Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt Edited by Kenneth Muir and Patricia Thomson |
 |
 | I. |
| II. |
| 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. |
| CXLIX. |
| CL. |
| CLI. |
| CLII. |
| CLIII. |
| CLIV. |
| CLV. | CLV
|
| CLVI. |
| CLVII. |
| CLVIII. |
| CLIX. |
| CLX. |
| CLXI. |
| CLXII. |
| CLXIII. |
| CLXIV. |
| CLXV. |
| CLXVI. |
| CLXVII. |
| CLXVIII. |
| CLXIX. |
| CLXX. |
| CLXXI. |
| CLXXII. |
| CLXXIII. |
| CLXXIV. |
| CLXXV. |
| CLXXVI. |
| CLXXVII. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
 | Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt |  |
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
In desdaynes pryson desperat I leye,
Therto abyd the tyme and wooffull whyle,
Till my carffull lyfe may torne contrarye.
| Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt | |