Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503–42). The Poetical Works. 1880.
OdesThe abused Lover bewails the time that ever his Eye beheld her to whom he had given his faithful Heart
A
That must forbear that I love best!
I trow, it be my destiny,
Never to live in quiet rest.
No wonder is though I complain;
Not without cause ye may be sure;
I seek for that I cannot attain,
Which is my mortal displeasure.
Alas! poor heart, as in this case
With pensive plaint thou art opprest;
Unwise thou were to desire place
Whereas another is possest.
Do what I can to ease thy smart,
Thou wilt not let to love her still;
Hers, and not mine I see thou art;
Let her do by thee as she will.
A careful carcass full of pain
Now hast thou left to mourn for thee,
The heart once gone, the body is slain,
That ever I saw her woe is me;
Mine eye, alas! was cause of this,
Which her to see had never his fill;
To me that sight full bitter is,
In recompense of my good will.
She that I serve all other above
Hath paid my hire, as ye may see;
I was unhappy, and that I prove,
To love above my poor degree.