Verse > Sir Thomas Wyatt > Poetical Works
Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503–42).  The Poetical Works.  1880.
The Lover lamenteth his Estate with suit for Grace
  FOR want of will in woe I plain,
Under colour of soberness;
Renewing with my suit my pain,
My wanhope with your steadfastness.
Awake therefore of gentleness;        5
Regard, at length, I you require,
My swelting pains of my desire.
  Betimes who giveth willingly,
Redoubled thanks aye doth deserve;
And I that sue unfeignedly,        10
In fruitless hope, alas! do sterve.
How great my cause is for to swerve,
And yet how steadfast is my suit,
Lo, here ye see: where is the fruit?
  As hound that hath his keeper lost,        15
Seek I your presence to obtain;
In which my heart delighteth most,
And shall delight though I be slain.
You may release my band of pain;
Loose then the care that makes me cry        20
For want of help, or else I die.
  I die though not incontinent;
By process, yet consumingly,
As waste of fire which doth relent:
If you as wilful will deny.        25
Wherefore cease of such cruelty,
And take me wholly in your grace;
Which lacketh will to change his place.

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