Verse > Sir Thomas Wyatt > Poetical Works
Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503–42).  The Poetical Works.  1880.
Songs and Epigrams
The Lover professeth himself constant
WITHIN my breast I never thought it gain
Of gentle minds the freedom for to lose;
Nor in my heart sank never such disdain,
To be a forger, faults for to disclose:
Nor I cannot endure the truth to glose,        5
To set a gloss upon an earnest pain:
Nor I am not in number one of those
That list to blow retreat to every train.

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