Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. I. Early Poetry: Chaucer to Donne
Sir Thomas Wyatt (15031542)Extracts from Songs and Sonnets
U
Be steadfast once, or else at least be true:
By tasted sweetness make me not to rue
The sudden loss of thy false feigned grace.
By good respect, in such a dangerous case,
Thou broughtest not her into these tossing seas;
But madest my sprite to live, my care to encrease,
My body in tempest her delight to embrace.
The body dead, the spirit had his desire;
Painless was the one, the other in delight.
Why then, alas, did it not keep it right,
But thus return to leap into the fire;
And when it was at wish, could not remain?
Such mocks of dreams do turn to deadly pain.
F
Of such a truth as I have meant;
My great travail so gladly spent,
Forget not yet!
The weary life ye know, since whan
The suit, the service none tell can;
Forget not yet!
The cruel wrong, the scornful ways,
The painful patience in delays,
Forget not yet!
How long ago hath been, and is
The mind that never meant amiss.
Forget not yet!
The which so long hath thee so loved,
Whose steadfast faith yet never moved:
Forget not yet!
M
Labour that thou and I shall waste;
And end that I have now begun:
And when this song is sung and past,
My lute! be still, for I have done.
As lead to grave in marble stone,
My song may pierce her heart as soon;
Should we then sing, or sigh, or moan?
No, no, my lute! for I have done.
Repulse the waves continually,
As she my suit and affection:
So that I am past remedy;
Whereby my lute and I have done.
Of simple hearts thorough Love’s shot,
By whom, unkind, thou hast them won;
Think not he hath his bow forgot,
Although my lute and I have done.
That makest but game of earnest pain;
Trow not alone under the sun
Unquit to cause thy lovers plain,
Although my lute and I have done.
In winter nights, that are so cold,
Plaining in vain unto the moon;
Thy wishes then dare not be told:
Care then who list, for I have done.
The time that thou hast lost and spent,
To cause thy lovers sigh and swoon:
Then shalt thou know beauty but lent,
And wish and want, as I have done.
Labour that thou and I shall waste;
And ended is that we begun:
Now is thy song both sung and past;
My lute, be still, for I have done.
T
Turns up the grains of gold already tried;
For I with spur and sail go seek the Thames
Gainward the sun that showeth her wealthy pride
And to the town that Brutus sought by dreams,
Like bended moon that leans her lusty side;
My king, my country alone for whom I live,
Of mighty Love the winds for this me give!