Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503–42). The Poetical Works. 1880.
OdesThe Lover complaineth his Estate
I
Thus secretly to live in pain,
And to another given the fee,
Of all my loss to have the gain:
By chance assign’d thus do I serve.
And other have that I deserve.
Unto myself sometime alone
I do lament my woful case;
But what availeth me to moan
Since truth and pity hath no place
In them, to whom I sue and serve?
And other have that I deserve.
To seek by mean to change this mind,
Alas, I prove, it will not be;
For in my heart I cannot find
Once to refrain, but still agree,
As bound by force, alway to serve,
And other have that I deserve.
Such is the fortune that I have,
To love them most that love me lest;
And to my pain to seek, and crave
The thing that other have possest:
So thus in vain alway I serve,
And other have that I deserve.
And till I may appease the heat,
If that my hap will hap so well,
To wail my woe my heart shall frete,
Whose pensive pain my tongue can tell;
Yet thus unhappy must I serve.
And other have that I deserve.