Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt Edited by Kenneth Muir and Patricia Thomson |
21 |
13 | I. |
II. |
4 | III. |
IV. |
2 | V. |
VI. |
2 | VII. |
VIII. |
CCXLVII. |
CCXLVIII. |
CCXLIX. |
CCL. |
CCLI. |
CCLII. |
CCLIII. |
CCLIV. |
CCLV. |
CCLVI. |
CCLVII. |
CCLVIII. |
CCLIX. |
CCLX. |
CCLXI. |
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 | ||