Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt Edited by Kenneth Muir and Patricia Thomson |
| 21 |  |
| 13 |  | I. |
| II. |
| 4 | | III. |
| IV. |
| 2 | | V. |
| CLXXVIII. |
| CLXXIX. |
| 1 | CLXXX. |
| CLXXXI. |
| CLXXXII. |
| CLXXXIII. |
| CLXXXIV. |
| CLXXXV. |
| CLXXXVI. |
| CLXXXVII. |
| CLXXXVIII. |
| CLXXXIX. |
| CXC. |
| CXCI. |
| CXCII. |
| CXCIII. |
| CXCIV. |
| CXCV. |
| CXCVI. |
| CXCVII. |
| CXCVIII. |
| CXCIX. |
| CC. |
| CCI. |
| CCII. |
| CCIII. |
| CCIV. |
| CCV. |
| CCVI. |
| CCVII. |
| CCVIII. |
| 1 | CCIX. |
| CCX. |
| CCXI. |
| CCXII. |
| CCXIII. | CCXIII
|
| CCXIV. |
| CCXV. |
| CCXVI. |
| CCXVII. |
| CCXVIII. |
| CCXIX. |
| CCXX. |
| CCXXI. |
| CCXXII. |
| CCXXIII. |
| CCXXIV. |
| CCXXV. |
| CCXXVI. |
| CCXXVII. |
| CCXXVIII. |
| CCXXIX. |
| CCXXX. |
| CCXXXI. |
| CCXXXII. |
| CCXXXIII. |
| VI. |
| 2 | | VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
 | Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt |  |
CCXIII
[Payne of all payne, the most grevous paine]
Payne of all payne, the most grevous paine
Ys to loue hartelye and cannot be loued againe.
Ys to loue hartelye and cannot be loued againe.
Love with vnkindenesse is causer of hevenis,
Of inwarde sorro and sighis painefull.
Whereas I love is no redresse
To no manner of pastime, the sprites so dull
With prive morninges and lookes Rufull:
The boddye all werishe, the collor pale and wan,
More like a gost then lyk a lyving man.
Of inwarde sorro and sighis painefull.
Whereas I love is no redresse
To no manner of pastime, the sprites so dull
With prive morninges and lookes Rufull:
The boddye all werishe, the collor pale and wan,
More like a gost then lyk a lyving man.
Whan Cupido hath inflamid the hertes desires
To love there as ys disdayne,
Of good or ill the minde obliuyous,
Nothing regarding but love t'attaine;
Alwais imagining by what meane or traine
Yt may be at rest; thus in a momente
Now here, now there, being never contente.
To love there as ys disdayne,
Of good or ill the minde obliuyous,
Nothing regarding but love t'attaine;
Alwais imagining by what meane or traine
Yt may be at rest; thus in a momente
Now here, now there, being never contente.
Tossing and torning, whan the body wold rest
With dreamis opprest and visions fantastycall,
Sleping or waking love is ever preste,
Some tyme to wepe, some tyme to crye and call,
Bewayling his fortune and lif bestiall;
Nowe in hope of recure and now in dispaire,
This ys a sorye lyf to lyve alwaye in care!
With dreamis opprest and visions fantastycall,
Sleping or waking love is ever preste,
Some tyme to wepe, some tyme to crye and call,
Bewayling his fortune and lif bestiall;
Nowe in hope of recure and now in dispaire,
This ys a sorye lyf to lyve alwaye in care!
219
Recorde of Therence in his commedis poeticall
Yn love ys Jelosye and iniuris mannye one
Angre and debate with mynde sensuall
Nowe warre, nowe peace, musing all alone,
Some tyme all morte and colde as enye stonne
This causith unkindenesse of siche as cannot skill
Of trewe love assurde with herte and good will.
Yn love ys Jelosye and iniuris mannye one
Angre and debate with mynde sensuall
Nowe warre, nowe peace, musing all alone,
Some tyme all morte and colde as enye stonne
This causith unkindenesse of siche as cannot skill
Of trewe love assurde with herte and good will.
Lucrese the Romaine for love of her lord
And bye cause perforce she had commit advowtrye
With Tarquinus, as the storye doth recorde
Her silf ded slee with a knif most pituoslye
Among her nigh frindes bye cause that she
So falslye was betrayed, lo this was the guardon,
Where as true love hathe no domynyon.
And bye cause perforce she had commit advowtrye
With Tarquinus, as the storye doth recorde
Her silf ded slee with a knif most pituoslye
Among her nigh frindes bye cause that she
So falslye was betrayed, lo this was the guardon,
Where as true love hathe no domynyon.
To make rehersall of old antiqitye
What nedith it? We see by experience
Among lovers yt chaunsith daylye
Displeasour and variaunce for none offens;
But if true love might gyve sentens
That vnkindenes and disdayne shuld have no place
But true harte for true love yt ware a grete grace.
What nedith it? We see by experience
Among lovers yt chaunsith daylye
Displeasour and variaunce for none offens;
But if true love might gyve sentens
That vnkindenes and disdayne shuld have no place
But true harte for true love yt ware a grete grace.
O Venus, ladye, of love the goddesse
Help all true lovers to have love againe!
Bannishe from thye presens disdayne and vnkindnesse,
Kyndnesse and pytie to thy seruice Retayne;
For true love, ons fixid in the cordiall vayne,
Can never be revoulsid bye no manner of arte,
Vnto the sowle from the boddye departe.
Help all true lovers to have love againe!
Bannishe from thye presens disdayne and vnkindnesse,
Kyndnesse and pytie to thy seruice Retayne;
For true love, ons fixid in the cordiall vayne,
Can never be revoulsid bye no manner of arte,
Vnto the sowle from the boddye departe.
| Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt | |