THE POETICAL WORKS OF SIR THOMAS WYATT. WITH A MEMOIR.

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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 111 - And wilt thou leave me thus, That hath given thee my heart Never for to depart Neither for pain nor smart : And wilt thou leave me thus ? Say nay ! say nay...
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.
Page 191 - My Poins, I cannot frame my tune to feign, To cloak the truth, for praise without desert Of them that list all vice for to retain.

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