 | Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt
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XXVII
[Though I my self be bridilled of my mynde]
Though I my self be bridilled of my mynde,
Retorning me backewerd by force expresse,
If thou seke honour to kepe thy promes,
Who may the hold, my hert, but thou thy self vnbynd?
Sigh then no more, syns no way man may fynde
Thy vertue to let, though that frowerdnes
Of ffortune me holdeth: and yet, as I may gesse,
Though othre be present thou art not all behinde.
Suffice it then that thou be redy there
At all howres; still vnder the defence
Of tyme, trouth and love to save the from offence;
Cryeng, ‘I burne in a lovely desire
With my dere Maisteres: that may not followe,
Whereby his absence torneth him to sorrowe.’
| Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt
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