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. |
| CXXXIX. |
| CXL. |
| CXLI. |
| CXLII. |
| CXLIII. |
| CXLIV. |
| CXLV. |
| CXLVI. |
| CXLVII. |
| CXLVIII. | 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 |  |
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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,
And she vnkynd
That dyd me bynd
Dothe torne yt all to game.
My fyered mynd
Dothe styll incres in flame,
162
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.
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.
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.
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.
Then she gave me
She shall of me attayne;
Ffor wher as she
Showyd creweltye
She shall my hart optayne.
| Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt | |