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


The Lover’s Case cannot be hidden however he dissemble

YOUR looks so often cast,

Your eyes so friendly roll’d,

Your sight fixed so fast,

Always one to behold;

Though hide it fain ye would,

It plainly doth declare,

Who hath your heart in hold,

And where good will ye bear.

Fain would ye find a cloak

Your brenning fire to hide,

Yet both the flame and smoke

Breaks out on every side.

Ye cannot love so guide,

That it no issue win:

Abroad needs must it glide,

That brens so hot within.

For cause yourself do wink,

Ye judge all other blind;

And secret it you think,

Which every man doth find.

In waste oft spend ye wind,

Yourself in love to quit;

For agues of that kind

Will shew who hath the fit.

Your sighs you fetch from far,

And all to wry your woe;

Yet are ye ne’er the narre:

Men are not blinded so.

Deeply oft swear ye no;

But all those oaths are vain:

So well your eye doth shew,

Who puts your heart to pain.

Think not therefore to hide,

That still itself betrays:

Nor seek means to provide

To dark the sunny days.

Forget those wonted ways;

Leave off such frowning cheer;

There will be found no stays,

To stop a thing so clear.