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


The Lover sendeth Sighs to move his Suit

GO, burning sighs, unto the frozen heart,

To break the ice, which pity’s painful dart

Might never pierce: and if that mortal prayer

In heaven be heard, at least yet I desire

That death or mercy end my woful smart.

Take with thee pain, whereof I have my part,

And eke the flame from which I cannot start,

And leave me then in rest, I you require.

Go, burning sighs, fulfill that I desire,

I must go work, I see, by craft and art,

For truth and faith in her is laid apart:

Alas, I cannot therefore now assail her,

With pitiful complaint and scalding fire,

That, from my breast deceivably doth start.