Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt Edited by Kenneth Muir and Patricia Thomson |
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Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt | ||
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.
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.
Withoute displeasure stedfastly?
46
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.
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.
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.
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.
Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt | ||