|TO HIS LADY, CRUEL OVER HER|
UCH is the course that nature's kind hath|
That snakes have time to cast away their stings :
Against chain'd prisoners what need defence be sought ?
The fierce lion will hurt no yielden things :
Why shoul such spite be nursed then by thought ?
Sith all these powers are prest under thy wings ;
And eke thou seest, and reason thee hath taught,
What mischief malice many ways it brings :
Consider eke, that spite availeth nought.
Therefore this song thy faul to thee it sings :
Displease thee not, for saying thus my thought,
Nor hate thou him from whom no hate forth springs :
For furies that in hell be execrable,
For that they hate, are made most miserable.
Yeowell, James, Ed. The Poetical Works of Sir Thomas Wyatt.
London: George Bell and Sons, 1904. 12.
||to the Works of Sir Thomas Wyatt|
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