Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503–42). The Poetical Works. 1880.
OdesThat right cannot govern Fancy
I
To have had some ease of my great smart:
But nought availeth faithfulness
To grave within your stony heart.
But hap, and hit, or else hit not,
As uncertain as is the wind;
Right so it fareth by the shot
Of Love, alas! that is so blind.
Therefore I play’d the fool in vain,
With pity when I first began
Your cruel heart for to constrain,
Since love regardeth no doubtful man.
But of your goodness, all your mind
Is that I should complain in vain;
This is the favour that I find;
Ye list to hear how I can plain!
But tho’ I plain to please your heart,
Trust me I trust to temper it so,
Not for to care which do revert;
All shall be one, or wealth, or woe.
For fancy ruleth, though Right say nay,
Even as the good man kist his cow;
None other reason can ye lay,
But as who sayeth; ‘I reck not how.’