AGAINST HIS TONGUE THAT FAILED|
TO UTTER HIS SUITS
ECAUSE I still kept thee from lies and |
And to my power always thee honoured,
Unkind tongue ! to ill hast thou me rend'red,
For such desert to do me wreke and shame.
In need of succour most when that I am,
To ask reward, thou stand'st like one afraid :
Alway most cold, and if one word be said,
As in a dream, unperfect is the same.
And ye salt tears, against my will each night
That are with me, when I would be alone ;
Then are ye gone when I should make my moan :
And ye so ready sighs to make me shright,1
Then are ye slack, when that ye should outstart ;
And only doth my look declare my heart.
Yeowell, James, Ed. The Poetical Works of Sir Thomas Wyatt.
London: George Bell and Sons, 1904. 8-9.
||to the Works of Sir Thomas Wyatt|
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Created by Anniina Jokinen on January 15, 2000. Last updated January 18, 2007.