Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt Edited by Kenneth Muir and Patricia Thomson |
| 21 |  |
| 13 |  | I. |
| II. |
| 4 | | III. |
| IV. |
| CIX. |
| CX. |
| CXI. |
| CXII. |
| CXIII. |
| CXIV. |
| CXV. |
| CXVI. |
| CXVII. |
| CXVIII. |
| CXIX. |
| CXX. |
| CXXI. | CXXI
|
| CXXII. |
| CXXIII. |
| CXXIV. |
| CXXV. |
| CXXVI. |
| CXXVII. |
| CXXVIII. |
| CXXIX. |
| CXXX. |
| CXXXI. |
| CXXXII. |
| CXXXIII. |
| CXXXIV. |
| CXXXV. |
| CXXXVI. |
| CXXXVII. |
| CXXXVIII. |
| CXXXIX. |
| CXL. |
| CXLI. |
| CXLII. |
| CXLIII. |
| CXLIV. |
| CXLV. |
| CXLVI. |
| CXLVII. |
| CXLVIII. |
| CXLIX. |
| CL. |
| CLI. |
| CLII. |
| CLIII. |
| CLIV. |
| CLV. |
| CLVI. |
| CLVII. |
| CLVIII. |
| CLIX. |
| CLX. |
| CLXI. |
| CLXII. |
| CLXIII. |
| CLXIV. |
| CLXV. |
| CLXVI. |
| CLXVII. |
| CLXVIII. |
| CLXIX. |
| CLXX. |
| CLXXI. |
| CLXXII. |
| CLXXIII. |
| CLXXIV. |
| CLXXV. |
| CLXXVI. |
| CLXXVII. |
| 2 | | V. |
| VI. |
| 2 | | VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
 | Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt |  |
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.
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.
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.
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.
| Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt | |