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

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.