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

Behold, love, thy power how she dispiseth!
My great payne how litle she regardeth!
The holy oth, wherof she taketh no cure
Broken she hath: and yet she bideth sure,
Right at her ease: and litle she dredeth.
Wepened thou art: and she vnarmed sitteth:
To the disdaynfull, her liff she ledeth:
To me spitefull, withoute cause, or mesure.
Behold, love!

I ame in hold: if pitie the meveth,
Goo bend thy bowe: that stony hertes breketh:
And, with some stroke, revenge the displeasure
Of thee and him, that sorrowe doeth endure,
And, as his lorde, the lowly entreath.
Behold, love!

II

[What vaileth trouth? or, by it, to take payn?]

What vaileth trouth? or, by it, to take payn?
To stryve, by stedfastnes, for to attayne,
To be iuste, and true: and fle from dowblenes:
Sythens all alike, where rueleth craftines

Rewarded is boeth fals, and plain.
Sonest he spedeth, that moost can fain;
True meanyng hert is had in disdayn.
Against deceipte and dowblenes
What vaileth trouth?

Decyved is he by crafty trayn
That meaneth no gile and doeth remayn
Within the trapp, withoute redresse,
But, for to love, lo, suche a maisteres,
Whose crueltie nothing can refrayn,
What vaileth trouth?

III

[Caesar, when that the traytour of Egipt]

Caesar, when that the traytour of Egipt
With th'onourable hed did him present,
Covering his gladness did represent
Playnt with his teeres owteward, as it is writt:
And Hannyball eke, when fortune him shitt
Clene from his reign and from all his intent,
Laught to his folke whome sorrowe did torment,
His cruell dispite for to disgorge and qwit.
So chaunceth it oft that every passion
The mynde hideth by colour contrary
With fayned visage, now sad, now mery:
Whereby, if I laught, any tyme, or season
It is for bicause I have nother way
To cloke my care but vnder spoort and play.

IV

[The longe love, that in my thought doeth harbar]

The longe love, that in my thought doeth harbar
And in myn hert doeth kepe his residence
Into my face preseth with bold pretence,
And therin campeth, spreding his baner.
She that me lerneth to love and suffre
And will that my trust, and lustes negligence
Be rayned by reason, shame, and reverence
With his hardines taketh displeasure.
Wherewithall, vnto the hertes forrest he fleith,
Leving his entreprise with payne and cry
And there him hideth and not appereth.
What may I do when my maister fereth,
But, in the felde, with him to lyve and dye?
For goode is the liff, ending faithfully.

V

[Alas the greiff, and dedly wofull smert]

Alas the greiff, and dedly wofull smert,
The carefull chaunce, shapen afore my shert,
The sorrowfull teres, the sighes hote as fyer,
That cruell love hath long soked from myn hert,
And for reward of ouer greate desire
Disdaynfull dowblenes have I for my hiere!

O lost seruise! O payn ill rewarded!
O pitiful hert with payn enlarged!
O faithfull mynd, too sodenly assented!
Retourne, Alas, sethens thou art not regarded;
Too great a prouf of true faith presented
Causeth by right suche faith to be repented.

O cruel causer of vnderserued chaunge
By great desire vnconstantly to raunge
Is this your waye for prouf of stedfastnes?
Perdy you knowe—the thing was not so straunge—
By former prouff to muche my faithfulnes:
What nedeth, then, suche coloured dowblenes?

I have wailed thus weping in nyghtly payne
In sobbes, and sighes, Alas! and all in vayne,
In inward plaint and hertes wofull torment;
And yet, Alas, lo! crueltie and disdayn
Have set at noght a faithfull true intent
And price hath priuilege trouth to prevent.

But though I sterue and to my deth still morne,
And pece mele in peces though I be torne,
And though I dye, yelding my weried goost,
Shall never thing again make me retorne:
I qwite th'entreprise of that that I have lost
To whome so euer lust for to proffer moost.

VI

[But sethens you it asaye to kyll]

But sethens you it asaye to kyll
By crueltie and dowblenes,
That that was yowers, you seke to spill.
Against all right and gentilnes;
And sethens you will, euen so I will.

And then, helas, when no redresse
Can be, to late ye shall repent,
And say your self with woordes expresse:
Helas, an hert of true intent
Slain haue I by vnfaithfulnes!

VII

[Who so list to hounte I know where is an hynde]

Who so list to hounte I know where is an hynde;
But as for me, helas, I may no more:
The vayne travaill hath weried me so sore,
I ame of theim that farthest cometh behinde;
Yet may I by no meanes my weried mynde
Drawe from the Diere: but as she fleeth afore
Faynting I folowe; I leve of therefore,
Sithens in a nett I seke to hold the wynde.
Who list her hount I put him owte of dowbte,
As well as I may spend his tyme in vain:
And graven with Diamondes in letters plain
There is written her faier neck rounde abowte:
‘Noli me tangere for Cesars I ame,
And wylde for to hold though I seme tame’.

VIII

[Myne olde dere En'mye, my froward master]

Myne olde dere En'mye, my froward master,
Afore that Quene I caused to be acited;
Which holdeth the divine parte of nature:
That, lyke as goolde, in fyre he mought be tryed.
Charged with dolour, theare I me presented
With horrible fear, as one that greatlye dredith
A wrongfull death, and iustice alwaye seekethe.

And thus I sayde: ‘Once my lefte foote, Madame,
When I was yonge I sett within his reigne;
Whearby other than fiercelye burninge flame
I never felt, but many a grevous payne;
Tourment I suffred, angre and disdayne,
That myne oppressed patience was past
And I myne owne life hated at the last.

Thus hytherto have I my time passed
In payne and smarte. What wayes proffitable,

How many pleasant dayes have me escaped
In serving this false lyer so deceaveable?
What witt have wordes so prest and forceable,
That may contayne my great myshappynesse,
And iust complayntes of his vngentlenesse?

O small hony, much aloes, and gall,
In bitterness have my blynde lyfe taisted
His fals swetenes, that torneth as a ball,
With the amourous dawnce, have made me traced:
And where I had my thought and mynde araced
From all erthely frailnes and vain pleasure,
He toke me from rest, and set me in errour.

He hath made me regarde god muche less then I ought
And to my self to take right litle heede:
And, for a woman, have I set at nought
All othre thoughtes, in this onely to spede:
And he was onely counceillour of this dede,
Alwayes wheting my youthely desyere
On the cruell whetstone, tempered with fiere.

But (helas) where, nowe, had I ever wit?
Or els any othre gift geven me of nature?
That souner shall chaunge my weryed sprite
Then the obstinate will that is my rueler.
So robbeth my libertie with displeasure
This wicked traytour whom I thus accuse
That bitter liff have torned me in pleasaunt vse.

He hath chased me thorough dyvers regions,
Thorough desert wodes and sherp high mountaignes,
Thorough frowarde people and straite pressions,
Thorrough rocky sees, over hilles and playnes,
With wery travaill and labourous paynes,
Alwayes in trouble and in tediousnes,
In all errour and daungerous distres.

But nother he, nor she, my tother ffoo,
For all my flyght, did ever me forsake:
That though tymely deth hath ben to sloo
That, as yet, it hath me not overtake;
The hevynly goodenes of pitie do it slake
And not this his cruell extreme tyranny
That fedeth hym with my care and mysery.

Syns I was his, owre rested I never,
Nor loke for to do, and eke the waky nyghtes
The bannysshed slepe may no wyse recouer.
By decept and by force over my sprites
He is rueler; and syns there never bell strikes
Where I ame, that I here not my playntes to renewe;
And he himself, he knoweth that that I say is true.

Ffor never wormes have an old stock eaten
As he my hert, where he is alwaye resident;
And doeth the same with deth daily thretyn.
Thens com the teres and the bitter torment,
The sighes, the wordes, and eke the languisshement
That annoye boeth me and, peraduenture, othre;
Iudge thou, that knowest th'one and th'othre’.

Myn aduersary, with grevous reprouff,
Thus he began: ‘here, lady, th'othre part:
That the plain trueth from which he draweth alowff,
This vnkynd man, shall shew ere that I part.
In yonge age I toke him from that art
That selleth wordes, and maketh a clattering knyght;
And of my welth I gave him the delight.

Nowe shameth he not on me for to complain
That held him evermore in pleasaunt game
From his desire that myght have ben his payne;
Yet onely thereby I broght him to some frame,
Which, as wretchednes he doth greately blame:
And towerd honour I qwickened his wit,
Where els, as a daskard, he myght have sitt.

He knoweth that Atrides, that made Troye frete
And Hannyball, to Rome so trobelous;
Whome Homere honoured, Achilles that grete,
And the Affricane Scipion, the famous,
And many othre, by much vertue glorious,
Whose fame and honour did bryng theim above
I did let fall in base dishonest love.

And vnto him, thoughe he no deles worthy were
I chose right the best of many a mylion,
That, vnder the mone, was never her pere,
Of wisdome, womanhode, and discretion;
And of my grace I gave her suche a facon
And eke suche a way I taught her for to teche,
That never base thought his hert myght have reche.

Evermore thus to content his maistres
That was his onely frame of honeste.
I sterred him, still, towerd gentilnes,
And caused him to regard fidelitie;
Patiens I taught him in aduersite:
Suche vertues he lerned in my great schole,
Wherof he repenteth, the ignoraunt ffole.

These were the deceptes and the bitter gall
That I have vsed, the torment and the anger;
Sweter then for to injoye eny othre in all.
Of right good seede ill fruyte I gather
And so hath he that th'unkynd doeth forther.
I norisshe a Serpent vnder my wyng
And of his nature nowe gynneth he to styng.

And for to tell at last my great seruise
From thousand dishonestes I have him drawen:
That by my meanes in no maner of wyse
Never vile pleasure him hath overthrawen
Where in his dede shame hath him alwaies gnawen
Dowbting repoort that should com to her eere;
Whome now he accuseth, he wonnted to fere.

What soever he hath of any honest custume
Of her and me, that holdeth he every wit;
But, lo, there was never nyghtely fantome
So ferre in errour as he is from his wit;
To plain on vs he stryveth with the bit,
Which may ruell him and do him pleasure and pain,
And in oon Oure make all his greif remayn.

But oon thing there is above all othre:
I gave him wynges wherewith he myght flye

To honour and fame, and if he would farther
By mortall thinges above the starry skye;
Considering the pleasure that an Iye
Myght geve in erthe by reason of his love
What should that be, that lasteth still above?

And he the same himself hath sayed, or this,
But now forgotten is both that and I
That gave her him his onely welth and blisse’.
And, at this worde, with dedly shright and cry:
‘Thou gave her me’ (quod I) ‘but, by and by
Thou toke her streight from me, that wo worth thee!’
‘Not I’ (quod he) ‘but price, that is well worthy.’

At last, boethe, eche for himself, concluded,
I trembling; but he, with small reverence:
‘Lo, thus, as we have nowe eche othre accused,
Dere lady, we wayte onely thy sentence’.
She, smyling: ‘after thissaid audience,
It liketh me’ (quod she) ‘to have herd your question:
But lenger tyme doth aske resolution.’

IX

[Was I never, yet, of your love greeved]

Was I never, yet, of your love greeved:
Nor never shall, while that my liff doeth last:
But of hating myself that date is past:
And teeres continuell sore have me weried.
I will not yet in my grave be buried:
Nor on my tombe your name yfixed fast:
As cruell cause, that did the sperit sone hast
Ffrom th'unhappy bonys, by great sighes sterred.
Then, if an hert of amourous faith and will

May content you, withoute doyng greiff,
Please it you so, to this to doo releiff:
Yf, othre wise, ye seke for to fulfill
Your disdain, ye erre, and shall not as ye wene:
And ye yourself the cause therof hath bene.

X

[Eche man me telleth I chaunge moost my devise.]

Eche man me telleth I chaunge moost my devise.
And on my faith me thinck it goode reason
To chaunge propose like after the season,
Ffor in every cas to kepe still oon gyse
Ys mytt for theim that would be taken wyse,
And I ame not of suche maner condition,
But treted after a dyvers fasshion,
And therupon my dyvernes doeth rise.
But you that blame this dyvernes moost,
Chaunge you no more, but still after oon rate
Trete ye me well, and kepe ye in the same state;
And while with me doeth dwell this weried goost,
My word nor I shall not be variable,
But alwaies oon, your owne boeth ferme and stable.

XI

[Ffarewell, the rayn of crueltie!]

Ffarewell, the rayn of crueltie!
Though that with pain my libertie
Dere have I boght, yet shall surete
Conduyt my thoght of Joyes nede.

Of force I must forsake pleasure
A goode cause just syns I endure
Thereby my woo, which be ye sure
Shall therewith goo, me to recure.

I fare as oon escaped that fleith,
Glad that is gone yet still fereth,
Spied to be cawght, and so dredeth
That he for nought his pain leseth.

In joyfull pain reioyse myn hert,
Thus to sustain of eche a part;
Let not this song from the estert;
Welcome emong my plaisaunt smert.

XII

[Yf amorous faith, an hert vnfayned]

Yf amorous faith, an hert vnfayned,
A swete languor, a great lovely desire,
Yf honest will kyndelled in gentill fiere,
Yf long errour in a blynde maze chayned,
Yf in my visage eche thought depaynted,
Or else in my sperklyng voyse lower or higher,
Which nowe fere, nowe shame, wofully doth tyer,
Yf a pale colour which love hath stayned,
Yf to have an othre then my selfe more dere,
Yf wailing or sighting continuelly
With sorrowful anger feding bissely,
Yf burning a farre of and fresing nere
Ar cause that by love my self I distroye,
Yours is the fault and myn the great annoye.

XIII

[Ffarewell, Love, and all thy lawes for ever]

Ffarewell, Love, and all thy lawes for ever;
Thy bayted hookes shall tangill me no more;
Senec and Plato call me from thy lore,
To perfaict welth my wit for to endever.

In blynde errour when I did perseuer,
Thy sherpe repulce that pricketh ay so sore
Hath taught me to sett in tryfels no store
And scape fourth syns libertie is lever.
Therefore, farewell; goo trouble yonger hertes
And in me clayme no more authoritie;
With idill yeuth goo vse thy propertie
And theron spend thy many britill dertes:
For hetherto though I have lost all my tyme,
Me lusteth no lenger rotten boughes to clyme.

XIV

[My hert I gave the not to do it payn]

My hert I gave the not to do it payn,
But to preserue it was to the taken;
I serued the not to be forsaken,
But that I should be rewarded again.
I was content thy seruant to remayn,
But not to be payed vnder this fasshion.
Nowe syns in the is none othre reason,
Displease the not if that I do refrain.
Vnsaciat of my woo and thy desire,
Assured be craft to excuse thy fault;
But syns it please thee to fain a default,
Farewell, I say, parting from the fyer:
For he that beleveth bering in hand
Plowith in water and soweth in the sand.

XV

[Ffor to love her for her lokes lovely]

Ffor to love her for her lokes lovely
My hert was set in thought right fermely,
Trusting by trought to have had redresse;
But she hath made an othre promes
And hath geven me leve full honestly
Yet do I not reioyse it greately,
For on my faith I loved to surely;
But reason will that I do sesse
For to love her.

Syns that in love the paynes ben dedly,
Me thinck it best that reddely
I do retorne to my first adresse;
For at this tyme to great is the prese,
And perilles appere to abundauntely
For to love her.

XVI

[There was never ffile half so well filed]

There was never ffile half so well filed
To file a file for every smythes intent,
As I was made a filing instrument
To frame othre while I was begiled.
But reason hath at my follie smyled
And pardond me syns that I me repent
Of my lost yeres and tyme myspent,
For yeuth did me lede and falshode guyded.
Yet this trust I have of full great aperaunce:
Syns that decept is ay retourneable
Of very force it is aggreable;
That therewithall be done the recompence.
Then gile begiled plained should be never
And the reward litle trust for ever.

XVII

[Helpe me to seke for I lost it there]

Helpe me to seke for I lost it there:
And if that ye have founde it, ye that be here,
And seke to convaye it secretely,
Handell it soft and trete it tenderly
Or els it will plain and then appere,
But rather restore it mannerly,
Syns that I do aske it thus honestly;
For to lese it it sitteth me to neere:
Helpe me to seke.

Alas, and is there no remedy,
But I have I thus lost it wilfully?
I wis it was a thing all to dere
To be bestowed and wist not where.
It was myn hert: I pray you hertely
Help me to seke.

XVIII

[Yf it be so that I forsake the]

Yf it be so that I forsake the,
As banysshed from thy company,
Yet my hert, my mynde and myn affection
Shall still remain in thy perfection;
And right as thou lyst so order me.
But some would saye in their opinion
Revoulsed is thy good intention;
Then may I well blame thy cruelte,
Yf it be so.

But myself I say on this fasshion,
I have her hert in my possession,

And of it self there cannot, perdy,
By no meanes love an herteles body;
And, on my faith, good is the reason,
If it be so.

XIX

[Thou hast no faith of him that hath none]

Thou hast no faith of him that hath none,
But thou must love him nedes by reason;
For as saieth a proverbe notable,
Eche thing seketh his semblable:
And thou hast thyn of thy condition.
Yet is it not the thing I passe on,
Nor hote nor cold of myn affection;
For syns thyn hert is so mutable,
Thou hast no faith.

I thought the true withoute exception,
But I perceve I lacked discretion
To fasshion faith to wordes mutable:
Thy thought is to light and variable,
To chaunge so oft withoute occasion,
Thou hast no faith.

XX

[Goo burnyng sighes Vnto the frosen hert!]

Goo burnyng sighes Vnto the frosen hert!
Goo breke the Ise which pites paynfull dert
Myght never perse, and if mortall prayer
In hevyn may be herd, at lest I desire
That deth or mercy be end of my smart.
Take with the payne wherof I have my part,

And eke the flame from which I cannot stert
And leve me then in rest, I you require:
Goo burning sighes!

I must goo worke, I se, by craft and art,
For trueth and faith in her is laide apart;
Alas, I cannot therefore assaill her
With pitefull plaint and scalding fyer,
That oute of my brest doeth straynably stert:
Goo burning sighes!

XXI

[It may be good, like it who list]

It may be good, like it who list,
But I do dowbt: who can me blame?
For oft assured yet have I myst,
And now again I fere the same:
The wyndy wordes, the Ies quaynt game,
Of soden chaunge maketh me agast:
For dred to fall I stond not fast.

Alas! I tred an endles maze
That seketh to accorde two contraries;
And hope still, and nothing hase,
Imprisoned in libertes,
As oon unhard and still that cries;
Alwaies thursty and yet nothing I tast:
For dred to fall I stond not fast.

Assured, I dowbt I be not sure;
And should I trust to suche suretie
That oft hath put the prouff in vre
And never hath founde it trusty?

Nay, sir, In faith it were great foly.
And yet my liff thus I do wast:
For dred to fall I stond not fast.

XXII

[Resound my voyse, ye woodes that here me plain]

Resound my voyse, ye woodes that here me plain,
Boeth hilles and vales causing reflexion;
And Ryvers eke record ye of my pain,
Which have ye oft forced by compassion
As Judges to here myn exclamation;
Emong whome pitie I fynde doeth remayn:
Where I it seke, Alas, there is disdain.

Oft ye Revers, to here my wofull sounde,
Have stopt your course and, plainly to expresse,
Many a tere by moystour of the grounde
The erth hath wept to here my hevenes;
Which causeles to suffre without redresse
The howgy okes have rored in the wynde:
Eche thing me thought complayning in their kynde.

Why, then, helas, doeth not she on me rew?
Or is her hert so herd that no pitie
May in it synke, my Joye for to renew?
O stony hert, who hath thus joyned the
So cruell that art, cloked with beaultie?
No grace to me from the there may procede,
But as rewarded deth for to be my mede.

XXIII

[In faith I not well what to say]

In faith I not well what to say,
Thy chaunces ben so wonderous,
Thou fortune, with thy dyvers play
That causeth Joy full dolourous,
And eke the same right Joyus:
Yet though thy chayne hath me enwrapt
Spite of thy hap, hap hath well hapt.

Though thou me set for a wounder
And sekest thy chaunge to do me payn,
Mens myndes yet may thou not order,
And honeste, and it remayn,
Shall shyne for all thy clowdy rayn;
In vayn thou sekest to have trapped:
Spite of thy hap, hap hath well happed.

In hindering thou diddest fourther,
And made a gap where was a stile;
Cruell willes ben oft put vnder,
Wenyng to lowre thou diddist smyle.
Lorde! how thy self thou diddist begile,
That in thy cares wouldest me have lapped!
But spite of thy hap, hap hath well happed.

XXIV

[Som fowles there be that have so perfaict sight]

Som fowles there be that have so perfaict sight,
Agayn the Sonne their Iyes for to defend,
And som, bicause the light doeth theim offend,
Do never pere but in the darke or nyght.
Other reioyse that se the fyer bright
And wene to play in it as they do pretend,
And fynd the contrary of it that they intend.

Alas, of that sort I may be by right,
For to withstond her loke I ame not able;
And yet can I not hide me in no darke place,
Remembraunce so foloweth me of that face,
So that with tery yen swolne and vnstable,
My destyne to behold her doeth me lede;
Yet do I knowe I runne into the glede.

XXV

[Bicause I have the still kept fro lyes and blame]

Bicause I have the still kept fro lyes and blame
And to my power alwaies have I the honoured,
Vnkynd tong right ill hast thou me rendred
For suche deserft to do me wrek and shame.
In nede of succour moost when that I ame
To aske reward, then standest thou like oon aferd
Alway moost cold, and if thou speke a word,
It is as in dreme vnperfaict and lame.
And ye salt teres again my will eche nyght
That are with me when fayn I would be alone,
Then are ye gone when I should make my mone;
And you so reddy sighes to make me shright,
Then are ye slake when that ye should owtestert,
And onely my loke declareth my hert.

XXVI

[I fynde no peace and all my warr is done]

I fynde no peace and all my warr is done;
I fere and hope I burne and freise like yse;
I fley above the wynde yet can I not arrise;
And noght I have and all the worold I seson.

That loseth nor locketh holdeth me in prison
And holdeth me not, yet can I scape no wise;
Nor letteth me lyve nor dye at my devise,
And yet of deth it gyveth me occasion.
Withoute Iyen, I se; and withoute tong I plain;
I desire to perisshe and yet I aske helthe;
I love an othre and thus I hate my self;
I fede me in sorrowe and laugh in all my pain;
Likewise displeaseth me boeth deth and lyffe;
And my delite is causer of this stryff.

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.’

XXVIII

[My galy charged with forgetfulnes]

My galy charged with forgetfulnes
Thorrough sharpe sees in wynter nyghtes doeth pas
Twene Rock and Rock; and eke myn ennemy, Alas,

That is my lorde, sterith with cruelnes;
And every owre a thought in redines,
As tho that deth were light in suche a case;
An endles wynd doeth tere the sayll a pase
Of forced sightes and trusty ferefulnes.
A rayn of teris, a clowde of derk disdain
Hath done the wered cordes great hinderaunce,
Wrethed with errour and eke with ignoraunce.
The starres be hid that led me to this pain;
Drowned is reason that should me confort,
And I remain dispering of the port.

XXIX

[Auysing the bright bemes of these fayer Iyes]

Auysing the bright bemes of these fayer Iyes,
Where he is that myn oft moisteth and wassheth,
The werid mynde streght from the hert departeth
For to rest in his woroldly paradise,
And fynde the swete bitter vnder this gyse.
What webbes he hath wrought well he perceveth
Whereby with himself on love he playneth,
That spurreth with fyer and bridilleth with Ise.
Thus is it in suche extremitie brought:
In frossen thought nowe and nowe it stondeth in flame;
Twyst misery and welth, twist ernest and game;
But few glad and many a dyvers thought;
With sore repentaunce of his hardines:
Of suche a rote commeth ffruyte fruytles.

XXX

[Ever myn happe is slack and slo in commyng]

Ever myn happe is slack and slo in commyng,
Desir encresing, myn hope vncertain,
That leve it or wayt it doeth me like pain,
And Tigre like, swift it is in parting.
Alas, the snow shalbe black and scalding,
The See waterles, fisshe in the moyntain,
The Tamys shall retorne back into his fountain,
And where he rose the sonne shall take lodging,
Ere that I in this fynde peace or quyetenes,
Or that love or my lady rightwisely
Leve to conspire again me wrongfully;
And if that I have after suche bitternes
Any thing swete, my mouth is owte of tast,
That all my trust and travaill is but wast.

XXXI

[Love and fortune and my mynde, remembrer]

Love and fortune and my mynde, remembrer
Of that that is nowe with that that hath ben,
Do torment me so that I very often
Envy theim beyonde all mesure.
Love sleith myn hert; fortune is depriver
Of all my comfort; the folisshe mynde then
Burneth and plaineth as one that sildam
Lyveth and rest still in displeasure.
My plaisaunt dayes they flete away and passe,
But daily yet the ill doeth chaunge into the wours;
And more than the half is runne of my cours.

Alas, not of steill but of brickell glasse,
I see that from myn hand falleth my trust,
And all my thoughtes are dasshed into dust.

XXXII

[How oft have I, my dere and cruell foo]

How oft have I, my dere and cruell foo,
With those your Iyes for to get peace and truyse,
Profferd you myn hert: but you do not vse
Emong so high thinges to cast your mynde so lowe.
Yf any othre loke for it, as ye trowe,
There vayn weke hope doeth greately theim abuse;
And thus I disdain that that ye refuse;
It was ones mine: it can no more be so.
Yf I then it chase, nor it in you can fynde
In this exile no manner of comfort,
Nor lyve allone, nor where he is called resort,
He may wander from his naturall kynd.
So shall it be great hurt vnto vs twayn,
And yours the losse and myn the dedly pain.

XXXIII

[Like to these vnmesurable montayns]

Like to these vnmesurable montayns
Is my painfull lyff the burden of Ire,
For of great height be they, and high is my desire,
And I of teres, and they be full of fontayns.
Vnder Craggy rockes they have full barren playns;
Herd thoughtes in me my wofull mynde doeth tyre;
Small fruyt and many leves their toppes do atyre;
Small effect with great trust in me remayns.
The boystous wyndes oft their high bowghes do blast,
Hote sighes from me continuelly be shed;
Cattell in theim, and in me love is fed;

Immoveable ame I, and they are full stedfast;
Off the restles birdes they have the tune and note,
And I alwayes plaintes that passe thorough my throte.

XXXIV

[Madame, withouten many wordes]

Madame, withouten many wordes,
Ons I am sure ye will or no:
And if ye will, then leve your bordes,
And vse your wit and shew it so.

And with a beck ye shall me call,
And if of oon that burneth alwaye
Ye have any pitie at all,
Aunswer him faire with yea or nay.

Yf it be yea, I shalbe fayne;
If it be nay, frendes as before;
Ye shall an othre man obtain,
And I myn owne and yours no more.

XXXV

[Ye old mule that thinck your self so fayre]

Ye old mule that thinck your self so fayre,
Leve of with craft your beautie to repaire,
For it is true withoute any fable
No man setteth more by riding in your saddell;
To muche travaill so do your train apaire,
Ye old mule!
With fals savours though you deceve th'ayer,
Who so tast you shall well perceve your layer
Savoureth som what of a Kappurs stable,
Ye old mule!

Ye must now serve to market and to faire,
All for the burden for pannyers a paire:
For syns gray heres ben powdered in your sable,
The thing ye seke for you must your self enable
To pourchase it by payment and by prayer,
Ye old mule!

XXXVI

[Suche happe as I ame happed in]

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.

XXXVII

[They fle from me that sometyme did me seke]

They fle from me that sometyme did me seke
With naked fote stalking in my chambre.
I have sene theim gentill tame and meke
That nowe are wyld and do not remembre
That sometyme they put theimself in daunger
To take bred at my hand; and nowe they raunge
Besely seking with a continuell chaunge.

Thancked be fortune, it hath ben othrewise
Twenty tymes better; but ons in speciall
In thyn arraye after a pleasaunt gyse
When her lose gowne from her shoulders did fall,
And she me caught in her armes long and small;
Therewithall swetely did me kysse,
And softely said ‘dere hert, how like you this?’

It was no dreme: I lay brode waking.
But all is torned thorough my gentilnes
Into a straunge fasshion of forsaking;
And I have leve to goo of her goodeness,
And she also to vse new fangilnes.
But syns that I so kyndely ame serued,
I would fain knowe what she hath deserued.

XXXVIII

[There was never nothing more me payned]

There was never nothing more me payned,
Nor nothing more me moved,
As when my swete hert her complayned
That ever she me loved.
Alas the while!

With pituous loke she saide and sighed
‘Alas what aileth me
To love and set my welth so light
On hym that loveth not me?
Alas the while!

‘Was I not well voyde of all pain,
When that nothing me greved?
And now with sorrous I must complain
And cannot be releved.
Alas the while!

‘My restfull nyghtes and Joyfull daies
Syns I began to love
Be take from me; all thing decayes
Yet can I not remove.
Alas the while!’

She wept and wrong her handes withall,
The teres fell in my nekke.
She torned her face and let it fall;
Scarsely therewith could speke.
Alas the while!

Her paynes tormented me so sore
That comfort had I none,
But cursed my fortune more and more
To se her sobbe and grone.
Alas the while!

XXXIX

[Patience, though I have not]

Patience, though I have not
The thing that I require,
I must of force, god wot,
Forbere my moost desire:
For no ways can I fynde
To saile against the wynde.

Patience, do what they will
To worke me woo or spite,
I shall content me still
To thyncke boeth day and nyte,
To thyncke and hold my peace,
Syns there is no redresse.

Patience, withouten blame,
For I offended nought;
I knowe they knowe the same,
Though they have chaunged their thought.
Was ever thought so moved
To hate that it haith loved?

Patience of all my harme,
For fortune is my foo;
Patience must be the charme
To hele me of my woo:
Patience, withoute offence,
Is a painfull patience.

XL

[Patiens for my devise]

Patiens for my devise,
Impaciens for your part;
Of contraries the gyse

Is ever the overthwart:
Paciens, for I ame true,
The contrary for yew.

Paciens, a good cause why
You have no cause at all;
Therefore yours standeth awry,
Perchaunce sometyme to fall:
Paciens, then take him vp
And drynck of paciens cupp.

Pacience, no force for that,
But brusshe your gowne again;
Pacience, spurne not therat;
Let no man knowe your payne:
Pacience, evyn at my pleasure,
When youres is owte of mesure.

Th'othre was for me,
This pacience is for you;
Chaunge when ye list, let se,
For I have taken a new;
Pacience, with a good will
Is easy to fulfill.

XLI

[Ye know my herte, my ladye dere]

Ye know my herte, my ladye dere,
That sins the tyme I was your thrall
I have bene yours both hole and clere,
Tho my reward hathe bene but small;
So am I yet and more then all
And ye kno well how I have seruid,

As yf ye prove it shall apere
Howe well, how longe,
How faithefulye
And soffred wrong
How patientlye!
Then sins that I have neuer swarfde
Let not my paines be ondeseruide.

Ye kno also, though ye saye naye,
That you alone are my desire
And you alone yt is that maye
Asswage my fervent flaming fire;
Soccour me then I you require.
Ye kno yt ware a just request,
Sins ye do cause my heat, I saye,
Yf that I bourne
That ye will warme
And not to tourne
All to my harme
Sending suche flame from frosen brest
Against all right for my vnrest.

And I knowe well how frowerdly
Ye have mystaken my true Intent
And hetherto how wrongfully
I have founde cause for to repent;
But deth shall ryd me redely
Yf your [hard] hert do not relent;
And I knowe well all this ye knowe
That I and myne
And all I have
Ye may assigne
To spill or save.
Why are ye then so cruel ffoo
Vnto your owne that loveth you so?

XLII

[Who hath herd of suche crueltye before?]

Who hath herd of suche crueltye before?
That when my plaint remembred her my woo
That caused it, she cruell more and more
Wisshed eche stitche, as she did sit and soo,
Had prykt myn hert, for to encrese my sore;
And, as I thinck, she thought it had ben so:
For as she thought this is his hert in dede,
She pricked herd and made her self to blede.

XLIII

[If fansy would favour]

If fansy would favour
As my deseruing shall,
My love, my paramour,
Should love me best of all.

But if I cannot attain
The grace that I desire,
Then may I well complain
My seruice and my hiere.

Fansy doethe knowe how
To fourther my trew hert
If fansy myght avowe
With faith to take part.

But fansy is so fraill
And flitting still so fast,
That faith may not prevaill
To helpe me furst nor last.

For fansy at his lust
Doeth rule all but by gesse;

Whereto should I then trust
In trouth or stedfastnes?

Yet gladdely would I please
The fansy of her hert,
That may me onely ease
And cure my carefull smart.

Therefore, my lady dere,
Set ons your fantasy
To make som hope appere
Of stedfast remedy.

For if he be my frend
And vndertake my woo,
My greife is at an ende
If he continue so.

Elles fansy doeth not right,
As I deserue and shall,
To have you daye and nyght
To love me best of all.

XLIV

[Alas madame for stelyng of a kysse]

Alas madame for stelyng of a kysse
Have I so much your mynd ther offended?
Have I then done so greuously amysse,
That by no meanes it may be amended?
Then revenge you, and the next way is this:
An othr kysse shall have my lyffe endid.

For to my mowth the first my hert did suck,
The next shall clene oute of my brest it pluck.

XLV

[What no, perdy, ye may be sure!]

What no, perdy, ye may be sure!
Thinck not to make me to your lure,
With wordes and chere so contrarieng,
Swete and sowre contrewaing;
To much of it were still to endure.
Trouth is trayed where craft is in vre;
But though ye have had my hertes cure,
Trow ye I dote withoute ending?
What no, perdy!

Though that with pain I do procure
For to forgett that ons was pure
Within my hert shall still that thing,
Vnstable, vnsure and wavering,
Be in my mynde withoute recure?
What no, perdye!

XLVI

[The wandering gadlyng in the sommer tyde]

The wandering gadlyng in the sommer tyde,
That fyndes the Adder with his recheles fote,
Startes not dismayd so soudenly a side
As jalous dispite did, tho there ware no bote,
When that he sawe me sitting by her side
That of my helth is very croppe and rote,
It pleased me then to have so fair a grace
To styng that hert that would have my place.

XLVII

[The lyvely sperkes that issue from those Iyes]

The lyvely sperkes that issue from those Iyes
Against the which ne vaileth no defence
Have prest myn hert and done it none offence
With qwaking pleasure more then ons or twise.
Was never man could any thing devise
The sonne bemes to torne with so great vehemence,
To dase mans sight as by their bright presence.
Dased ame I much like vnto the gyse
Of one I-stricken with dynt of lightening,
Blynded with the stroke, erryng here and there,
So call I for helpe, I not when ne where,
The pain of my fal patiently bering:
For after the blase, as is no wounder,
Of dedly nay here I the ferefull thoundere.

XLVIII

[What nedeth these thretning wordes and wasted wynde?]

What nedeth these thretning wordes and wasted wynde?
All this cannot make me restore my pray.
To robbe your good, I wis, is not my mynde,
Nor causeles your faire hand did I display.
Let love be judge, or els whome next we meit,
That may boeth here what you and I can say.
She toke from me an hert and I a glove from her:
Let vs se nowe, if th'one be wourth th'othre.

XLIX

[Ryght true it is, and said full yore agoo]

Ryght true it is, and said full yore agoo:
Take hede of him that by thy back the claweth,
For none is wourse then is a frendly ffoo.

Though they seme good, all thing that the deliteth,
Yet knowe it well, that in thy bosom crepeth:
For many a man such fier oft kyndeleth,
That with the blase his berd syngeth.

L

[What wourde is that that chaungeth not]

What wourde is that that chaungeth not,
Though it be tourned and made in twain?
It is myn aunswer, god it wot,
And eke the causer of my payn.
A love rewardeth with disdain,
Yet is it loved. What would ye more?
It is my helth eke and my sore.

LI

[At moost myschief]

At moost myschief
I suffre greif
For of relief
Syns I have none
My lute and I
Continuelly
Shall vs apply
To sigh and mone.

Nought may prevaill
To wepe or waill
Pitie doeth faill
In you Alas
Morning or mone
Complaint or none
It is all one
As in this case.

For crueltie
Moost that can be
Hath soveraynte
Within your hert
Which maketh bare
All my welfare
Nought do ye care
How sore I smart.

No Tigres hert
Is so pervert
Withoute dessert
To wreke his Ire
And you me kyll
For my good will
Lo how I spill
For my desire!

There is no love
That can ye move
And I can prove
None othre way;
Therefore I must
Restrain my lust
Banisshe my trust
And welth away.

Thus in myschief
I suffre greif
For of relief
Syns I have none,
My lute and I
Continuelly
Shall vs apply
To sigh and mone.

LII

[Marvaill no more, all tho]

Marvaill no more, all tho
The songes I syng do mone,
For othre liff then wo
I never proved none;
And in my hert also
Is graven with lettres diepe
A thousand sighes and mo,
A flod of teres to wepe.

How may a man in smart
Fynde matter to rejoyse,
How may a morning hert
Set fourth a pleasaunt voise?
Play who that can that part,
Nedes must in me appere
How fortune overthwart
Doeth cause my morning chere.

Perdy, there is no man,
If he never sawe sight,
That perfaictly tell can
The nature of the light;
Alas, how should I then
That never tasted but sowre
But do as I began
Continuelly to lowre?

But yet perchaunce som chaunce
May chaunce to chaunge my tune,
And when suche chaunce doeth chaunce,
Then shall I thanck fortune;
And if I have souche chaunce,

Perchaunce ere it be long,
For such a pleasaunt chaunce
To syng som plaisaunt song.

LIII

[Where shall I have at myn owne will]

Where shall I have at myn owne will
Teres to complain? Where shall I fett
Suche sighes that I may sigh my fill
And then again my plaintes repete?

For tho my plaint shall have none end,
My teres cannot suffice my woo.
To mone my harme have I no frend
For fortunes frend is myshappes ffoo.

Comfort (god wot) els have I none,
But in the wynde to wast my wordes.
Nought moveth you my dedly mone,
But all you torne it into bordes.

I speke not now to move your hert
That you should rue vpon my pain;
The sentence geven may not revert:
I know such labour were but vayn.

But syns that I for you, my dere,
Have lost that thing that was my best,
A right small losse it must appere
To lese thes wordes and all the rest.

But tho they sparkill in the wynde,
Yet shall they shew your falsed faith
Which is retorned vnto his kynde,
For like to like the proverbe saieth.

Fortune and you did me avaunce;
Me thought I swam and could not drowne;
Happiest of all, but my myschaunce
Did lyft me vp to throwe me downe.

And you with your owne crulnes
Did set your fote vpon my neck,
Me and my welfare to oppresse,
Without offence your hert to wreke.

Where are your plaisaunt wordes, alas,
Where your faith, your stedfastnes?
There is no more but all doth passe,
And I ame left all comfortles.

But forbicause it doeth you greve
And also me my wretched liff,
Have here my trouth: shall not releve,
But deth alone my wery striff.

Therefore farewell my liff, my deth,
My gayn, my losse, my salve, my sore!
Farewell also with you my breth!
For I ame gone for evermore

Podra esser che no es

LIV

[She sat and sowde that hath done me the wrong]

She sat and sowde that hath done me the wrong
Wherof I plain, and have done many a daye;
And whilst she herd my plaint in pitious song
Wisshed my hert the samplar as it lay.
The blynd maister whome I haue serued so long,
Grudging to here that he did here her saye,
Made her owne wepon do her fynger blede,
To fele if pricking were so good in dede.

LV

[‘A Robyn]

‘A Robyn
Joly Robyn
Tell me how thy leman doeth
And thou shall knowe of myn.’

‘My lady is vnkynd, perde!’
‘Alack, whi is she so?’
‘She loveth an othre better than me,
And yet she will say no.’

Responce

I fynde no suche doublenes,
I fynde women true.
My lady loveth me dowtles,
And will chaunge for no newe.

Le plaintif

Thou art happy while that doeth last,
But I say as I fynde,
That womens love is but a blast
And torneth like the wynde.

Responce

Yf that be trew yett as thou sayst
That women turn their hart,
Then spek better of them thou mayst
In hope to hau thy partt.

Le plaintif

Suche folkes shall take no harme by love
That can abide their torne,
But I alas can no way prove
In love but lake and morne.

Responce

But if thou wilt avoyde thy harme
Lerne this lessen of me,
At othre fires thy self to warme
And let theim warme with the.

LVI

[Suche vayn thought as wonted to myslede me]

Suche vayn thought as wonted to myslede me
In desert hope by well assured mone,
Maketh me from compayne to live alone,
In folowing her whome reason bid me fle.
She fleith as fast by gentill crueltie;
And after her myn hert would fain be gone,
But armed sighes my way do stoppe anone,
Twixt hope and drede locking my libertie.
Yet, as I gesse, vnder disdaynfull browe
One beame of pitie is in her clowdy loke,
Which comforteth the mynde that erst for fere shoke:
And therewithall bolded I seke the way how
To vtter the smert that I suffre within,
But suche it is, I not how to begyn.

LVII

[Tho I cannot your crueltie constrain]

Tho I cannot your crueltie constrain,
For my good will to favour me again;
Tho my true and faithfull love,
Have no power your hert to move,
Yet rew vpon my pain.

Tho I your thrall must evermore remain,
And for your sake my libertie restrain,

The greatest grace that I do crave
Is that ye would vouchesave
To rew vpon my pain.

Tho I have not deserued to obtain
So high Reward but thus to serue in vain,
Tho I shall have no redresse
Yet of right ye can no lesse
But rew vpon my pain.

But I se well that your high disdain
Wull no wise graunt that I shall more attain;
Yet ye must graunt at the lest
This my poure and small request:
Reioyse not at my pain.

LVIII

[To wisshe and want and not obtain]

To wisshe and want and not obtain,
To seke and sew esse of my pain,
Syns all that ever I do is vain,
What may it availl me?

All tho I stryve boeth dey and howre,
Against the streme with all my powre,
If fortune list yet for to lowre,
What may it availl me?

If willingly I suffre woo,
If from the fyre me list not goo,
If then I burne to plaine me so,
What may it availl me?

And if the harme that I suffre
Be runne to farre owte of mesur,
To seke for helpe any further
What may it availl me?

What tho eche hert that hereth me plain
Pitieth and plaineth for my payn,
If I no les in greif remain
What may it availl me?

Ye tho the want of my relief
Displease the causer of my greif,
Syns I remain still in myschiefe,
What may it availl me?

Such cruell chaunce doeth so me threte,
Continuelly inward to frete,
Then of relesse for to trete,
What may it availl me?

Fortune is deiff vnto my call,
My torment moveth her not at all,
And though she torne as doethe a ball
What may it availl me?

For in despere there is no rede;
To want of ere speche is no spede;
To linger still alyve as dede,
What may it availl me?

LIX

[Some tyme I fled the fyre that me brent]

Some tyme I fled the fyre that me brent
By see, by land, by water and by wynd;
And now I folow the coles that be quent
From Dovor to Calais against my mynde.
Lo! how desire is boeth sprong and spent!
And he may se that whilome was so blynde;
And all his labor now he laugh to scorne.
Mashed in the breers that erst was all to torne.

LX

[He is not ded that somtyme hath a fall.]

He is not ded that somtyme hath a fall.
The Sonne retorneth that was vnder the clowd
And when fortune hath spitt oute all her gall
I trust good luck to me shalbe allowd.
For I have sene a shippe into haven fall
After the storme hath broke boeth mast and shrowd;
And eke the willowe that stowpeth with the wynde
Doeth ryse again, and greater wode doeth bynd.

LXI

[The furyous gonne in his rajing yre]

The furyous gonne in his rajing yre,
When that the bowle is rammed in to sore,
And that the flame cannot part from the fire,
Cracketh in sonder, and in the ayer doeth rore
The shevered peces; right so doeth my desire
Whose flame encreseth from more to more,
Wych to let owt I dare not loke nor speke:
So now hard force my hert doeth all to breke.

LXII

[My hope, Alas, hath me abused]

My hope, Alas, hath me abused,
And vain rejoysing hath me fed;
Lust and Joye have me refused
And carefull plaint is in their stede;
To muche avauncing slaked my spede;
Myrth hath caused my hevines,
And I remain all comfortles.

Whereto did I assure my thought
Withoute displeasure stedfastly?

In fortunes forge my Joye was wrought,
And is revolted redely.
I ame mystaken wonderly,
For I thought nought but faithfulnes,
Yet I remain all comfortles.

In gladsom chere I did delite,
Till that delite did cause my smert
And all was wrong where I thought right;
For right it was that my true hert
Should not from trouth be set apart,
Syns trouth did cause my hardines;
Yet I remain all comfortles.

Sometyme delight did tune my song,
And led my hert full pleasauntly;
And to my self I saide among:
My happe is commyng hastely.
But it hath happed contrary;
Assuraunce causeth my distres,
And I remain all comfortles.

Then if my note now do vary
And leve his wonted pleasauntnes,
The hevy burden that I cary
Hath alterd all my Joyefulnes.
No pleasure hath still stedfastnes,
But hast hath hurt my happenes,
And I remain all comfortles.

LXIII

[What deth is worse then this]

What deth is worse then this
When my delight,
My wele, my joye, my blys,
Is from my sight?
Boeth daye and nyght
My liff, alas, I mys.

For though I seme alyve,
My hert is hens
Thus botles for to stryve
Oute of presens
Of my defens,
Towerd my deth I dryve.

Hertles, alas, what man
May long endure?
Alas, how lyve I then?
Syns no recure
May me assure
My liff I may well ban.

Thus doeth my torment gro
In dedly dred.
Alas, who myght lyve so,
Alyve as deed
Alyve to lede
A dedly lyff in woo.

LXIV

[Th'enmy of liff, decayer of all kynde]

Th'enmy of liff, decayer of all kynde,
That with his cold wethers away the grene,
This othre nyght me in my bed did fynde,
And offered me to rid my fiever clene;
And I did graunt, so did dispayre me blynde.
He drewe his bowe with arrowe sharp and kene,
And strake the place where love had hit before,
And drave the first dart deper more and more.

LXV

[Ons as me thought fortune me kyst]

Ons as me thought fortune me kyst
And bad me aske what I thought best,
And I should have it as me list
Therewith to set my hert in rest.

I asked nought but my dere hert
To have for evermore myn owne;
Then at an ende were all my smert,
Then should I nede no more to mone.

Yet for all that a stormy blast
Had overtorned this goodely day;
And fortune semed at the last
That to her promes she saide nay.

But like as oon oute of dispere
To soudden hope revived I;
Now fortune sheweth herself so fayer
That I content me wonderly.

My moost desire my hand may reche,
My will is alwaye at my hand;
Me nede not long for to beseche
Her that hath power me to commaund.

What erthely thing more can I crave?
What would I wisshe more at my will?
No thing on erth more would I have,
Save that I have to have it still.

For fortune hath kept her promes
In graunting me my moost desire:
Of my sufferaunce I have redres,
And I content me with my hiere.

LXVI

[My lute, awake! perfourme the last]

My lute, awake! perfourme the last
Labour that thou and I shall wast
And end that I have now begon;
For when this song is sung and past,
My lute be still, for I have done.

As to be herd where ere is none,
As lede to grave in marbill stone,
My song may perse her hert as sone;
Should we then sigh, or syng, or mone?
No, no, my lute, for I have done.

The Rokkes do not so cruelly
Repulse the waves continuelly
As she my suyte and affection,
So that I ame past remedy,
Whereby my lute and I have done.

Prowd of the spoyll that thou hast gott
Of simple hertes thorough loves shot,
By whome, vnkynd, thou hast theim wone,
Thinck not he haith his bow forgot,
All tho my lute and I have done.

Vengeaunce shall fall on thy disdain
That makest but game on ernest pain;
Thinck not alone vnder the sonne
Vnquyt to cause thy lovers plain,
All tho my lute and I have done.

Perchaunce the lye wethered and old,
The wynter nyghtes that are so cold,
Playnyng in vain vnto the mone;
Thy wisshes then dare not be told;
Care then who lyst, for I have done.

And then may chaunce the to repent
The tyme that thou hast lost and spent,
To cause thy lovers sigh and swoune;
Then shalt thou knowe beaultie but lent
And wisshe and want as I have done.

Now cesse, my lute; this is the last
Labour that thou and I shall wast,
And ended is that we begon;
Now is this song boeth sung and past;
My lute, be still, for I have done.

LXVII

[If chaunce assynd]

If chaunce assynd
Were to my mynde
By very kynd
Of destyne,
Yet would I crave
Nought else to have
But only liff and libertie.

Then were I sure
I myght endure
The displeasure
Of crueltie,
Where now I plain
Alas in vain,
Lacking my liff for libertie.

For withoute th'one
Th'othre is gone
And there can none
It remedy;
If th'one be past,
Th'othre doeth wast,
And all for lack of libertie.

And so I dryve
As yet alyve

All tho I stryve
With myserie,
Drawing my breth,
Lowking for deth
And losse of liff for libertie.

But thou that still
Maist at thy will
Torne all this ill
Aduersitie,
For the repare
Of my welfare
Graunt me but liff and libertie.

And if not so,
Then let all goo
To wretched woo,
And let me dye;
For th'one or th'othre
There is none othre,
My deth or liff with libertie.

LXVIII

[Nature, that gave the bee so feet a grace]

Nature, that gave the bee so feet a grace
To fynd hony of so wondrous fashion
Hath taught the spider owte of the same place
To fetche poyson, by straynge alteration.
Tho this be straynge, it is a straynger cace
With oon kysse by secret operation
Boeth these at ons, in those your lippes to fynde,
In chaunge wherof, I leve my hert behinde.

LXIX

[I have sought long with stedfastnes]

I have sought long with stedfastnes
To have had som ease of my great smert,
But nought availleth faithfulnes
To grave within your stony hert.

But happe and hit or els hit not,
As vncertain as is the wynde,
Right so it fareth by the shott
Of love, alas, that is so blynd.

Therefore I plaid the foole in vain,
With pitie, when I first began
Your cruell hert for to constrain,
Syns love regardeth no doulfull man.

But, of your goodenes, all your mynde
Is that I should complain in vain:
This is the favor that I fynde,
Ye list to here how I can plain.

But tho I plain to please your hert,
Trust me, I trust to temper it so,
Not for to care which do revert:
All shalbe oon in welth or woo.

For fansy rueleth, tho right say nay,
Even as the goodeman kyst his kowe;
None othre reason can ye lay
But as who saieth, I reke not how.

LXX

[Lyke as the Swanne towardis her dethe]

Lyke as the Swanne towardis her dethe
Doeth strayn her voyse with dolefull note
Right so syng I with waste of brethe,
I dy! I dy! and you regarde yt note.

I shall enforce my faynting breth
That all that heris this dedlye note
Shall knowe that you dothe cause my deth:
I dy! I dy! and you regarde yt note.

Your vnkyndnes hath sworne my dethe,
And chaunged hathe my plesaunte note
To paynfull sighes that stoppis my brethe:
I dy! I dy! and you regarde yt note.

Consumeth my lif, faileth my brethe;
Your fawte is forger of this note,
Melting in tearis, a cruell dethe:
I dy! I dy! and you regarde yt note.

My faith with me after my dethe
Bured shalbe, and to this note
I do bequethe my wery brethe
To cry ‘I dyede and you regardid note’.

LXXI

[In eternum I was ons determed]

In eternum I was ons determed
For to have louid and my mynde affermed,
That with my herte it should be confermed
In eternum.

Forthwith I founde the thing that I myght like,
And sought with loue to warme her hert alike,
For as me thought I shuld not se the like
In eternum.

To trase this daunse I put my self in prese;
Vayne hope ded lede and bad I should not cese
To serue, to suffer, and still to hold my pease
In eternum.

With this furst Rule I fordred me a pase
That as me thought my trowghthe had taken place
With full assurans to stond in her grace
In eternum.

It was not long er I by proofe had found
That feble bilding is on feble grounde,
For in her herte this worde did never sounde
In eternum.

In eternum then from my herte I keste
That I had furst determind for the best;
Now in the place another thought doeth rest
In eternum.

LXXII

[Syns ye delite to knowe]

Syns ye delite to knowe
That my torment and woo
Should still encrese
Withoute relese,
I shall enforce me so
That liff and all shall goo,
For to content your cruelnes.

And so this grevous trayne
That I to long sustayn
Shall sometyme cese
And have redresse;
And you also remain
Full pleased with my pain,
For to content your cruelnes.

Onles that be to light
And that ye would ye myght
Se the distresse
And hevines
Of oon slain owte right,
Therewith to please your sight,
And to content your cruelnes.

Then in your cruell mode
Would god fourthwith ye woode
With force expresse
My hert oppresse
To do your hert suche good
To se me bathe in blode,
For to content your cruelnes.

Then cowld ye aske no more
Then should ye ease my sore,
And the excesse
Of myn excesse;
And you should evermore
Defamed be therefore,
For to repent your cruelnes.

LXXIII

[Hevyn and erth and all that here me plain]

Hevyn and erth and all that here me plain
Do well perceve what care doeth cause me cry,
Save you alone to whome I cry in vain:
‘Mercy, madame, alas, I dy, I dy!’

Yf that you slepe, I humbly you require
Forbere a while and let your rigour slake
Syns that by you I burne thus in this fire:
To here my plaint, dere hert, awake, awake!

Syns that so oft ye have made me to wake
In plaint and teres and in right pitious case,
Displease you not if force do now me make
To breke your slepe, crieng ‘alas, alas!’

It is the last trouble that ye shall have
Of me, madame, to here my last complaint:
Pitie at lest your poure vnhappy slave
For in dispere, alas, I faint, I faint!

It is not now, but long and long ago
I have you serued as to my powre and myght
As faithfully as any man myght do,
Clayming of you nothing of right, of right.

Save of your grace only to stay my liff,
That fleith as fast as clowd afore the wynde;
For syns that first I entred in this stryff
An inward deth hath fret my mynde, my mynd.

Yf I had suffered this to you vnware,
Myn were the fawte and you nothing to blame;
But syns you know my woo and all my care
Why do I dy? Alas, for shame, for shame!

I know right well my face, my lowke, my teeres,
Myn Iyes, my Wordes, and eke my drery chiere
Have cryd my deth full oft vnto your eres;
Herd of belefe it doeth appere, appere!

A better prouff I se that ye would have
How I ame dede; therefore when ye here tell
Beleve it not all tho ye se my grave.
Cruell, vnkynd! I say farewell, farewell!

LXXIV

[Comfort thy self my wofull hert]

Comfort thy self my wofull hert
Or shortly on thy self the wreke,
For length redoubleth dedly smert:
Why sighes thou, hert, and woult not breke?

To wast in sighes were pitious deth;
Alas, I fynd the faynt and weke.
Enforce thy self to lose thy breth:
Why sighes thou then, and woult not breke?

Thou knowest right well that no redresse
Is thus to pyne, and for to speke,
Pardy, it is remediles:
Why sighes thou then, and woult not breke?

It is to late for to refuse
The yoke when it is on thy neck;
To shak it of vaileth not to muse:
Why sighes thou then, and woult not breke?

To sobbe and sigh it were but vain,
Syns there is none that doeth it reke;

Alas, thou doyst prolong thy pain:
Why sighes thou then, and woult not breke?

Then in her sight, to move her hert,
Seke on thy self thy self to wreke,
That she may knowe thou sufferdst smert:
Sigh there thy last, and therewith breke!

LXXV

[Desire, alas, my master and my foo]

Desire, alas, my master and my foo,
So sore alterd thi sellff how mayst thou se?
Some tyme I sowght that dryvys me to and fro;
Some tyme thow ledst that ledyth the and me.
What reson is to rewle thy subiectes so
By forcyd law and mutabilite?
For where by the I dowtyd to have blame,
Evyn now by hate agayne I dowt the same.

LXXVI

[Venemus thornes that ar so sharp and kene]

Venemus thornes that ar so sharp and kene
Sometyme ber flowers fayre and fresh of hue;
Poyson offtyme is put in medecene
And cawsith helth in man for to renue;
Ffyre that purgith allthing that is vnclene
May hele, and hurt: and if these bene true,

I trust somtyme my harme may be my helth,
Syns every wo is joynid with some welth.

LXXVII

[To cause accord or to aggre]

To cause accord or to aggre,
Two contraries in oon degre,
And in oon poynct as semeth me
To all mens wit it cannot be:
It is impossible.

Of hete and cold when I complain
And say that hete doeth cause my pain,
When cold doeth shake me every vain,
And boeth at ons, I say again
It is impossible.

That man that hath his hert away
If lyff lyveth there as men do say
That he hertles should last on day
Alyve and not to torne to clay,
It is impossible.

Twixt lyff and deth, say what who sayth,
There lyveth no lyff that draweth breth;
They joyne so nere and eke i' feith
To seke for liff by wissh of deth,
It is impossible.

Yet love that all thing doeth subdue
Whose power ther may no liff eschew
Hath wrought in me that I may rew
These miracles to be so true
That are impossible.

LXXVIII

[Though this thy port and I thy seruaunt true]

Though this thy port and I thy seruaunt true
And thou thy self doist cast thy bemes from hye
From thy chieff howse promising to renew
Boeth Joye and eke delite, behold yet how that I
Bannysshed from my blisse carefully do crye:
‘Helpe now Citherea, my lady dere,
My ferefull trust en vogant la galere.’

Alas the dowbt that dredfull absence geveth;
Withoute thyn ayde assuraunce is there none;
The ferme faith that in the water fleteth
Succour thou therefor; in the it is alone.
Stay that with faith that faithfully doeth mone,
And thou also gevest me boeth hope and fere,
Remembre thou me en vogant la galere.

By Sees and hilles elonged from thy sight,
Thy wonted grace reducing to my mynde
In sted of slepe thus I occupy the nyght;
A thowsand thoughtes and many dowbtes I fynde,
And still I trust thou canst not be vnkind
Or els dispere my comfort, and my chiere
Would fle fourthwith en vogant la galere.

Yet on my faith full litle doeth remain
Of any hope whereby I may my self vphold,
For syns that onely wordes do me retain,
I may well thinck the affection is but cold;
But syns my will is nothing as I would
But in thy handes it resteth hole and clere,
Forget me not en vogant la galere.

LXXIX

[Vnstable dreme according to the place]

Vnstable dreme according to the place
Be stedfast ons: or els at leist be true:
By tasted swetenes make me not to rew

The sudden losse of thy fals fayned grace.
By goode respect in such a daungerous case
Thou broughtes not her into this tossing mew
But madest my sprite lyve my care to renew,
My body in tempest her succour to embrace.
The body dede, the spryt had his desire;
Paynles was th'one: th'othre in delight.
Why then, Alas, did it not kepe it right,
Retorning to lepe into the fire,
And where it was at wysshe it could not remain?
Such mockes of dremes they torne to dedly pain.

LXXX

[In dowtfull brest, whilst moderly pitie]

In dowtfull brest, whilst moderly pitie
With furyous famyn stondyth at debate,
Sayth thebrew moder: ‘O child vnhappye,
Retorne thi blowd where thou hadst milk of late.
Yeld me those lymmis that I made vnto the,
And entre there where thou wert generate;
For of on body agaynst all nature
To a nothr must I mak sepulture.’

LXXXI

[Off Cartage he that worthie warrier]

Off Cartage he that worthie warrier
Could ouercome, but cowld not vse his chaunce,
And I like wise off all my long indeuor
The sherpe conquest tho fortune did avaunce
Cowld not it vse: the hold that is gyvin ouer
I vnpossest. So hangith in balaunce
Off warr, my pees, reward of all my payne;
At Mountzon thus I restles rest in Spayne.

LXXXII

[Processe of tyme worketh such wounder]

Processe of tyme worketh such wounder
That water which is of kynd so soft
Doeth perse the marbell stone a sonder
By litle droppes falling from aloft.

And yet an hert that sems so tender
Receveth no dropp of the stilling teres,
That alway still cause me to render
The vain plaint that sowndes not in her eres.

So cruel, alas, is nowght alyve,
So fiers, so frowerd, so owte of fframe,
But some way, some tyme, may so contryve
By mens the wild to tempre and tame.

And I that alwaies have sought and seke
Eche place, eche tyme for some lucky daye
This fiers Tigre lesse I fynde her meke
And more denyd the lenger I pray.

The lyon in his raging furour
Forberis that sueth mekenes for his boote:
And thou, Alas, in extreme dolour
The hert so low thou tredis vnder thy foote.

Eche fiers thing lo! how thou doest excede
And hides it vnder so humble a face,
And yet the humble to helpe at nede
Nought helpeth tyme, humblenes, nor place.

LXXXIII

[After great stormes the cawme retornis]

After great stormes the cawme retornis
And pleasanter it is thereby;
Fortune likewise that often tornis
Hath made me now the moost happy.

Thevin that pited my distres,
My iust desire and my cry,
Hath made my languor to cesse
And me also the most happy.

Whereto dispaired ye, my frendes?
My trust always in hevin did ly
That knoweth what my thought intends
Whereby I lyve the most happy.

Lo! what can take hope from that hert
That is assured stedfastly?
Hope therefore ye that lyve in smert,
Whereby I ame the most happy.

And I that have felt of your paine
Shall pray to god continuelly
To make your hope, your helth retayne,
And make me also the most happy.

LXXXIV

[All hevy myndes]

All hevy myndes
Do seke to ese their charge
And that that moost theim byndes
To let at large.

Then why should I
Hold payne within my hert
And may my tune apply
To ese my smart?

My faithfull lute
Alone shall here me plaine,
For els all othre sute
Is clene in vaine.

For where I sue
Redresse of all my grieff

Lo! they do most eschew
My hertes relieff.

Alas, my dere,
Have I deserued so
That no help may appere
Of all my wo?

Whome speke I to,
Vnkynd and deff of ere?
Alas, lo, I go,
And wot not where.

Where is my thoght?
Where wanders my desire?
Where may the thing be soght
That I require?

Light in the wynde
Doth fle all my delight
Where trouth and faithfull mynd
Are put to flyght.

Who shall me gyve
Fetherd wynges for to fle
The thing that doeth me greve
That I may se?

Who would go seke
The cause whereby to playne?
Who could his foo beseke
For ease of payne?

My chaunce doeth so
My wofull case procure
To offer to my ffoo
My hert to cure.

What hope I then
To have any redresse?

Of whome, or where, or when,
Who can expresse?

No, sins dispaire
Hath set me in this case
In vain oft in the ayre
To say Alas,

I seke nothing
But thus for to discharge
My hert of sore sighing,
To plaine at large;

And with my lute
Sumtyme to ease my pain,
For els all othre sute
Is clene in vain.

LXXXV

[To seke eche where, where man doth lyve]

To seke eche where, where man doth lyve,
The See, the land, the Rock, the clyve,
Fraunce, Spayne and Ind and every where
Is none a greater gift to gyve,
Lesse sett by oft and is so lyff and dere,
Dare I well say than that I gyve to yere.

I cannot gyve browches nor Ringes,
Thes goldsmythes work and goodly thinges,
Piery nor perle oryente and clere,
But for all that is no man bringes
Leffer Juell vnto his lady dere,
Dare I well say, then that I gyve to yere.

Nor I seke not to fetche it farr,
Worse is it not tho it be narr,
And as it is it doeth appere
Vncontrefaict mistrust to barr,

Left hole and pure withouten pere,
Dare I well say the gift I gyve to yere.

To the therefore the same retain;
The like of the to have again,
Fraunce would I gyve if myn it were;
Is none alyve in whome doeth rayne
Lesser disdaine; frely, therfore, lo here,
Dare I well gyve, I say, my hert to yere.

LXXXVI

[O goodely hand]

O goodely hand,
Wherin doeth stand
My hert distrast in payne,
Faire hand, Alas,
In litle spas
My liff that doeth restrayne.

O fyngers slight,
Departed right,
So long, so small, so rownd,
Goodely bygone,
And yet alone
Most cruell in my wound.

With Lilis whight
And Roses bright
Doth stryve thy colour faire;
Nature did lend
Eche fyngers ende
A perle for to repayre.

Consent at last,
Syns that thou hast
My hert in thy demayne,
For seruice trew
On me to rew,
And reche me love againe.

And if not so,
Then with more woo
Enforce thiself to strayne
This simple hert,
That suffereth smart,
And rid it owte of payne.

LXXXVII

[Lo what it is to love!]

Lo what it is to love!
Lerne ye that list to prove
At me, I say,
No ways that may
The growndyd greiff remove,
My liff alwaie
That doeth decaye:
Lo what it is to love!

Fle alwaye from the snare,
Lerne by me to beware
Of suche a trayne
Which dowbles payne,
And endles woo and care,
That doth retayne;
Which to refrayne
Fle alwaye from the snare.

To love and to be wise,
To rage with good aduyse,
Now thus, now than,
Now of, now an,
Vncertyn as the dyse;
There is no man
At ons that can
To love and to be wise.

Suche are the dyvers throws,
Suche that no man knows
That hath not profd
And ons have lofd;
Suche are the raging woos,
Soner reprofd
Then well remofd:
Suche are the dyvers throwes.

Love is a fervent fire,
Kendeld by hote desire,
For a short pleasure
Long displeasur;
Repentaunce is the hire;
A poure tresoure
Withoute mesure,
Love is a fervent fire.

Lo what it is to love!

Leve thus to slaunder love!
Though evill with suche it prove
Which often vse
Love to mysuse
And loving to reprove;
Such cannot chose
For their refuse
But thus to slaunder love.

Fle not so much the snare;
Love sildom causeth care,
But by deserftes
And crafty partes
Some lese their owne welfare;
Be true of hertes
And for no smartes
Fle not so much the snare.

To love and not to be wise
Is but a mad devise;
Such love doeth last
As sure and fast
As chansys off the dise
A bitter tast
Coms at the last
To love and not to be wise.

Suche be the plaisaunt daies,
Suche be the honest wayes;
There is no man
That fully can
Knowe it but he that sayes
Loving to ban
Were folly then:
Such be the plaisaunt daies.

Love is a plaisaunt fire
Kyndled by true desire,
And though the payne
Cause men to playne,
Sped well is oft the hiere;
Then though som fayne
And lese the gayne
Love is a plaisaunt fyer.

Who most doeth slaunder love
The dede must alwaye prove;
Trouth shall excuse
That you accuse
For slaunder and reprove;
Not by refuse
But by abuse
You most do slaunder love.

Ye graunt it is a snare
And would vs not beware;
Lest that your trayne
Should be to playne
Ye colour all the care;
Lo how you fayne
Pleasure for payne
And graunt it is a snare!

To love and to be wise,
It were a straunge devise;
But from that tast
Ye vow the fast;
On zyns tho runne your dise,
Ambs as may hast
Your payne to wast:
To love and to be wise!

Of all suche pleasaunt dayes,
Of all suche pleasaunt playes,
Without deserft
You have your part,
And all the worould so sayes;
Save that poure hert
That for more smert
Feleth yet suche pleasaunt dayes.

Such fire and suche hete
Did never make ye swete,
For withoute payne
You best obtayne
To good spede and to great;
Who so doeth playne
You best do fayne
Such fire and suche hete.

Who now doeth slaunder love?

LXXXVIII

[I lede a liff vnpleasant, nothing glad]

I lede a liff vnpleasant, nothing glad;
Crye and complaynt offerre, voydes Joyfullnesse;
So chaungethe vnrest that nought shall fade;
Payne and dyspyte hathe altered plesantnes
Ago, long synnys, that she hathe truly made,
Dysdayne for trowght sett lyght yn stedfastnes,
I haue cause goode to syng this song:
Playne or reioyse, who felythe wele or wrong.

LXXXIX

[Yf in the world ther be more woo]

Yf in the world ther be more woo
Then I haue yn my harte,
Wher so ytt is itt doithe come fro,
And in my brest there doithe itt groo,
For to encrease my smarte.
Alas I ame recepte of euery care
And of my liff eche sorrow claymes his part.
Who list to lyue in quyetnes
By me lett hym beware,
For I by highe dysdayne
Ame made withoute redresse;
And vnkyndenes, alas, hath slayne
My poore trew hart all comfortles.

XC

[Th'answere that ye made to me, my dere]

Th'answere that ye made to me, my dere,
Whann I did sewe for my poore hartes redresse,
Hathe so appalld my countenaunce and my chere,
That yn this case I ame all comfortlesse,
Sins I of blame no cawse can well expresse.

I haue no wrong wher I cann clayme no right;
Nowght tane me fro wher I nothing haue had;
Yete of my wo I cann nott so be quyte,
Namely sins that another may be glad
With that that thus in sorowe makethe me sad.

Another? why, shall lyberty be bond?
Fre hart may not be bond but by desert.

Nor none cann clayme, I say, by former graunte
That knowithe nott of any graunt att all;
And by deserte I dare well make avaunte,
Of faythfull will ther is no wher that shall
Bere you more trowthe, more redy att your call.

Now good then call agayne that frendly word
That sleithe your frende in saving of his payne;
And say, my dere, that itt was sayde in borde;
Late or too sone lett that nott rule the gayne,
Wherwith fre will doth trew deserte retayne.

XCI

[Most wretchid hart most myserable]

Most wretchid hart most myserable,
Syns the comforte is from the fled,
Syns all the trouthe is turned to fable,
Most wretchid harte why arte thou nott ded?

No, no, I lyve and must doo still,
Whereof I thank god and no mo;
Ffor I me selff have all my will,
And he is wretchid that wens hym so.

Butt yete thow hast bothe had and lost
The hope so long that hathe the fed,
And all thy travayle and thy cost:
Most wretchid harte why arte thow nott ded?

Some other hope must fede me new;
Yff I haue lost I say ‘what tho?’
Dyspayr shall nott throwghe it ynsew
For he is wretchid that wenys hym so.

The sonne, the mone doth frowne on the;
Thow hast darkenes in daylightes stede;
As good in grave as soo to be:
Moost wretched hert why art thou not ded?

Some plesant sterre may shewe me light,
But tho the heven wold worke me woo,
Who hath himself shal stande vp right,
And he is wretched that wens him soo.

Hath he himself that is not sure?
His trust is like as he hath sped;
Against the streme thou maist not dure:
Most wretched herte, why art thou not ded?

The last is worst, who feres not that.
He hath himself where so he goo;
And he that knoweth what is what
Sayeth he is wretched that wens him soo.

Seist thou not how they whet their teth,
Which to touche the somtime ded drede?
They finde comforte for thy mischief:
Moost wretched hert, why art thou not dede?

What tho that currs do fal by kinde
On him that hathe the overthrow?
Al that can not opresse my minde,
For he is wretched that wens him soo.

Yet can it not be thenne denyd,
It is as certain as thy crede;
Thy gret vnhap thou canst not hid:
Vnhappy thenne why art thou not dede?

Vnhappy, but no wretche therfore,
For happe doth come again and goo;
For whiche I kepe my self in store,
Sins vnhap cannot kil me soo.

XCII

[You that in love finde lucke and habundance]

You that in love finde lucke and habundance
And live in lust and joyful jolitie,
Arrise for shame! do away your sluggardie!
Arise, I say, do May some obseruance!
Let me in bed lye dreming in mischaunce;
Let me remembre the happs most vnhappy
That me betide in May most commonly,
As oon whome love list litil to avaunce.
Sephame saide true that my natiuitie
Mischaunced was with the ruler of the May:
He gest I prove of that the veritie.
In May my welth and eke my liff I say
Have stonde so oft in such perplexitie:
Reioyse! let me dreme of your felicitie.

XCIII

[And if an Iye may save or sleye]

And if an Iye may save or sleye,
And streke more diepe then wepon longe,
And if an Iye by subtil play
May move on more thenne any tonge,
How canne ye say that I do wrong
Thus to suspect without deserte?
For the Iye is traitour of the herte.

To frame all wel I am content
That it were done vnwetingly;

But yet I say who wol assent,
To do but wel, do nothyng whie
That men shuld deme the contrary,
For it is said by menn expert
That the Iye is traitour of the hert.

But yet, alas, that loke all sowle
That I doo clayme of right to haue,
Shuld not, methinkes, goo seke the scole
To plese alle folke; for who canne crave
Frendlier thing thenne hert witsaue?
By loke to give in frendely parte,
For the Iye is traitour of the hert.

And my suspect is without blame,
For, as ye saye, not only I
But other moo haue demyd the same;
Thenne is it not of Jelowsye
But subtille loke of rekeles Iye
Did rainge to farre to make me smart,
For the Iye is traitour of the hert.

But I your freende shall take it thus,
Sins you wol soo, as stroke of chaunce;
And leve furder for to discus
Wither the stroke did sticke or glaunce;
But scuse who canne, let him avaunce
Dissembled lokes; but for my parte
My Iye must still bitray my harte.

And of this grief ye shalbe quitte
In helping trowth stedfast to goo;
The time is longe that he doth sitt
Feble and weike and suffreth woo,
Cherish him wel, continewe soo,
Let him not fro your hart astart;
Thenne fere not the Iye to shewe the hert.

XCIV
Psalm 37.

Noli emulare in maligna

Altho thow se th'owtragius clime aloft,
Envie not thowe his blinde prosperitye;
The welth of wretches tho it semith soft,
Move not thy hert by theyre felicitye.
They shalbe found like grasse turnd into hay,
And as the herbes that wither sodenlye.
Stablisshe thy trust in god, seke right allway,
And on the yerth thowe shalte inhabite longe;
Fede and encreace such hope from day to day,
And if with god thow time thy hartie songe
He shal the giue what soo thy hart can lust.
Cast vppon god thy will that right thy wrong;
Gyve him the charge for he vpright and iust
Hath cure of the and of thy cares all,
And he shall make thy trowgh to be discust
Bright as the sonne, and thy rightwisnes shall
(The cursids welth, tho now do it deface)
Shine like the daylight, that we the none call.
Paciently abide the Lordes assured grace;
Bere with even minde the trouble that he sendes
Dismay the not tho thou se the purchace
Encresse of some, for such like lucke god sendes
To wicked folke [OMITTED]
Restrayne thy mind from wrath that ay offendes;
Do way all rage, and se thou do eschew
By theire like dede suche dedes for to committ:
For wikked folke theire overthrow shal rewe.
Who pacientlie abid and do not flitt,
They shall possede the world from heire to hayre:
The wikked shall of all his welth be quitt
So sodainly and that without repaire
That all his pompe and his staring aray
Shall from thyn Iye departe as blast of ayre.
The sobre thenne the world shall weld, I say,

And live in welth and pes soo plentifull.
Him to distroy the wikked shall assay
And gnasshe his teethe eke with girninge yrefull.
The Lord shall scorne the threatninges of the wretche,
Ffor he doth know the tyde is nighe at full
When he shall syncke and no hand shall hym seeche.
They have vnsheathed eke their blouddy bronds
And bent theire bowe to prove if they might reach
To overthrowe the [OMITTED]
Bare of relief the harmelesse to devoure.
The sworde shall pearce the hart of suche that fonds;
Their bow shall breake in their moste endevoure.
A litle Livinge gotten rightfullie
Passithe the ritchesse and eke the highe powre
Of that that wretches have gatherd wickedlye.
Pearishe shall the wickedes posteritie,
And god shall stablishe the iuste assuredlye.
The iust mans dayes the Lorde doth know and see,
Their heritage shall laste for evermore,
And of their hope beguylde they shall not be.
When dismolde dayes shall wrappe the tother sore,
They shall be full when other faynte for foode;
Thearwhyl'ste shall faile theise wicked men thearfore.
To godes ennemyes suche end shall be allowdd
As hath lambs greace wastinge in the fyre,
That is consumde into a smokye clowde.
Borow'th th'vniust without will or desyre
To yelde agayne; the iuste freelye dothe geve,
Wheare he seethe neede as marcye dothe requyre.
Who will'the hym well for right thearfore shall leve;
Who bannythe hym shall be rooted awaye;
His steppes shall god directe still and relieve,
And please hym shall what lyf hym lust assaye;
And though he fall vnder foote lye shall not he,
Catchinge his hand for god shall streight hym staye.
[OMITTED]
[OMITTED]
Nor yet his sede foodelesse seene for to be.
The iuste to all men mercyfull hathe bene,

Busye to do well, thearfore his seede, I saye,
Shall have habundaunce all waye fresshe and grene.
Fflee yll, do good, that thow mayste last all waye,
Ffor god dothe love for evermore th'vpright:
Never his Chosen dothe he cast awaye;
Ffor ever he them myndeth daye and night,
And wicked seede alwaye shall waste to nought:
The iust shall welde the worlde as their owne right,
And longe thearon shall dwell as theye have wrought.
Withe wisdome shall the wyse mans mowthe hym able;
His tongue shall speake alwaye even as it ought;
With godes learning he hathe his harte stable;
His foote thearfore from slydinge shall be sure.
The wicked watchethe the iust for to disable,
And for to sle hym dothe his busye cure;
But god will not suffer hym for to quaile
By tyrannye nor yet bye faulte vnpure
To be condemn'd in iudgement without faile.
Awayte thearfore the commynge of the Lorde;
Live withe his lawes in pacience to prevayle,
And he shall raise the of thyne owne accorde
Above the earth in suretye to beholde
The wickedes deathe that thow maye it recorde.
I have well seene the wicked sheene lyke goolde,
Lustie and greene as lawrell lasting aye;
But even anon and scantt his seate was colde:
When I have paste agayne the self same waye,
Wheare he did raigne he was not to be fownde;
Vanyshte he was for all his fresshe arraye.
Let vprightnes be still thie stedfast grownde.
Ffollowe the right suche one shall alwaye fynde
Hym self in peace and plentie to habounde.
All wicked folke reversyd shall vntwynde,
And wretchidnes shall be the wickedes end:
Healthe to the iuste from god shall be assignde.
He shall them strengthe whome troble shoulde offend.
The Lord shall helpp, I saye, and them delyver
Ffrom curssed handes, and healthe vnto them send,
For that in hym they sett their trust for ever.

XCV

[From thes hye hilles as when a spryng doth fall]

From thes hye hilles as when a spryng doth fall
It tryllyth downe with still and suttyll corse;
Off this and that it gaders ay and shall
Tyll it have just off flowd the streme and forse,
Then at the fote it ragith ouer all:
So faryth love when he hath tan a sorse;
His rayne is rage, resistans vaylyth none;
The first estew is remedy alone.

XCVI

[Prove wythr I do chainge, my dere]

Prove wythr I do chainge, my dere,
Or if that I do still remayne
Lik as I went or ferre or nere
And if ye fynde [OMITTED]

XCVII

[If waker care if sodayne pale Coulour]

If waker care if sodayne pale Coulour
If many sighes with litle speche to playne
Now ioy, now woo, if they my chere distayne,
For hope of smalle, if muche to fere therfore,
To hast, to slak my pase lesse or more,
Be signe of love then do I love agayne.
If thow aske whome, sure sins I did refrayne
Brunet that set my welth in such a rore,
Th'unfayned chere of Phillis hath the place
That Brunet had: she hath and ever shal.
She from my self now hath me in her grace:
She hath in hand my witt, my will, and all
My hert alone wel worthie she doth staye,
Without whose helpe skant do I live a daye.

XCVIII
In Spayne

So feble is the threde that doth the burden stay
Of my pore lyff, In hevy plyght that fallyth in dekay,
That but it have elles where some aide or some socours,
The runyng spyndell off my fate anon shall end his cours.
Sins thunhappy howre that did me to depart
From my swete wele, one only hope hath staide my lyff apart,
Wych doth perswade such wordes vnto my sory mynd.
‘Mayntene thy sellff, o wofull spryte, some better luk to fynd:
Ffor tho thou be depryffd from thy desyerd syght
Who can the tell iff thi retorne be for thy most delyght?
Or who can tell thy losse if thou ons maist recover?
Some plesant howre thy wo may rape and the defend and cover.’
This is the trust that yet hath my lyff sustaynid;
And now alas I se' it faint and I by trust ame trainid.
The tyme doth flete and I perceyve thowrs how thei bend
So fast that I have skant the space to marke my comyng end.
Westward the sonne from owt th'est skant doth shew his lyght,
When in the west he hyds hym straite within the darke of nyght;
And coms as fast where he began his path a wrye
From est to west, from west to thest so doth his jornei ly.
The lyff so short, so fraile, that mortall men lyve here,
So gret a whaite, so hevy charge, the body that we bere,
That when I thinke apon the distance and the space
That doth so ferr devid me from my dere desird face,
I know not how t'attayne the wynges that I require,
To lyfft my whaite that it myght fle to folow my desyre.
Thus off that hope, that doth my lyff some thing sustayne,

Alas, I fere and partly fele full litill doth remayne.
Eche place doth bryng me grieff, where I do not behold
Those lyvely Iyes wich off my thowghtes were wont the kays to hold.
Those thowghtes were plesaunt swete whilst I enioyd that grace;
My plesure past, my present payne, wher I myght well embrace.
But for becawse my want shold more my wo encresse,
In wache, in slepe, both day and nyght, my will doth neuer cesse
That thing to wish wheroff, sins I did lese the syght,
I neuer saw the thing that myght my faytfull hert delyght.
Th'vnesy lyff I lede doth teche me for to mete
The flowdes, the sees, the land and hilles that doth them entremete
Twene me' and those shining lyghtes that wontyd to clere
My darke panges off clowdy thowghtes as bryght as Phebus spere;
It techith me also what was my plesant state,
The more to fele by such record how that my welth doth bate.
If such record, alas, provoke th'enflamid mynd
Wich sprang that day that I did leve the best of me byhynd;
If love forgett hym sellff by lenght of absence let,
Who doth me guyd, o wofull wrech, vnto this baytid net
Where doth encresse my care? much better were for me
As dome as stone, all thing forgott, still absent for to be.
Alas the clere crystall, the bryght transparant glas,
Doth not bewray the colour hyd which vnderneth it has,
As doth th'accomberd sprite thowghtfull throws discover
Off fiers delyght, off fervent love, that in our hertes we cover.
Owt by thes Iyes it shewth that euer more delyght
In plaint and teres to seke redresse, and that both day and nyght.
Thes new kyndes off plesurs, wherein most men reioyse,
To me thei do redowble still off stormye syghes the voyce;

Ffor I ame one off them whom plaint doth well content:
It sittes me well, myn absent welth meseems me to lament,
And with my teris for to' assay to charge myn Iyes tweyne,
Lyke as myn hert above the brink is frawtid full of payne;
And for by cawse therto off those fayre Iyes to trete,
Do me provoke, I shall retorne, my plaint thus to repete;
For there is nothing elles that towches me so within
Where thei rule all, and I alone nowght but the cace or skyn.
Wherfore I do retorne to them as well or spryng,
From whom decendes my mortall wo above all othr thing.
So shall myn Iyes in payne accompagnie min hert,
That were the guydes that did it lede of love to fele the smert.
The cryspid gold that doth sormount Apollos pryd,
The lyvely strenes off plesaunt sterres that vnder it doth glyd,
Where in the bemes off love doth still encresse theire hete,
Wich yet so farre towch me so nere in cold to make me swete;
The wise and plesaunt talk, so rare or elles alone,
That did me gyve the courtese gyfft that such had neuer none,
Be ferre from me, alas, and euery other thing
I myght forbere with better will then that that did me bryng
With plesant word and chere redresse off lingerd payne,
And wontyd oft in kendlid will to vertu me to trayne.
Thus ame I dryven to here and herken affter news
My confort skant, my large desire, in dowtfull trust renewes;
And yet with more delyght to mone my wofull cace
I must complaine; those handes, those armes, that fermely do embrace
Me from my sellff, and rule the sterne of my pore lyff,
The swete disdaynes, the plesant wrathes, and eke the lovely stryff
That wontid well to tune in tempre just and mete

The rage that offt did make me erre by furour vndiscrete:
All this is hid me fro with sharp and craggyd hilles.
At other will my long abode my diepe dispaire fulfilles.
But if my hope somtyme ryse vp by some redresse,
It stumblith straite, for feble faint, my fere hath such excesse.
Such is the sort off hope, the lesse for more desire,
Wherby I fere and yet I trust to see that I requyre,
The restyng place of love where vertu lyves and grose,
Where I desire my wery lyff also may take repose.
My song, thou shalt ataine to fynd that plesant place
Where she doth lyve by whome I lyve; may chaunce the have this grace:
When she hath red and seene the dred wherein I sterve
By twene her brestes she shall the put there shall she the reserve.
Then tell her that I come she shall me shortly se;
Yff that for whayte the body fayle, this sowle shall to her fle.

XCIX

[Tagus, fare well, that westward with thy stremes]

Tagus, fare well, that westward with thy stremes
Torns vp the grayns off gold alredy tryd:
With spurr and sayle for I go seke the Tems
Gaynward the sonne, that shewth her welthi pryd
And to the town which Brutus sowght by drems
Like bendyd mone doth lend her lusty syd.
My kyng, my Contry, alone for whome I lyve,
Of myghty love the winges for this me gyve.

C

[Off purpos Love chase first for to be blynd]

Off purpos Love chase first for to be blynd,
For he with sight of that that I behold
Vanquisht had bene against all godly kynd;
His bow your hand and trusse shold have vnfold,
And he with me to serve had bene assind.
But for he blind and rekelesse wold him hold,
And still by chaunse his dedly strokes bestow,
With such as see I serve and suffer wow.

CI

[What rage is this? What furour of what kynd?]

What rage is this? What furour of what kynd?
What powre, what plage, doth wery thus my mynd?
Within my bons to rancle is assind
What poyson, plesant swete?

Lo, se myn iyes swell with contynuall terys;
The body still away sleples it weris;
My fode nothing my faintyng strenght reperis,
Nor doth my lyms sustayne.

In diepe wid wound the dedly strok doth torne
To curid skarre that neuer shalle retorne.
Go to, tryumphe, reioyse thy goodly torne,
Thi frend thow dost opresse.

Opresse thou dost, and hast off hym no cure,
Nor yett my plaint no pitie can procure,
Fiers tygre fell, hard rok withowt recure,
Cruell rebell to love!

Ons may thou love, neuer belovffd agayne;
So love thou still and not thy love obttayne;
So wrathfull love with spites of just disdayne
May thret thy cruell hert.

CII

[From thowght to thowght from hill to hill love doth me lede]

From thowght to thowght from hill to hill love doth me lede,
Clene contrary from restfull lyff thes comon pathes I trede

CIII

[Vulcane bygat me; Mynerua me taught]

Vulcane bygat me; Mynerua me taught;
Nature my mother craft norischt me yere by yere;
Thre bodyes ar my fode; my strength is in naught;
Angre, wrath, wast, and noyse, are my children dere.
Gesse, frend, what I ame and how I ame wrought:
Monstre of see or of lande or of els where?
Know me and use me and I may the defende,
And if I be thine enmye I may thy life ende.

CIV
Jopas' Song

When Dido festid first the wandryng Troian knyght,
Whom Junos wrath with stormes did force in Lybyke sandes to lyght,
That myghty' Atlas did teche, the souper lastyng long,
With cryspid lokkes, on golden harpe, Jopas sang in his song.
That same, quod he, that we the world do call and name,
Off hevin and yerth with all contentes it is the very frame.

Or thus: off hevinly powrs, by more powre kept in one
Repugnant kyndes, in myddes of whome the yerth hath place alone;
Firme, round, off liuing thynges the moder place and nourse,
Withowt the wych in egall whaight this hevin doth hold his course;
And it is calld by name the first moving hevin,
The firmament is next containing othr sevyn.
Off hevinly powrs that same is plantid full and thikk,
As shyning lyghtes wych we call steres that therin cleve and stikk;
With gret swifft sway the first and with his restles sours
Caryth it sellff and all those eight in evin continuall cours.
And off this world so rownd within that rollyng case
There be two pointes that neuer move, but fermely kepe ther place:
The t'one we se alway, the t'othr stondes obiect
Against the same deviding just the round by line direct;
Wich by' ymagination draune from t'on to t'othr
Towchith the centre of the yerth, way there is no nothr;
And thes bene calld the poles, discribd by sterres not bryght
Artyke the t'one northward we se, Antartyke t'othr hight.
The lyne that we devise from t'on to t'othr so
As Axell is, apon the wich th'evins abowt doth go;
Wych off water nor yerth, of Ayre nor fyre have kynd:
Therfore the substance of those same were herd for man to fynd.
But thei ben vncorrupt, symple and pure, vnmixt;

And so we say bene all those sterrys that in those same bene fixt;
And eke those errying sevin in cyrcles as thei stray
So calld by cawse against that first thei have repugnant way.
And smaller by ways to, skant sensible to man
To busy work for my pore harp, let sing them he that can!
The widest, saff the first, off all these nyne above
On hundred yere doth aske of space for on degre to move:
Off wich degres we make In the first moving hevin
Thre hunderd and thre skore in partes, justly devidid evin.
And yet there is an othr by twene those hevins tow,
Whose moving is so sli, so slake, I name it not for now.
The sevent hevyn, or the shell next to the starry skye,
All those degres that gaderth vp with agid pas so slye,
And doth performe the same, as elders compt hath bene,
In nyne and twenty yeres complete and days almost sixtene,
Doth cary in his bowght the sterr off Saturne old,
A thretner of all lyving thinges with drowfft and with his cold.
The sixt whom this containes doth staulk with yonger pase,
And in twelff yere doth sum what more then t'othrs viage wase.
And this in it doth bere the sterre of Jove benigne,
Twene Saturns malice and vs men frendly deffendyng signe.
The fift berth blody Mars that in three hundred days
And twise elefn with on full yere hath finisht all those ways.
A yere doth aske the fourt, and houres thereto six,
And in the same the day his yie the sonner therein he stix.
The third that governd is by that that governth me,
And love for love and for no love provokes as offt we se.
In like space doth performe that cours that did the t'othr,
So doth the next to the same that second is in order,

But it doth bere the sterr that calld is Mercury,
That mayni' a craffty secret stepp doth tred as calcars try.
That skye is last and first, next vs those ways hath gone
In sevin and twenty comon days, and eke the third of one;
And beryth with his sway the diuerse mone abowt,
Now bryght, now browne, now bent, now full, and now her light is owt.
Thus have thei of thire owne two movinges all those sevin:
One, wherin they be carid still eche in his sevrall hevin;
An othr, of hym sellffes where theire bodis ben layd
In by ways and in lesser rowndes, as I afore have sayd.
Saff of them all, the sonne doth stray lest from the straight,
The sterry sky hath but on cowrse that we have calld the eight;
And all these movinges eight ar ment from west to th'est,
Altho thei seme to clymb alofft, I say, from est to west.
But that is but by force of the first moving skye,
In twise twellff howres from est to th'est that caryth them bye and bye.
But mark we well also thes movinges of these sevin
Be not about that axell tre of the first moving hevin;
For thei have theire two poles directly t'one to t'other [OMITTED]