Verse > Sir Thomas Wyatt > Poetical Works
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Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503–42).  The Poetical Works.  1880.
 
Odes
The Lover complaineth that his faithful Heart and true Meaning had never met with just Reward
 
  GIVE place! all ye that doth rejoice,
And love’s pangs hath clean forgot.
Let them draw near and hear my voice
Whom Love doth force in pains to fret;
For all of plaint my song is set,        5
Which long hath served and nought can get.
  A faithful heart so truly meant,
Rewarded is full slenderly;
A steadfast faith with good intent
Is recompensed craftily;        10
Such hap doth hap unhappily
To them that mean but honestly.
  With humble suit I have essayed
To turn her cruel hearted mind;
But for reward I am delayed,        15
And to my wealth her eyes be blind.
Lo! thus by chance I am assign’d
With steadfast love to serve the unkind.
  What vaileth truth, or steadfastness,
Or still to serve without repreef!        20
What vaileth faith or gentleness,
Where cruelty doth reign as chief!
Alas! there is no greater grief
Than for to love, and lack relief.
  Care doth constrain me to complain        25
Of Love, and her uncertainty,
Which granteth nought but great disdain,
For loss of all my liberty.
Alas! this is extremity,
For love to find such cruelty.        30
  For love to find such cruelty
Alas! it is a careful lot;
And for to void such mockery
There is no way but slip the knot!
The gain so cold, the pain so hot!        35
Praise it who list, I like it not.
 
 
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