by Thomas Wyatt
THE LOVER HAVING BROKEN HIS BONDAGE, VOWETH NEVER MORE TO BE ENTHRALLED
IN æternum I was once determed,
For to have loved and my mind affirmed,
That with my heart it should be confirmed,
In æternum.
Forthwith I found the thing that I might like, 5
And sought with love to warm her heart alike,
For as me thought I should not see the like,
In æternum.
To trace this dance I put myself in press,
Vain Hope did lead, and bade I should not cesse, 10
To serve to suffer, and still to hold my peace
In æternum.
With this first rule I furtherd me a pace,
That as me thought my truth had taken place,
With full assurance to stand in her grace, 15
In æternum.
It was not long ere I by proof had found
That feeble building is on feeble ground,
For in her heart this word did never sound
In æternum. 20
In æternum then from my heart I cest
That, I had first determined for the best,
Now in the place another thought doth rest,
In æternum.
THE ABUSED LOVER, ADMONISHES THE UNWARY TO BEWARE OF LOVE
LO! what it is to love!
Learn ye that list to prove
At me, I say;
No ways that may
The grounded grief remove, 5
My life alway
That doth decay;
Lo! what it is to love.
Flee alway from the snare:
Learn by me to beware 10
Of such a train
Which doubles pain,
And endless woe, and care
That doth retain;
Which to refrain 15
Flee alway from the snare.
To love, and to be wise,
To rage with good advice;
Now thus, now than,
Now off, now an, 20
Uncertain as the dice;
There is no man
At once that can
To love and to be wise.
Such are the divers throes, 25
Such that no man knows
That hath not prov’d
And once have lov’d;
Such are the raging woes
Sooner reprov’d 30
Than well remov’d,
Such are the divers throes.
Love is a fervent fire
Kindled by hot desire;
For a short pleasure 35
Long displeasure,
Repentance is the hire;
A poor treasure,
Without measure;
Love is a fervent fire. 40
Lo! what it is to love!
A REPROOF TO SUCH AS SLANDER LOVE
LEAVE thus to slander love!
Though evil with such it prove,
Which often use
Love to misuse,
And loving to reprove; 5
Such cannot choose
For their refuse
But thus to slander Love.
Flee not so much the snare!
Love seldom causeth care. 10
But by deserts
And crafty parts
Some lose their own welfare.
Be true of heart;
And for no smart, 15
Flee not so much the snare.
To love, and not to be wise,
Is but a mad device;
Such love doth last
As sure and fast, 20
As chance on the dice,
A bitter taste
Comes at the last,
To love, and not to be wise.
Such be the pleasant days, 25
Such be the honest ways,
There is no man
That fully can
Know it, but he that says
Loving to ban 30
Were folly then;
Such be the pleasant days.
Love is a pleasant fire
Kindled by true desire;
And though the pain 35
Cause men to plain,
Speed well is oft the hire.
Then though some feign
And lose the gain,
Love is a pleasant fire. 40
Who most doeth slander love,
The deed must alway prove.
Truth shall excuse
That you accuse
For slander, and reprove. 45
Not by refuse,
But by abuse,
You most do slander love!
Ye grant it is a snare,
And would us not beware. 50
Lest that your train
Should be too plain
Ye colour all the care;
Lo! how you feign
Pleasure for pain, 55
And grant it is a snare
To love, and to be wise.
It were a strange device:
But from that taste
Ye vow the fast, 60
On cinques though run your die
Ambsace may haste
Your pain to waste.
To love and to be wise.
Of all such pleasant days, 65
Of all such pleasant plays,
Without desart,
You have your part,
And all the world so says;
Save that poor heart 70
That for more smart,
Feeleth not such pleasant days.
Such fire, and such heat,
Did never make ye sweat;
For without pain 75
You best obtain
Too good speed, and too great.
Whoso doeth plain
You best do feign,
Such tire, and such heat. 80
Who now doth slander Love?
DESPAIR COUNSELLETH THE DESERTED LOVER TO END HIS WOES BY DEATH, BUT REASON BRINGETH COMFORT
MOST wretched heart! most miserable,
Since thy comfort is from thee fled;
Since all thy truth is turned to fable
Most wretched heart! why art thou not dead?
‘No! no! I live, and must do still; 5
Whereof I thank God, and no mo;
For I myself have at my will,
And he is wretched that weens him so.’
But yet thou hast both had and lost
The hope, so long that hath thee fed, 10
And all thy travail, and thy cost;
Most wretched heart! why art thou not dead?
‘Some other hope must feed me new:
If I have lost, I say what tho!
Despair shall not therewith ensue; 15
For he is wretched, that weens him so.’
The sun, the moon doth frown on thee
Thou hast darkness in daylight stead:
As good in grave, as so to be;
Most wretched heart! why art thou not dead? 20
‘Some pleasant star may shew me light;
But though the heaven would work me woe,
Who hath himself shall stand upright;
And he is wretched that weens him so.’
Hath he himself that is not sure? 25
His trust is like as he hath sped.
Against the stream thou mayst not dure;
Most wretched heart! why art thou not dead?
‘The last is worst: who fears not that
He hath himself whereso he go: 30
And he that knoweth what is what,
Saith he is wretched that weens him so.’
Seest thou not how they whet their teeth,
Which to touch thee sometime did dread?
They find comfort, for thy mischief, 35
Most wretched heart! why art thou not dead?
‘What though that curs do fall by kind
On him that hath the overthrow;
All that cannot oppress my mind;
For he i
s wretched that weens him so.’ 40
Yet can it not be then denied,
It is as certain as thy creed,
Thy great unhap thou canst not hide;
Unhappy then! why art thou not dead?
‘Unhappy; but no wretch therefore! 45
For hap doth come again, and go,
For which I keep myself in store;
Since unhap cannot kill me so.’
THE LOVER’S LUTE CANNOT BE BLAMED THOUGH IT SING OF HIS LADY’S UNKINDNESS
BLAME not my Lute! for he must sound
Of this or that as liketh me;
For lack of wit the Lute is bound
To give such tunes as pleaseth me;
Though my songs be somewhat strange, 5
And speak such words as touch thy change,
Blame not my Lute!
My Lute! alas! doth not offend,
Though that perforce he must agree
To sound such tunes as I intend, 10
To sing to them that heareth me;
Then though my songs be somewhat plain,
And toucheth some that use to feign,
Blame not my Lute!
My Lute and strings may not deny, 15
But as I strike they must obey;
Break not them then so wrongfully,
But wreak thyself some other way;
And though the songs which I indite
Do quit thy change with rightful spite, 20
Blame not my Lute!
Spite asketh spite, and changing change,
And falsed faith must needs be known;
The faults so great, the cause so strange;
Of right it must abroad be blown: 25
Then since that by thine own desert
My songs do tell how true thou art,
Blame not my Lute!
Blame but thyself that hast misdone,
And well deserved to have blame; 30
Change thou thy way, so evil begone,
And then my Lute shall sound that same;
But if ‘till then my fingers play,
By thy desert their wonted way,
Blame not my Lute! 35
Farewell! unknown; for though thou break
My strings in spite with great disdain,
Yet have I found out for thy sake,
Strings for to string my Lute again:
And if, perchance, this sely rhyme 40
Do make thee blush, at any time,
Blame not my Lute!
THE NEGLECTED LOVER CALLETH ON HIS PEN TO RECORD THE UNGENTLE BEHAVIOUR OF HIS UNKIND MISTRESS
MY pen! take pain a little space
To follow that which doth me chase,
And hath in hold my heart so sore;
But when thou hast this brought to pass,
My pen! I prithee write no more. 5
Remember oft thou hast me eased,
And all my pains full well appeased,
But now I know, unknown before,
For where I trust, I am deceived;
And yet, my pen! thou can’st no more. 10
A time thou haddest as other have
To write which way my hope to crave;
That time is past, withdraw, therefore:
Since we do lose that others have,
As good leave off and write no more. 15
In worth to use another way;
Not as we would, but as we may,
For once my loss is past restore,
And my desire is my decay;
My pen! yet write a little more. 20
To love in vain, who ever shall
Of worldly pain it passeth all,
As in like case I find; wherefore
To hold so fast, and yet to fall!
Alas! my pen, now write no more. 25
Since thou hast taken pain this space
To follow that which doth me chace,
And hath in hold my heart so sore,
Now hast thou brought my mind to pass,
My pen! I prithee write no more. 30
THAT CAUTION SHOULD BE USED IN LOVE
TAKE heed by time, lest ye be spied:
Your loving eyes can it not hide,
At last the truth will sure be tried;
Therefore, take heed!
For some there be of crafty kind, 5
Though you show no part of your mind,
Surely their eyes can ye not blind;
Therefore, take heed!
For in like case theirselves hath been,
And thought right sure none had them seen, 10
But it was not as they did ween,
Therefore, take heed!
Although they be of divers schools,
And well can use all crafty tools,
At length they prove themselves but fools. 15
Therefore, take heed!
If they might take you in that trap,
They would soon leave it in your lap;
To love unspied is but a hap;
Therefore, take heed! 20
AN EARNEST REQUEST TO HIS CRUEL MISTRESS EITHER TO PITY HIM OR LET HIM DIE
AT last withdraw your cruelty,
Or let me die at once;
It is too much extremity,
Devised for the nonce,
To hold me thus alive, 5
In pain still for to drive:
What may I more sustain,
Alas! that die would fain,
And cannot die for pain?
For to the flame wherewith ye burn, 10
My thought and my desire,
When into ashes it should turn
My heart, by fervent fire,
Ye send a stormy rain
That doth it quench again, 15
And make mine eyes express,
The tears that do redress
My life, in wretchedness.
Then when these should have drown’d,
And overwhelm’d my heart, 20
The heart doth them confound,
Renewing all my smart;
Then doth flame increase,
My torment cannot cease;
My woe doth then revive, 25
And I remain alive,
With death still for to strive.
But if that ye would have my death,
And that ye would none other,
Shortly then for to spend my breath, 30
Withdraw the one, or t’other;
For thus your cruelness
Doth let itself doubtless;
And it is reason why!
No man alive, nor I, 35
Of double death can die.
THE ABUSED LOVER REPROACHETH HIS FALSE MISTRESS OF DISSIMULATION
TO wet your eye withouten tear,
And in good health to feign disease,
That you thereby mine eyen might blear,
Therewith your other friends to please;
And though ye think ye need not fear, 5
Yet so ye can not me appease;
But as ye list fawn, flatter, or glose,
Ye shall not win, if I do lose.
Prate, and paint, and spare not,
Ye know I can me wreak; 10
And if so be ye can so not,
Be sure I do not reck;
And though ye swear it were not,
I can both swear and speak
By God, and by this cross, 15
If I have the mock, ye shall have the loss.
HE BEWAILS HIS HARD FATE THAT THOUGH BELOVED OF HIS MISTRESS HE STILL LIVES IN PAIN
I LOVE, loved; and so doth she,
And yet in love we suffer still;
The cause is strange as seemeth me,
To love so well, and want our will.
O! deadly yea! O! grievous smart! 5
Worse than refuse, unhappy gain!
In love who ever play’d this part,
To love so well, and live in pain.
Were ever hearts so well agreed,
Since love was love as I do trow; 10
> That in their love so evil did speed,
To love so well, and live in woe.
Thus mourn we both, and hath done long,
With woful plaint and careful voice;
Alas! it is a grievous wrong, 15
To love so well, and not rejoice.
Send here an end of all our moan,
With sighing oft my breath is scant;
Since of mishap ours is alone,
To love so well, and yet to want. 20
But they that causers be of this,
Of all our cares God send them part;
That they may know what grief it is,
To love so well, and live in smart.
A COMPLAINT OF THE FALSENESS OF LOVE
IT is a grievous smart,
To suffer pain and sorrow;
But most grieveth my heart,
He laid his faith to borrow;
And falsehood hath his faith and troth, 5
And he foresworn by many an oath.
All ye lovers, perdie!
Hath cause to blame his deed,
Which shall example be,
To let you of your speed; 10
Let never woman again
Trust to such words as man can feign.
For I unto my cost
Am warning to you all;
That they whom you trust most 15
Soonest deceive you shall;
But complaint cannot redress,
Of my great grief the great excess.
Farewell! all my welfare!
My shoe is trod awry. 20
Now may I cark and care,
To sing lullaby! lullaby!
Alas! what shall I do thereto?
There is no shift to help me now.
Who made it such offence, 25
To love for love again;
God wot! that my pretence
Was but to ease his pain;
For I had ruth to see his woe:
Alas! more fool! why did I so! 30
For he from me is gone,
And makes thereat a game;
And hath left me alone,
To suffer sorrow and shame;
Alas! he is unkind doubtless, 35
To leave me thus all comfortless.
THE LOVER SUETH THAT HIS SERVICE MAY BE ACCEPTED
THE HEART and service to you proffer’d
With right good will full honestly,
Refuse it not since it is offer’d,
But take it to you gentlely.
And though it be a small present, 5
Yet good, consider graciously,
The thought, the mind, and the intent
Of him that loves you faithfully.
It were a thing of small effect