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

Tho some do grodge to se me joye,
Fforcynge ther spytte to slak my helthe,
Ther false mystrust shall neuer noy
So long as thou dost wyll my welthe;
Ffor tho theay frowne, ffull well I knowe
No power theaye haue to fforge my woo.
Then grodge who lyst, I shall not sease
To seke and sew ffor my Redres.

Whylest lyffe doth last and thou content,
What shulde I dobt, what shuld I dred
Ther spyet that daylye do consent
To make my joy frome me be led?
What shulde I bowe to ffrend or ffoo,
That wold me so thi syght fforgoo?
What shuld I do, but passe full light
The ffrayle mystrust of all ther spyet?

Yf cause were gevyne of any part
To cause mystrust in them to spryng,
Nought shuld yt greve me then to smart;
But I, Alas, know none suche thynge.
Then by myshappe and crewell lott,
Thowe thaye wold so, forsake me not;

180

Nor wyll me not my ffoos to please,
To slake the sewte of all my ease.

Thyne owne and thyne for euermore
I am and must contynew styll.
No woo nor paynes, no hurt nor sore
Can cause me fflee frome this my wyll
Thy owne to be, and not to start
As long as lyfe ys in my hart.
Then graunt me this my lyfe to saue;
As I desyrve, so let me haue.