Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SONG: 35, by THOMAS WYATT


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

SONG: 35, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Lo, what it is to love!
Last Line: Who now doth slander love, &c.
Alternate Author Name(s): Wyat, Thomas
Variant Title(s): Egerton Manuscript: 87
Subject(s): Grief; Life; Love; Sorrow; Sadness


I

Lo, what it is to love!
Learn ye that list to prove
At me, I say,
No ways that may
The ground of grief remove
My life alway
That doth decay;
Lo, what it is to love!

Flee alway from the snare,
Learn by me to beware
Of such a train
Which doubles pain,
And endless woe and care,
That doth retain;
Which to refrain,
Flee alway from the snare.

To love and to be wise,
To rage with good advice,
Now thus, now then,
Now off, now on,
Uncertain as the dice;
There is no man
At once that can
To love and to be wise.

Such are the divers throws,
Such, that no man knows
That hath not proved
And once have loved;
Such are the raging woes.
Sooner reproved
Than well removed;
Such are the divers throws.

Love is a fervent fire,
Kindled by hot desire,
For a short pleasure
Long displeasure;
Repentance is the hire;
A poor treasure,
Without measure
Love is a fervent fire.

Lo, what it is to love! &c.

II

Leave thus to slander love!
Though evil with such it prove
Which often use
Love to misuse
And loving to reprove;
Such cannot choose
For their refuse
But thus to slander love.

Flee not so much the snare;
Love seldom causeth care;
But by deserts
And crafty parts
Some lose their own welfare;
Be true of hearts
And for no smarts
Flee not so much the snare.

To love and not to be wise
Is but a mad devise;
Such love doth last
As sure and fast
As chance on the dice;
A bitter taste
Comes at the last, --
To love and not to be wise.

Such be the pleasant days,
Such be the honest ways;
There is no man
That fully can
Know it, but he that says
Loving to ban
Were folly then.
Such be the pleasant days.

Love is a pleasant fire
Kindled by true desire;
And though the pain
Cause men to plain,
Sped well is oft the hire.
Then though some fain
And lose the gain,
Love is a pleasant fire.

Leave thus to slander love! &c.

III

Who most doth slander love,
The deed must alway prove;
Truth shall excuse
That you accuse
For slander and reprove;
Not by refuse
But by abuse
You most do slander love.

Ye grant it is a snare
And would us not beware.
Lest that your train
Should be to plain,
Ye color all the care.
Lo, how you fain
Pleasure for pain
And grant it is a snare!

To love and to be wise,
It were a strange devise:
But from that taste
Ye vow the fast;
On since though run your dice,
Ambs-as may haste
Your pain to waste.
To love and to be wise!

Of all such pleasant days,
Of all such pleasant plays,
Without desert
You have your part,
And all the world so says;
Save that poor heart
That for more smart
Feeleth yet such pleasant days.

Such fire and such heat
Did never make ye sweet,
For without pain
You best obtain
To good speed and to great;
Who so doth plain,
You best do fain
Such fire and such heat.

Who now doth slander love, &c.





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