Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503–42)

Andre digte

Rondeaux

Behold, love, thy power how she dispiseth
Yf it be so that I forsake the
Goo, burnyng sighes, Vnto the frosen hert
What vaileth trouth or by it to take payn
Helpe me to seke for I lost it there
Thou hast no faith of him that hath none
Ye old mule that think your self so fayre
What no, perdy, ye may be sure!

Sonnets

Caesar, when that the traytour of Egipt
The longe love that in my thought doeth harbar
Who so list to hounte, I know where is an hynde
Was I never yet of your love greeved
Yf amourous faith, an hert vnfayned
My hert I gave the, not to do it payn
Som fowles there be that have so perfaict sight
I fynde no peace and all my warr is done
My galy charged with forgetfulnes
Farewell, Love, and all thy lawes for ever

Epigrams

Alas, madame, for stelyng of a kysse
Some tyme I fled the fyre that me brent
Syghes ar my foode, drynke are my teares
Through out the world, if it wer sought

Ballades

They fle from me that sometyme did me seke
Blame not my lute for he must sownd

Songs

Madame, withouten many wordes
What menythe thys when I lye alone?
When first mine eyes did view, and marke
Ons as me thought fortune me kyst
My lute, awake! perfourme the last