tho to my hart I set yt not to nye;
But now I see, Alas, tho I shuld dye,
Ffor want of truthe and ffaythffull stedfastnes
Of hym that hathe my hart onlye,
Yt wold not be but ffals nuffanglydnes.

176

I set my hart I thought not to withdrawe,
The proffe therof ys knowen to well, Alas!
But now I se that neuer erst I sawe
Wher I thought gold I fond but brytell glas.
Now yt ys this ye know, somthyng yt was
Not so promysed, the truthe ys so dobtles.
Who ys my fo who brynges me in thys cace?
I can none blame but ffals newfanglydnes.

Yet Reasone wold that trewe love wer regardyd
Without ffayninge, wher ment ffaythfully,
And not with vnkyndnes ys to be rewardyd.
But this yt ys, Alas, suche hap had I,
I can no more but I shall me aplye
My woffull hart to bryng out of distres,
And withdraw my mynd so full of ffollye,
Sythe thus dothe Raygne this false newfanglydnes.

CLXV

[Suffryng in sorrowe in hope to Attayne]

Suffryng in sorrowe in hope to Attayne,
Desyring in ffeare I dar not complayne,
Trewe in belyefe in whome ys All my trust,
Do thou aplye to ease me of my payne,
For elys to serue and suffyr styll I must.

Hope ys my hold, yet in Dyspayre I speake;
I Dryve ffrom tyme to tyme and do not Recke
How long to love thus after louys lust,
In studye styll of that I dar not brake:
Wherffore to serue and suffyr styll I must.

Encreas of care I ffynd bothe day and nyght;
I hate that sometyme was my most delyght;
The cause therof ye know I haue dyscust,

177

And yet to Reffrayne yt passythe my myght:
Wherfor to serue and suffer styll I must.

Love who so lyst, at lenthe he shall well saye:
To love and lyve in feare yt ys no playe.
Record that knoweth, yf this be notyd just,
That wher as love Dothe lede, ther ys no nay,
But serue and suffer styll allwaye I must.

Then ffor to lyve with losse of lybertye
At last perchaunce shalbe his remedye;
And ffor his truthe quyted with ffals mistrust,
Who wold not Rew to se how wrongfullye
Thus for to serue and suffer styll I must.

Vntruthe by trust oft tymes hathe me betrayed,
Mysusyng my hoppe, styll to be Delayed;
Fortune Allway I haue the fownd vniust;
And so with lyk Reward now hast thou me payed:
That ys, to serue and suffer styll I must.

Neuer to cesse, nor yet lyke to attayn,
As long as I in fere dare nor complayn;
Trew of beleff hathe allways ben my trust,
And tyll she knowythe the cawse of all my payn,
Content to serve and suffer styll I must.

CLXVI

[Sythe I my selffe dysplease the]

Sythe I my selffe dysplease the,
My ffrends why shuld I blame
That from the ffawte aduyse me
That Kynkoryd my good name,
And mad my mynd to morne
That laughyt my lov to skorne,
And bownd my hart allwaye
To thynk this payne a playe,
That wold and neuer maye?

178

Too led my lyffe at lybertye,
I lyk yt wonders well,
Ffor proffe hath tought his propertye
That allway payne is hell;
But sythe so well I wott
Theys kyndes of cold and hott,
Suche ffancyes I fforsake,
That dothe ther ffredome lake;
My lyst no more to make.

Grodge one that ffell the greffe,
I laughe that ffell the gayne
Of ffredome from the lyffe
Wherby wyld beastys be tayme.
As ffast and wak a bedde,
With hart and hevy hed,
That haue a hongery hart
To mak my selffe well ffed,
That may Redresse my smart.

Sythe I have slept the knot
That dothe my hart inchayne,
I lyk the loky lotte
To well to knyt agayne.
So newly com to welthe,
Shall I deceayue my selffe?
Nay, set thy hart at reast,
Ffor welthe, my new ffownd gest,
Shall harber in my neast.

To mak a wyllffull band
Wher I may well Reffus,
To be a byrde in hand
And not my ffredome vse,
To syng and sorow not
Yf wyllyngly I dott,
To slypp in to the cayge,
Yt were a wylffull Rage.

179

CLXVII

[Thou slepest ffast; and I with wofull hart]

Thou slepest ffast; and I with wofull hart
Stand here alone, syghing, and cannot ffleye.
Thou slepyst ffast, when crewell love his darte
On me dothe cast, Alas! so paynefullye.
Thou slepyst fast, and I all ffull of smart
To the my fo in vayn do call and crye.
And yet, methinkes, thou that slepyst ffast,
Thou dremyst styll whiche way my lyf to wast.

CLXVIII

[Tho some do grodge to se me joye]

Tho some do grodge to se me joye,
Fforcynge ther spytte to slak my helthe,
Ther false mystrust shall neuer noy
So long as thou dost wyll my welthe;
Ffor tho theay frowne, ffull well I knowe
No power theaye haue to fforge my woo.
Then grodge who lyst, I shall not sease
To seke and sew ffor my Redres.

Whylest lyffe doth last and thou content,
What shulde I dobt, what shuld I dred
Ther spyet that daylye do consent
To make my joy frome me be led?
What shulde I bowe to ffrend or ffoo,
That wold me so thi syght fforgoo?
What shuld I do, but passe full light
The ffrayle mystrust of all ther spyet?

Yf cause were gevyne of any part
To cause mystrust in them to spryng,
Nought shuld yt greve me then to smart;
But I, Alas, know none suche thynge.
Then by myshappe and crewell lott,
Thowe thaye wold so, forsake me not;

180

Nor wyll me not my ffoos to please,
To slake the sewte of all my ease.

Thyne owne and thyne for euermore
I am and must contynew styll.
No woo nor paynes, no hurt nor sore
Can cause me fflee frome this my wyll
Thy owne to be, and not to start
As long as lyfe ys in my hart.
Then graunt me this my lyfe to saue;
As I desyrve, so let me haue.

CLXIX

[Tho of the sort ther be that ffayne]

Tho of the sort ther be that ffayne
And cloke ther craft to serve ther turne,
Shall I, Alas, that trewlye mene,
Ffor ther offence thus gyltles burne;
And yf I bye ther ffawt to dere,
That ther vntruthe thus hett my ffyere,
Then haue I wronge.

Tho ffraylte fayle not to appere
In them that wayle as well as I,
And thoughe the ffals by lycke desyere
Dothe swere hym selfe thyn owne to bee,
Yf thou dost judge me one of theys
That so can fayne suche commone ways,
Then haue I wronge.

Tho chaunse hathe powere to chaunge their love,
That all by chaunce ther wyll dothe gyd,
Suche chaunce may not my hart remove,
For I by choise my selfe haue tryed;
And not by chaunce, wherfore I saye,
Yf thou dost not my wylffare staye,
Then haue I wronge.

181

Tho stedffastnes in them do lacke,
That do protest the contrayrye,
And tho perfformans none theay mak
Of that theay promyse diuerslye,
Yet syns ther ffawtis ar none of myne,
Yf thou Reffussyst me for thyne,
Then haue I wronge.

CLXX

[To wette your yee withoutyn teare]

To wette your yee withoutyn teare,
And in good helthe to fayne dyssease,
That you therby myn yee myght bleare,
Therwith your ffrendes to please;
And thoughe ye thynk ye ned not ffeare,
Yet so ye cannot me Apease;
But as you lyst, ffayne, fflatyr or glose,
You shall not wynn yf I do lose.

Prat and paynt and spare not,
Ye knowe I can me wreke;
And yf so be ye car not,
Be suer I do not Recke:
And thoughe ye swere yt were not,
I can bothe swere and speake;
By god and by the crosse,
If I haue the mocke, ye shall haue the worse.

CLXXI

[To my myshap alas I fynd]

To my myshap alas I fynd
That happy hap ys dangerus;
And fortune workyth but her kynd
To make the joyfull dolorus.
But all to late hyt cumes in mynd

182

To wayle the want that made me blynd,
So often warnyd.

Amydes my myrth and plesantnes
Such chance ys chansyd sodenly,
That in dyspere to haue redres
I fynd my chefyst remedy.
No new kynd off vnhappynes
Shuld thus haue left me comfortles,
So oftyn warnyd.

In better case was never none,
And yet vnwares thus am I trappt;
My chefe desyer doth cause me mone,
And to my harm my welth ys hapt:
Ther ys no man but I alone
That hath such cause to syghe and mone,
So oftyn warnyd.

Who wold haue thowght that my request
Shuld bryng me forth such bytter frute?
But now ys hapt that I ferd lest,
And all thys harm cumes by my sute;
For when I thought me happyest,
Evyn then hapt all my chefe vnrest,
So oftyn warnyd.

Thus am I tawght for to beware,
And trust no more such plesant chance;
My happy hap hath bred thys care,
And browght my myrth to grete myschance.

183

Ther ys no man that hap wyll spare,
But when she lyst hys welth ys bare,
Thus am I warnyd.

CLXXII

[The knott that furst my hart dyd strayn]

The knott that furst my hart dyd strayn,
When that thy servant I becam,
Doth bynd me styll for to remayn
Always your own, as now I am;
And yff ye fynd that I do fayn,
Wyth just jugement my self I dam
To haue dysdayn.

Yf other thowght in me do groo,
But styll to loue the stedfastly,
And yff the proffe do nott forth shoo
That I am yours assuerydly,
Lett euery welth turne me to woo,
And ye to be contynually
My chefyst foo.

Yff other thowght or new request
Do sese my hart, but only thys,
Or yff whythin my weryd brest
Be hyd one thowght that mene amys,
I do desyer that my unrest
May styll incres and I to mys
That I loue best.

Yff in my loue be hyd one spoot
Off fals decete and dubbylnes,

184

Or yff I mynd to slyp the knoot
By want of fayth or stedfastnes,
Let all my servys be forgoot,
And when I wold haue chefe redres,
Esteme me nott.

But yff that I consume in payn
Wyth burnyng syghes and farvent loue,
And dayly seke non other gayn
But wyth my dedes thes wordes to proue,
Me thynkes off ryght I shuld obtayn
That ye shuld mynd for to remoue
Your gret dysdayn.

And for an end off thys my song,
In to your handes I do submytt
The dedly grefe, the paynes so strong,
Wych in my hart be fyrmly shytt;
And when ye lyst, redres my wrong,
Sens well ye knoo thys paynfull fytt
Hath last to long.

CLXXIII

[That tyme that myrthe dyd stere my shypp]

That tyme that myrthe dyd stere my shypp
Whyche now ys frowght with heuenes,
And fortune bot not then the lypp,
But was Defence off my Dystresse,
Then in my boke wrote my mystresse:
‘I am yowres you may be well sure,
And shall be whyle my lyff dothe dure.’

But She her selffe whyche then wrote that
Is now myn extreme enemye;
Above all men she dothe me hate,
Reioysyng of my myserye;
But thoughe that for her sake I dye,

185

I shall be hyrs she may be sure,
As long as my lyff dothe endure.

It is not tyme than can were out
With me that once ys fermly sett;
Whyle nature kepys her cours Abowt
My hate frome her no man can lett;
Thowghe neuer so sore they me thrett,
Yet I am hyrs, she may be sure,
And shallbe whyle that lyff dothe dure,

And once I trust to see that day,
Renuer of my joy and welthe,
That She these wordes to me shall say:
‘In feythe, welcum to me myselffe,
Welcum my hart, welcum my helthe;
Ffor I am thyne, thow mayst be sure,
And shallbe whyle that lyff dothe dure.’

Ho me! alas! What woordes were theyse?
In couenant I myght fynd them so!
I Reke not what smart or dysease,
Tourment or troubel, payne or woo
I suffred so that I myght knoo
That she were myn, I myght be sure,
And shuld be whyle that lyff dothe dure.

CLXXIV

[Wythe seruyng styll]

Wythe seruyng styll
This haue I wonne,
Ffor my good wyll
To be vndonne.

And ffor redres
Of all my payne
Disdaynffulnes
I haue agayne.

186

And ffor Reward
Of all my smart
Lo thus unhard
I must departe.

Wherefore all ye
That after shall
By fortune be,
As I am, thrall,

Exempell take
What I have wonne,
Thus for her sake
To be vndone.

CLXXV

[What wolde ye mor of me, your slav, Requyere]

What wolde ye mor of me, your slav, Requyere
Then ffor to aske and haue that ye desyre?
Yet I Remaygne without recure.
I you insuere ther ys no ffaythffull harte
That without cause causles that sufferth smart.

You haue the joy, and I haue all the payne;
Yours the pleasore and I in woo Remaygne.
Alas! and why do ye me blame?
Yt ys no gam, thus to destroye my hart,
Nor without cause thus to cause yt smart.

I haue Assayed in all that euer I myght
You ffor to please, ffor that was my delyght.
All could not serue: ye lyst not see,
But crewelly hathe vndone my pore hart,
And without cause dothe cause yt suffer smart.

Ye mak a play at all my woo and greffe,
And yet Alas! Amonge all my myscheffe
Nothyng at all that ye regard,

187

Nor wyll Reward a ffaythfful menyng hart,
But thus causles to cause yt suffer smart.

If that ye lyst my paynffull dethe to see
Ye ned no more but vse this creweltye;
Ffor shorter dethe cannot be ffownd
Then without grownd by force of crewell hart
Causeles by cause to cause me suffer smart.

A Deue! ffarwell! I ffell my joyes destresse.
Ffled ys my welthe, my tormentis dothe encres.
Thus haue I woone ffor all my hyere
To brynne in ffyer sweltyng my woffull hart,
That without cause causles thus suffreth smart.

CLXXVI
V. Innocentia
Veritas
Viat Fides Circumdederunt me inimici mei

Who lyst his welthe and eas Retayne,
Hym selffe let hym vnknowne contayne;
Presse not to ffast in at that gatte
Wher the Retorne standes by desdayne:
For sure, circa Regna tonat.

The hye montaynis ar blastyd oft,
When the lowe vaylye ys myld and soft;
Ffortune with helthe stondis at debate;
The ffall ys grevous ffrome Aloffte:
And sure, circa Regna tonat.

These blodye dayes haue brokyn my hart;
My lust, my youth dyd then departe,
And blynd desyre of astate;
Who hastis to clyme sekes to reuerte:
Of truthe, circa Regna tonat.

The bell towre showed me suche syght
That in my hed stekys day and nyght;

188

Ther dyd I lerne out of a grate,
Ffor all vauore, glory or myght,
That yet circa Regna tonat.

By proffe, I say, ther dyd I lerne,
Wyt helpythe not deffence to yerne,
Of innocence to pled or prate;
Ber low, therffor, geve god the sterne,
Ffor sure, circa Regna tonat.

CLXXVII

[Venus, in sport, to please therwith her dere]

Venus, in sport, to please therwith her dere,
Dyd on the helm off myghty Mars the red.
Hys spere she toke, hys targe she myght not stere;
She lokt as tho her foys shuld all be ded,
So wantonly she frownyth wyth her chere.
Priapus gan smyle and sayd; ‘Doway for dred,
Do way, maddame, theys wepyns gret and grym.
I, I for you am wepyn fytt and trym.’