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

Gyve place all ye that doth reioise
And loves panges dothe clene forgett;
Let them drawe nere and here my voyse
Whom love dothe force in paynes to frett.
For all of playnte my song is sett
Wiche long hathe seruid and nought can gett.

A faithefull herte so trulye mente
Rewardid is full slenderelye,
A stedfaste faithe with good entente
Ys recompensid craftelye
Such happe dothe happe vnhappelye
To them that mene but honestelye.

222

With humble sute I have assayde
To tourne her cruell-hertid minde
But for rewarde I am delaide
And to mye welthe her eyes be blinde
Lo thus bye chaunse I am assignid
With stedfaste love to serue the vnkinde.

What vaylithe trothe or stedfastness
Or still to serue without repreffe?
What vaylith faithe or gentilnesse,
Where crueltie dothe raine as chefe?
Alas there is no greter greef
Then for to love and lake releffe.

Care dothe constraine me to complaine
Of love and her vncertaintye,
Wich grauntith nought but grete disdayne
For losse of all my libretye;
Alas, this is extremytye,
For love to finde suche crueltye!

For hertye love to finde suche hate,
Alas, it is a carefull lott
And for to voide so fowle a mate
There is no waye but slipp the knott;
The gayne so colde, the paine so hott
Prayse yt who list, I like yt not.