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

Tanglid I was yn loves snare,
Opprest with payne, tormente with care,
Of grefe right sure, of Joye full bare,
Clene in dispaire bye crueltye;
But ha, ha, ha, full well is me,
For I am now at libretye.

The wofull dayes so full of paine,
The werye night all spent in vayne,
The labor lost for so small gayne,
To wryt them all yt will not bee;
But ha, ha, ha, full well is me,
For I am now at libretye.

Everye thing that faire doth sho,
When prof is made yt provithe not soo,
But tournith mirthe to bittre woo,

228

Wiche in this case full well I see;
But ha, ha, ha, full well is me,
For I am now at libretye.

To grete desire was my guide,
And wanton will went bye my syde;
Hope rulid still and made me byde
Of loves craft th'extremitye.
But ha, ha, ha, full well is me,
For I am now at libretye.

With faynid wordes wich ware but winde
To long delayes I was assind;
Her wylye lokes my wyttes ded blinde;
Thus as she wolde I ded agree.
But ha, ha, ha, full well is me,
For I am now at libretye.

Was never birde tanglid yn lyme,
That brake awaye yn bettre tyme,
Then I that rotten bowes ded clyme,
And had no hurte, but scaped fre.
Now ha, ha, ha, full well is me,
For I am nowe at libretye.