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. |
| CXXII. |
| CXXIII. |
| CXXIV. |
| CXXV. |
| CXXVI. |
| CXXVII. |
| CXXVIII. |
| CXXIX. |
| CXXX. |
| CXXXI. |
| CXXXII. |
| CXXXIII. |
| CXXXIV. |
| CXXXV. |
| CXXXVI. |
| CXXXVII. |
| CXXXVIII. | CXXXVIII
The answere
|
| 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 |  |
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.
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.
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:
Or ye may call for more a noone,
When hit shall please your fantesy.
Ye toke enouff when yt was by:
147
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Therto ye lust your self Apply.
The Smartles nedith no relyff:
I am not Rulyd by fantesy.
| Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt | |