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


That no Words may express the crafty Trains of Love

FULL well it may be seen

To such as understand,

How some there be that ween

They have their wealth at hand:

Through love’s abused band

But little do they see

The abuse wherein they be.

Of love there is a kind

Which kindleth by abuse;

As in a feeble mind

Whom fancy may induce

By love’s deceitful use,

To follow the fond lust

And proof of a vain trust.

As I myself may say,

By trial of the same;

No wight can well bewray

That falsehood love can frame;

I say, ’twixt grief and game,

There is no living man

That knows the craft love can.

For love so well can feign

To favour for the while;

That such as seeks the gain

Are served with the guile;

And some can this concile

To give the simple leave

Themselves for to deceive.

What thing may more declare

Of love the crafty kind,

Than see the wise so ware,

In love to be so blind;

If so it be assign’d;

Let them enjoy the gain,

That thinks it worth the pain.