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THE

ENGLISH ANTHOLOGY,

PART THE FIRST.

THE LOVER COMPLAINETH OF THE UNKINDNESS OF HIS LOVE.

BY SIR THOMAS WYATT.

My lute, awake; perform the last

Labour that thou and I fhall waft,

And ende that I have now begunne;

And when this fong is fong and past,

My lute, be ftyll; for I have done. 5

* Born 1503; dyed 1541. — To diftinguish him from he is ufually called Sir Thomas Wyatt

another of the name,

the elder.

As to be heard where eare is none,
As leade to grave in marble stone,

My fong may pearce her hart as foon;
Should we then figh, or fing, or mone?

No, no, my lute, for I have done.

The rocks do not fo cruelly
Repulse the waves continually,

As fhe my fuite and affection;

So that I am past remedy,

Whereby my lute and I have done.

Proude of the spoyle that thou haft gotte
Of fimple hearts, through lovés shot,

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15

By whome, unkind, thou haft them wonne ; Think not he hath his bow forgott, Although my lute and I have done.

Vengeance shall fall on thy difdaine,
That makest but game on earnest payne;

Think not alone under the funn

Unquit to caufe thy lovers playne,
Although my lute and I have done.

May chance' thee lye withred and old,
In winter nights that are fo cold,
Playning in vaine unto the moon ;
Thy wishes then dare not be told,
Care then who lift, for I have doone.

V. 26. chanced.

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