Verse > Sir Thomas Wyatt > Poetical Works
Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503–42).  The Poetical Works.  1880.
The Lover waileth his changed Joys
  IF every man might him avaunt
Of fortune’s friendly cheer;
It was myself, I must it grant,
For I have bought it dear:
And dearly have I held also        5
The glory of her name,
In yielding her such tribute, lo,
As did set forth her fame.
  Sometime I stood so in her grace,
That as I would require,        10
Each joy I thought did me embrace,
That furthered my desire:
And all those pleasures, lo, had I,
That fancy might support;
And nothing she did me deny        15
That was unto my comfort.
  I had, what would you more, perdie?
Each grace that I did crave;
Thus Fortune’s will was unto me
All thing that I would have:        20
But all too rathe, alas the while,
She built on such a ground:
In little space, too great a guile
In her now have I found.
  For she hath turned so her wheel,        25
That I, unhappy man,
May wail the time that I did feel
Wherewith she fed me than:
For broken now are her behests,
And pleasant looks she gave,        30
And therefore now all my requests
From peril cannot save.
  Yet would I well it might appear
To her my chief regard;
Though my deserts have been too dear        35
To merit such reward:
Since Fortune’s will is now so bent
To plague me thus, poor man,
I must myself therewith content,
And bear it as I can.        40

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