Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt Edited by Kenneth Muir and Patricia Thomson |
| 21 |  |
| 13 |  | I. |
| II. |
| 4 | | III. |
| IV. |
| 2 | | V. |
| VI. |
| CCXXXIV. |
| CCXXXV. |
| CCXXXVI. |
| CCXXXVII. |
| CCXXXVIII. |
| CCXXXIX. |
| CCXL. |
| 2 | | VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
 | Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt |  |
I
[Behold, love, thy power how she dispiseth!]
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!
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!
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!
| Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt | |