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

The knott that furst my hart dyd strayn,
When that thy servant I becam,
Doth bynd me styll for to remayn
Always your own, as now I am;
And yff ye fynd that I do fayn,
Wyth just jugement my self I dam
To haue dysdayn.

Yf other thowght in me do groo,
But styll to loue the stedfastly,
And yff the proffe do nott forth shoo
That I am yours assuerydly,
Lett euery welth turne me to woo,
And ye to be contynually
My chefyst foo.

Yff other thowght or new request
Do sese my hart, but only thys,
Or yff whythin my weryd brest
Be hyd one thowght that mene amys,
I do desyer that my unrest
May styll incres and I to mys
That I loue best.

Yff in my loue be hyd one spoot
Off fals decete and dubbylnes,

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Or yff I mynd to slyp the knoot
By want of fayth or stedfastnes,
Let all my servys be forgoot,
And when I wold haue chefe redres,
Esteme me nott.

But yff that I consume in payn
Wyth burnyng syghes and farvent loue,
And dayly seke non other gayn
But wyth my dedes thes wordes to proue,
Me thynkes off ryght I shuld obtayn
That ye shuld mynd for to remoue
Your gret dysdayn.

And for an end off thys my song,
In to your handes I do submytt
The dedly grefe, the paynes so strong,
Wych in my hart be fyrmly shytt;
And when ye lyst, redres my wrong,
Sens well ye knoo thys paynfull fytt
Hath last to long.