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Home  »  The Book of Elizabethan Verse  »  Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503–1542)

William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Elizabethan Verse. 1907.

To His Lute

Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503–1542)

MY lute, awake! perform the last

Labour that thou and I shall waste,

And end that I have now begun;

For when this song is sung and past,

My lute, be still, for I have done.

As to be heard where ear is none,

As lead to grave in marble stone,

My song may pierce her heart as soon:

Should we then sigh, or sing, or moan?

No, no, my lute! for I have done.

The rocks do not so cruelly

Repulse the waves continually,

As she my suit and affection;

So that I am past remedy:

Whereby my lute and I have done.

Proud of the spoil that thou hast got

Of simple hearts thorough Love’s shot,

By whom, unkind, thou hast them won;

Think not he hath his bow forgot,

Although my lute and I have done.

Vengeance shall fall on thy disdain,

That makest but game of earnest pain;

Think not alone under the sun

Unquit to cause thy lover’s plain,

Although my lute and I have done.

Perchance they lay wither’d and old

The winter nights that are so cold,

Plaining in vain unto the moon:

Thy wishes then dare not be told:

Care then who list! for I have done.

And then may chance thee to repent

The time that thou hast lost and spent

To cause thy lover’s sigh and swoon:

Then shalt thou know beauty but lent,

And wish and want as I have done.

Now cease, my lute! this is the last

Labour that thou and I shall waste,

And ended is that we begun:

Now is this song both sung and past—

My lute be still, for I have done.