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

Suche happe as I ame happed in
Had never man of trueth I wene;
At me fortune list to begyn
To shew that never hath ben sene
A new kynde of vnhappenes;
Nor I cannot the thing I mene
My self expres.

My self expresse my dedely pain
That can I well, if that myght serue;
But why I have not helpe again
That knowe I not vnles I starve;
For honger still a myddes my foode
So graunted is that I deserue
To do me good.

To do me good what may prevaill?
For I deserve and not desire,
And stil of cold I me bewaill
And raked ame in burnyng fyere;
For tho I have, suche is my lott,
In hand to helpe that I require,
It helpeth not.

It helpeth not, but to encrese
That that by prouff can be no more:
That is the hete that cannot cesse,
And that I have to crave so sore,
What wonder is this greedy lust
To aske and have, and yet therefore
Refrain I must.

Refrain I must; what is the cause?
Sure, as they say, so hawkes be taught.
But in my case laieth no suche clause,
For with suche craft I ame not caught;
Wherefore I say and good cause why,
With haples hand no man hath raught
Such happe as I.