 | Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt
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CCL
[Such is the course, that natures kinde hath wrought]
Such is the course, that natures kinde hath wrought,
That snakes haue time to cast away their stynges.
Ainst chainde prisoners what nede defence be sought?
The fierce lyon will hurt no yelden thinges.
Why shoulde such spite be nursed then in thy thought?
Sith all these powers are prest vnder thy winges:
And eke thou seest, and reason thee hath taught
What mischief malice many waies it bringes.
Consider eke, that spight auaileth naught,
Therfore this song thy fault to thee it singes:
Displease thee not, for saiyng thus my thought
Nor hate thou him from whom no hate forth springes,
For furies, that in hell be execrable,
For that they hate, are made most miserable.
| Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt
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