SONG: 98 by THOMAS WYATT

Sith I myself displease thee,
My friends why should I blame
That from the fault advise me
That conquered my good name
And made my mind to mourn,
That laughed my love to scorn
And bound my heart alway
To think this pain a play,
That would and never may?

To lead my life at liberty
I like it wondrous well,
For proof hath taught his property
That alway pain is hell.
But sith so well I wot
These kinds of cold and hot,
Such fancies I forsake
That doth their freedom lack.
Me list no more to make.

Grudge one that feels the grief.
I laugh that feel the game
Of freedom from the life
Whereby wild beasts be tame --
As fast and wake abed
With heart and heavy head,
That have a hungry heart.
To make myself well-fed --
That may redress my smart.

Sith I have slipped the knot
That doth my heart enchain,
I like the lucky lot
Too well to knit again.
So newly come to wealth,
Shall I deceive myself?
Nay, set thy heart at rest,
For wealth, my new-found guest,
Shall harbour in my nest.

To make a wilful band
Where I may well refuse,
To be a bird in hand
And not my freedom use
To sing and sorrow not,
If willingly I do't,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
To slip into the cage
It were a wilful rage.

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