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Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503–42). The Poetical Works. 1880.


Of Fortune, Love, and Fantasy

IT was my choice; it was no chance

That brought my heart in other’s hold;

Whereby it hath had sufferance

Longer, perdie, than reason would.

Since I it bound where it was free

Methinks, y-wis, of right it should

Accepted be.

Accepted be without refuse;

Unless that Fortune have the power

All right of love for to abuse.

For as they say one happy hour

May more prevail than right or might;

If Fortune then list for to lower,

What ’vaileth right?

What ’vaileth right if this be true!

Then trust to chance, and go by guess;

Then who so loveth may well go sue

Uncertain hope for his redress.

Yet some would say assuredly

Thou mayst appeal for thy release

To Fantasy.

To Fantasy pertains to choose.

All this I know: for Fantasy

First unto love did me induce;

But yet I know as steadfastly,

That if love have no faster knot,

So nice a choice slips suddenly;

It lasteth not.

It lasteth not, that stands by change;

Fancy doth change; Fortune is frail;

Both these to please the way is strange.

Therefore methinks best to prevail,

There is no way that is so just

As truth to lead; the other fail,

And thereto trust.