Bulchevy's Book of English Verse Part 9

Sir Thomas Wyatt. 1503-1542

35. 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.

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 pitye Of him that loveth thee?

Alas, thy cruelty!

And wilt thou leave me thus?

Say nay! say nay!

grame] sorrow.

Sir Thomas Wyatt. 1503-1542

36. 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?

And--thus betrayed Or that I wist!

Farewell, unkist!

Sir Thomas Wyatt. 1503-1542

37. Vixi Puellis Nuper Idoneus...

THEY flee from me that sometime did me seek, With naked foot stalking within my chamber: Once have I 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 in continual change.

Thanked be fortune, it hath been otherwise Twenty times better; but once especial-- In thin array: after a pleasant guise, When her loose gown did from her shoulders fall, And she me caught in her arms long and small, And therewithal so sweetly did me kiss, And softly said, 'Dear heart, how like you this?'

It was no dream; for I lay broad awaking: But all is turn'd now, through my gentleness, Into a bitter fashion of forsaking; And I have leave to go of her goodness; And she also to use new-fangleness.

But since that I unkindly so am served, 'How like you this?'--what hath she now deserved?

Sir Thomas Wyatt. 1503-1542

38. 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 said 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 affectin; 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 Love's 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 of earnest pain: Trow not alone under the sun Unquit to cause thy lover's plain, Although my lute and I have done.

May chance thee lie wither'd 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 has lost and spent To cause thy lover's 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.

Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey. 1516-47

39. Description of Spring Wherein each thing renews, save only the Lover

THE soote season, that bud and bloom forth brings, With green hath clad the hill and eke the vale: The nightingale with feathers new she sings; The turtle to her make hath told her tale.

Summer is come, for every spray now springs: The hart hath hung his old head on the pale; The buck in brake his winter coat he flings; The fishes flete with new repaired scale.

The adder all her slough away she slings; The swift swallow pursueth the flies smale; The busy bee her honey now she mings; Winter is worn that was the flowers' bale.

And thus I see among these pleasant things Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs.

make] mate. mings] mingles, mixes.

Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey. 1516-47

40. Complaint of the Absence of Her Lover being upon the Sea

O HAPPY dames! that may embrace The fruit of your delight, Help to bewail the woful case And eke the heavy plight Of me, that wonted to rejoice The fortune of my pleasant choice: Good ladies, help to fill my mourning voice.

In ship, freight with rememberance Of thoughts and pleasures past, He sails that hath in governance My life while it will last: With scalding sighs, for lack of gale, Furthering his hope, that is his sail, Toward me, the swete port of his avail.