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SIR THOMAS WYATT

1503-1542

42                                               Forget not yet

The Lover Beseecheth his Mistress not to Forget
      his Steadfast Faith and True Intent
FORGET not yet the tried entent
Of such a truth as I have meant;
My great travail so gladly spent,
Forget not yet!
Forget not yet when first began
The weary life ye know, since whan
The suit, the service, none tell can;
Forget not yet!
Forget not yet the great assays,
The cruel wrong, the scornful ways,
The painful patience in denays,1
Forget not yet!
Forget not, yet forget not this
How long ago hath been, and is,
The mind that never meant amiss
Forget not yet!
Forget not then thine own approved,
The which so long hath thee so loved,
Whose steadfast faith yet never moved:
Forget not this!

1 denays: refusals.

43                                                    The Appeal

An Earnest Suit to his Unkind Mistress, not to
Forsake him

AND wilt thou leave me thus?
Say nay, say nay, for shame?
To save thee from the blame
Of all my grief and grame.1
And wilt thou leave me thus?
    Say nay! say nay!
And wilt thou leave me thus,
That hath loved thee so long
In wealth and woe among:
And is thy heart so strong
As for to leave me thus?
    Say nay! say nay!
And wilt thou leave me thus,
That hath given thee my heart
Never for to depart
Neither for pain nor smart:
And wilt thou leave me thus?
    Say nay! say nay!
And wilt thou leave me thus,
And have no more pity
Of him that loveth thee?
Alas, thy cruelty!
And wilt thou leave me thus?
    Say nay! say nay!

1 grame: sorrow.

44                                               A Revocation

WHAT should I say?
   Since Faith is dead,
And Truth away
   From you is fled?
   Should I be led
     With doubleness?
     Nay! nay! mistress.
I promised you,
   And you promised me,
To be as true
   As I would be.
   But since I see
     Your double heart,
     Farewell my part!
Thought for to take
   Tis not my mind;
But to forsake
   One so unkind;
   And as I find
     So will I trust.
     Farewell, unjust!
Can ye say nay
   But that you said
That I alway
   Should be obeyed?
   Andthus betrayed
     Or that I wist!
     Farewell, unkist!

45                                    Vixi Puellis Nuper Idoneus ...

THEY flee from me that sometime did me seek,
      With naked foot stalking in my chamber:
I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek,
    That now are wild, and do not once remember
    That sometime they have put themselves in danger
To take bread at my hand; and now they range,
Busily seeking with a continual change.
Thanked be fortune, it hath been otherwise
    Twenty times better; but once, in special,
In thin array, after a pleasant guise,
    When her loose gown from her shoulders did fall,
    And she me caught in her arms long and small,
Therewith all sweetly did me kiss,
And softly said, Dear heart, how like you this?
It was no dream; I lay broad waking:
    But all is turned, thorough my gentleness,
Into a strange fashion of forsaking;
    And I have leave to go, of her goodness;
    And she also to use new-fangleness.
But since that I unkindely so am served,
How like you this? what hath she now deserved?

46                                                 To His Lute

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 sing, or sigh, 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 affectiàon;
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 Loves 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 on earnest pain:
     Think not alone under the sun
Unquit to cause thy lovers plain,
     Although my lute and I have done.
Perchance thee lie withered 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 lovers 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.

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