THE LOVER,

HOPELESS OF GREATER HAPPINESS, CONTENTETH

HIMSELF WITH ONLY PITY.


T HO'  I cannot your cruelty constrain,
  For my good will to favour me again ;
  Though my true and faithful love
Have no power your heart to move,
               Yet rue upon my pain !
Tho' I your thrall muse evermore remain,
And for your sake my liberty restrain ;
The greatest grace that I do crave
Is that ye would vouchsave
               To rue upon my pain !
Thought I have note deserved to obtain
So high reward, but thus to serve in vain,
Though I shall have no redress,
Yet of right ye can no less,
               But rue upon my pain !
But I see well, that your high disdain
Will no wise grant that I shall more attain ;
Yet ye must grant at the last
This my poor, and small request ;
               Rejoice not at my pain !



Source:
Yeowell, James, Ed. The Poetical Works of Sir Thomas Wyatt.
London: George Bell and Sons, 1904. 85.




Backto the Works of Sir Thomas Wyatt


Site copyright ©1996-2007 Anniina Jokinen. All Rights Reserved.
Created by Anniina Jokinen on April 26, 2000.