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


When Fortune smiles not, only Patience comforteth

PATIENCE! though I have not

The thing that I require;

I must, of force, God wot,

Forbear my most desire,

For no ways can I find

To sail against the wind.

Patience! do what they will

To work me woe or spite;

I shall content me still

To think both day and night;

To think, and hold my peace,

Since there is no redress.

Patience! withouten blame,

For I offended nought;

I know they know the same,

Though they have changed their thought.

Was ever thought so moved,

To hate that it hath loved?

Patience of all my harm,

For Fortune is my foe;

Patience must be the charm

To heal me of my woe.

Patience without offence

Is a painful Patience.