The Poetical Works of Sir Thomas WyattW. Pickering, 1831 - 244 من الصفحات |
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accuse afore Anne Boleyn assign'd Bishop of London Bishop of Rome blame cause chance complain cruel CRUEL LOVE cruelty dear death deed desert desire disdain doth dread Earl of Essex Earl of Surrey evermore eyes faith fault favour fear feign fire fleeth forsake Fortune grace grief hand hath hear heart honest honour hope King King's Majesty LADY letters liberty live Lord Lordship LOVER COMPLAINETH lust Lute Mason mercy mind MISTRESS moan never nought offence pain Patience PENITENTIAL PSALMS perdie pity plain pleasant pleasure redress rejoice sador say nay seek shalt shame shew sighs Sir Thomas Sir Thomas Wyatt smart song sore sorrow Spain steadfast suffer sure tears thee thereof thine thing thou hast thought thyself traitor treason true trust truth unkind unto vaileth wealth ween Whereby William Hawte woful words wretched Wyatt ye know ye list
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الصفحة 111 - 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...
الصفحة 99 - And falsed faith must needs be known; The fault so great, the case so strange, Of right it must abroad be blown; Then since that by thine own desert My songs do tell how true thou art, Blame not my lute!
الصفحة 31 - 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 remember That sometime they put themselves in danger To take bread at my hand; and now they range Busily seeking with a continual change.
الصفحة 98 - BLAME not my Lute! for he must sound Of this or that as liketh me ; For lack of wit the Lute is bound To give such tunes as pleaseth me ; Though my songs be somewhat strange, And speak such words as touch thy change, Blame not my Lute ! My Lute ! alas ! doth not offend, Though that perforce he must agree To sound such tunes as I intend, To sing to them that heareth me ; Then though my songs be somewhat plain, And toucheth some that use to feign, Blame not my Lute...
الصفحة xxvi - This maketh me at home to hunt and hawk. And in foul weather at my book to sit, In frost and snow then with my bow to stalk: No man doth mark whereso I ride or go, In lusty leas at liberty I walk, And of these news I feel nor weal nor woe, Save that a clog doth hang yet at my heel.
الصفحة 18 - OF LOVE. FAREWELL, Love, and all thy laws for ever; Thy baited hooks shall tangle me no more : Senec, and Plato, call me from thy lore, To perfect wealth, my wit for to. endeavour...
الصفحة 142 - But ha ! ha ! ha ! full well is me, For I am now at liberty.
الصفحة 190 - None other pain pray I for them to be But, when the rage doth lead them from the right, That, looking backward, virtue they may see Even as she is, so goodly fair and bright. And whilst they clasp their lusts in arms across Grant them, good Lord, as thou mayst of thy might, To fret inward for losing such a loss.
الصفحة 194 - With savory sauce the delicates to feel; Nor yet in Spain where one must him incline, Rather than to be, outwardly to seem; I meddle not with wits that be so fine. Nor Flanders...
الصفحة 29 - 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.