Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503–42). The Poetical Works. 1880.
OdesThe Lover, hopeless of greater Happiness, contenteth himself with only Pity
T
For my good will to favour me again;
Though my true and faithful love
Have no power your heart to move,
Yet rue upon my pain!
Tho’ I your thrall must evermore remain,
And for your sake my liberty restrain;
The greatest grace that I do crave
Is that ye would vouchsave
To rue upon my pain!
Though I have not deserved to obtain
So high reward, but thus to serve in vain,
Though I shall have no redress,
Yet of right ye can no less,
But rue upon my pain!
But I see well, that your high disdain
Will no wise grant that I shall more attain;
Yet ye must grant at the last
This my poor, and small request;
Rejoice not at my pain!