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

What wolde ye mor of me, your slav, Requyere
Then ffor to aske and haue that ye desyre?
Yet I Remaygne without recure.
I you insuere ther ys no ffaythffull harte
That without cause causles that sufferth smart.

You haue the joy, and I haue all the payne;
Yours the pleasore and I in woo Remaygne.
Alas! and why do ye me blame?
Yt ys no gam, thus to destroye my hart,
Nor without cause thus to cause yt smart.

I haue Assayed in all that euer I myght
You ffor to please, ffor that was my delyght.
All could not serue: ye lyst not see,
But crewelly hathe vndone my pore hart,
And without cause dothe cause yt suffer smart.

Ye mak a play at all my woo and greffe,
And yet Alas! Amonge all my myscheffe
Nothyng at all that ye regard,

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Nor wyll Reward a ffaythfful menyng hart,
But thus causles to cause yt suffer smart.

If that ye lyst my paynffull dethe to see
Ye ned no more but vse this creweltye;
Ffor shorter dethe cannot be ffownd
Then without grownd by force of crewell hart
Causeles by cause to cause me suffer smart.

A Deue! ffarwell! I ffell my joyes destresse.
Ffled ys my welthe, my tormentis dothe encres.
Thus haue I woone ffor all my hyere
To brynne in ffyer sweltyng my woffull hart,
That without cause causles thus suffreth smart.