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

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.