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

Songs and Sonnets

To his Lady, cruel over her yielding Lover

SUCH is the course that nature’s kind hath wrought,

That snakes have time to cast away their stings:

Against chain’d prisoners what need defence be sought?

The fierce lion will hurt no yielden things:

Why should such spite be nursed then by thought?

Sith all these powers are prest under thy wings;

And eke thou seest, and reason thee hath taught,

What mischief malice many ways it brings:

Consider eke, that spite availeth nought.

Therefore this song thy fault to thee it sings:

Displease thee not, for saying thus my thought,

Nor hate thou him from whom no hate forth springs:

For furies that in hell be execrable,

For that they hate, are made most miserable.