Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, BALLADE: 18, by THOMAS WYATT



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BALLADE: 18, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: Lament my loss, my labor, and my pain
Last Line: And keep them free from all such pain and care.
Alternate Author Name(s): Wyat, Thomas
Subject(s): Loss; Love; Pain; Suffering; Misery


Lament my loss, my labor, and my pain,
All ye that hear my woeful plaint and cry;
If ever man might once your heart constrain
To pity words of right, it should be I,
That since the time that youth in me did reign
My pleasant years to bondage did apply,
Which as it was I purpose to declare,
Whereby my friends hereafter may beware.

And if perchance some list to muse
What meaneth me so plainly for to write,
My good intent the fault of it shall 'scuse,
Which mean nothing, but truly to indite
The craft and care, the grief and long abuse
Of lover's law and eke her puissant might,
Which though that man oft times by pain doth know,
Little they wot which ways the jealous doth grow.

Yet well ye know it will renew my smart
Thus to rehearse the pains that I have past;
My hand doth shake, my pen scant doth his part,
My body quakes, my wits begin to waste:
'Twixt heat and cold, in fear I feel my heart
Panting for pain, and thus, as all aghast
I do remain, scant wotting what I write,
Pardon me then, rudely though I indite.

And patiently, O reader, I thee pray,
Take in good part this work as it is meant,
And grieve thee not with aught that I shall say,
Since with goodwill this book abroad is sent
To tell men how in youth I did assay
What love did mean, and now I it repent:
That musing me my friends might well beware,
And keep them free from all such pain and care.





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