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

Perdy I sayd hytt nott,
Nor never thought to doo,
As well as I ye wott
I haue no powr thertoo;
And yff I dyd, the lott
That furst dyd me inchayne
Do never slake the knoott
But strayter to my payne.

And yff I dyd, ech thyng
That may do harm or woo
Contynually may wryng
My hart wher so hytt goo;
Report may alway ryng
Off shame on me for aye,
Yf in my hart dyd spryng
Theys wordes that ye do say.

And yff I dyd, ech starr
That ys in heavyn aboue
May frown on me to mar
The hope I haue in loue;
And yff I dyd, such war
As they browght in to Troy
Bryng all my lyfe afar
From all hys lust and joy.

And yf I dyd so say,
The bewty that me bound
Incresse from day to day
More cruell to my wound,
Wyth all the mone that may
To playnt may turn my song;
My lyfe may sone decay,
Wythowt redresse my wrong.

171

Yf I be clere from thowght,
Why do ye then complayn?
Then ys thys thyng but sowght
To put me to more payn.
Then that that ye haue wrowght
Ye must hyt now redresse;
Off ryght therfore ye ought
Such rygor to represse.

And as I haue deseruyd,
So grant me now my hyer;
Ye kno I never swarvyd,
Ye never fownd me lyer.
For Rakhell haue I seruyd,
For Lya caryd I never;
And her I haue reseruyd
Wythin my hart for euer.