Forget not! O, forget not this!-- How long ago hath been, and is, The mind that never meant amiss-- Forget not yet! Forget not then thine own approved, The which so long hath thee so loved, Whose steadfast faith yet never moved: Forget not this! Sir Thomas Wyatt. 1503-1542 35. The Appeal An Earnest Suit to his Unkind Mistress, not to Forsake him AND wilt thou leave me thus! Say nay, say nay, for shame! --To save thee from the blame Of all my grief and grame. And wilt thou leave me thus? Say nay! say nay! And wilt thou leave me thus, That hath loved thee so long In wealth and woe among: And is thy heart so strong As for to leave me thus? Say nay! say nay! 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! And wilt thou leave me thus, And have no more pitye Of him that loveth thee? Alas, thy cruelty! And wilt thou leave me thus? Say nay! say nay! grame] sorrow. Sir Thomas Wyatt. 1503-1542 36. A Revocation WHAT should I say? --Since Faith is dead, And Truth away From you is fled? Should I be led With doubleness? Nay! nay! mistress. I promised you, And you promised me, To be as true As I would be. But since I see Your double heart, Farewell my part! Thought for to take 'Tis not my mind; But to forsake One so unkind; And as I find So will I trust. Farewell, unjust! Can ye say nay But that you said That I alway Should be obeyed? And--thus betrayed Or that I wist! Farewell, unkist! Sir Thomas Wyatt. 1503-1542 37. Vixi Puellis Nuper Idoneus... THEY flee from me that sometime did me seek, With naked foot stalking within my chamber: Once have I seen them gentle, tame, and meek, That now are wild, and do not once remember That sometime they have put themselves in danger To take bread at my hand; and now they range, Busily seeking in continual change. Thanked be fortune, it hath been otherwise Twenty times better; but once especial-- In thin array: after a pleasant guise, When her loose gown did from her shoulders fall, And she me caught in her arms long and small, And therewithal so sweetly did me kiss, And softly said, 'Dear heart, how like you this?' It was no dream; for I lay broad awaking: But all is turn'd now, through my gentleness, Into a bitter fashion of forsaking; And I have leave to go of her goodness; And she also to use new-fangleness. But since that I unkindly so am served, 'How like you this?'--what hath she now deserved? Sir Thomas Wyatt. 1503-1542 38. To His Lute MY lute, awake! perform the last Labour that thou and I shall waste, And end that I have now begun; For when this song is said and past, My lute, be still, for I have done. As to be heard where ear is none, As lead to grave in marble stone, My song may pierce her heart as soon: Should we then sing, or sigh, or moan? No, no, my lute! for I have done.