Автор: THOMAS WYATT

In faith I woth not what to say, Thy chances been so wonderous, Thou Fortune, with thy divers play That […]

Because I still kept thee from lies and blame, And to my power always thee honoured, Unkind tongue! to ill […]

Ye old mule that think yourself so fair, Leave off with craft your beauty to repair, For it is true, […]

Love, Fortune, and my mind which do remember Eke that is now, and that, that once hath ben, Torment my […]

Behold, Love, thy power how she despiset; My grievous pain how little she regardeth: The solemn oath, whereof she takes […]

Since so ye please to hear me plain, And that ye do rejoice my smart, Me list no lenger to […]

Each man me telleth I change most my devise; And on my faith, methink it good reason To change purpose, […]

That that in love find luck and sweet abundance, And live in lust of joyful jollity, Arise for shame, do […]

What ‘vaileth truth, or by it to take pain? To strive by steadfastness for to attain How to be just, […]

Is it possible? That so high debate, So sharp, so sore, and of such rate, Should end so soon, and […]

If waker care; if sudden pale colour; If many sighs, with little speech to plain: Now joy, now woe, if […]

Patience! though I have not The thing that I require; I must, of force, God wot, Forbear my most desire, […]

Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind! But as for me, alas, I may no more; The […]

Was never file yet half so well yfiled, To file a file for any smith’s intent, As I was made […]

The lively sparks that issue from those eyes, Against the which there vaileth no defence, Have pierced my heart, and […]