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. |
CXLIX. |
CL. |
CLI. |
CLII. |
CLIII. |
CLIV. |
CLV. |
CLVI. |
CLVII. |
CLVIII. |
CLIX. |
CLX. |
CLXI. | 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 | ||
CLXI
[Ffortune what ayleth the]
Ffortune what ayleth the
Thus for to banyshe me
Her company whome I loue best?
For to complayne me
Nothyng avaylethe me;
Adew, fare well thys nyghtes rest.
Thus for to banyshe me
Her company whome I loue best?
For to complayne me
Nothyng avaylethe me;
Adew, fare well thys nyghtes rest.
Her demure countenaunce,
Her homely pacience,
Hath wounded me thorough Venus darte,
That I cannot refrayne me
Nother yet abstayne me,
But nedes I must loue her with all my hart.
Her homely pacience,
Hath wounded me thorough Venus darte,
That I cannot refrayne me
Nother yet abstayne me,
But nedes I must loue her with all my hart.
Long haue I loued her,
Ofte haue I prayd her,
Yet, alas, she thorow dysdayn
Nothyng regardes me
Nor yet rewardes me
But lets me ly in mortall payn.
Ofte haue I prayd her,
Yet, alas, she thorow dysdayn
Nothyng regardes me
Nor yet rewardes me
But lets me ly in mortall payn.
Yet shall I loue her styll
With all my hart and wyl
Wher so euer I ryde or go;
My hart, my seruyce,
Afore al ladyes
Is hers al onely and no mo.
With all my hart and wyl
Wher so euer I ryde or go;
My hart, my seruyce,
Afore al ladyes
Is hers al onely and no mo.
She hath my hart and euer shall
In this terrestrial;
What can she more of me require?
Her whom I loue best,
God send her good rest,
And me hartely my whole desyre.
In this terrestrial;
What can she more of me require?
174
God send her good rest,
And me hartely my whole desyre.
Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt | ||