Verse > Sir Thomas Wyatt > Poetical Works
Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503–42).  The Poetical Works.  1880.
The Lover calleth on his Lute to help him bemoan his hapless Fate
AT most mischief
I suffer grief;
For of relief
    Since I have none,
My Lute and I        5
Shall us apply
    To sigh and moan.
Nought may prevail
To weep or wail;        10
Pity doeth fail
    In you, alas!
Mourning or moan,
Complaint or none,
It is all one,        15
    As in this case.
For cruelty,
That most can be,
Hath sovereignty
    Within your heart;        20
Which maketh bare,
All my welfare:
Nought do ye care
    How sore I smart.
No tiger’s heart        25
Is so pervert,
Without desert
    To wreak his ire;
And you me kill
For my good will:        30
Lo! how I spill
    For my desire!
There is no love
That can ye move,
And I can prove        35
    None other way;
Therefore I must
Restrain my lust,
Banish my trust,
    And wealth away.        40
Thus in mischief
I suffer grief,
For of relief
    Since I have none;
My lute and I        45
Shall us apply
    To sigh and moan.

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