Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503–42). The Poetical Works. 1880.
OdesThe Lover taught, mistrusteth Allurements
I
But I do doubt: who can me blame?
For oft assured, yet have I mist;
And now again I fear the same.
The words, that from your mouth last came,
Of sudden change, make me aghast;
For dread to fall, I stand not fast.
Alas, I tread an endless maze,
That seek t’ accord two contraries;
And hope thus still, and nothing hase,
Imprisoned in liberties:
As one unheard, and still that cries;
Always thirsty, and nought doth taste;
For dread to fall, I stand not fast.
Assured, I doubt I be not sure;
Should I then trust unto such surety;
That oft hath put the proof in ure,
And never yet have found it trusty?
Nay, sir, in faith, it were great folly:
And yet my life thus do I waste;
For dread to fall, I stand not fast.