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

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

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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.