What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
Other editions - View all
accuse afore ambassador Anne Boleyn Bishop of London Bishop of Rome blame cause chance complain cruel cruelty dear death deed desert desire disdain doth dread Earl of Essex Emperor evermore eyes faith Farewell fault favour fear feign fire fleeth forsake Fortune grace grief hand hath hear heart honest honour King King's Majesty Lady letters liberty live Lord Lordship love for love LOVER lust Lute Mason matter mayst mercy mind MISTRESS moan never nought offence pain Patience PENITENTIAL PSALMS perdie pity plain pleasant pleasure redress say nay seek shalt shame shew sighs Sir Thomas Sir Thomas Wyatt smart song sore sorrow Spain steadfastness suffer sure tears thee thereof thine thing thou hast thought thyself traitor treason trust truth unkind unto vaileth wealth ween Whereby William Hawte wilt withouten woful words wretched Wyatt ye know ye list YIELDEN
Page 30 - Now cease, my lute ! This is the last Labour that thou and I shall waste ; And ended is that we begun : Now is thy song both sung and past ; My lute, be still, for I have done.
Page 31 - They flee from me, that sometime did me seek With naked foot, stalking in my chamber. I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek, That now are wild, and do not remember That sometime they put themselves in danger To take bread at my hand; and now they range Busily seeking with a continual change.
Page xv - Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt, As well as I, may spend his time in vain. And graven...
Page 18 - Love Farewell, love, and all thy laws for ever, Thy baited hooks shall tangle me no more; Senec and Plato call me from thy lore To perfect wealth, my wit for to...
Page 187 - stroyed with the flood, Then wellaway, for she undone was clean. Then was she fain to take instead of food Sleep, if she might, her hunger to beguile. 'My sister,' quod she, 'hath a living good And hence from me she dwelleth not a mile.
Page 108 - Is it possible ? That so high debate, So sharp, so sore, and of such rate, Should end so soon, and was begun so late. Is it possible ? Is it possible ? So cruel intent, So hasty heat, and so soon spent. From love to hate, and thence for to relent...
Page 187 - She thought herself endured too much pain. The stormy blasts her cave so sore did souse That when the furrows swimmed with the rain She must lie cold and wet in sorry plight. And worse than that, bare meat there did remain To comfort her when she her house had dight...
Page xxxi - I cannot, I; no, no, it will not be. This is the cause that I could never yet Hang on their sleeves, that weigh, as thou mayst see, A chip of chance more than a pound of wit.