Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SONG: 114, by THOMAS WYATT



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SONG: 114, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: What would ye more of me, your slave, require
Last Line: That without cause causeless thus suffer'th smart.
Alternate Author Name(s): Wyat, Thomas
Subject(s): Cruelty; Death; Farewell; Hearts; Love - Complaints; Dead, The; Parting


What would ye more of me, your slave, require
Than for to ask and have that ye desire?
Yet I remain without recure.
I you insure there is no faithful heart
That without cause causeless thus suffer'th smart.

You have the joy and I have all the pain.
Yours the pleasure and I in woe remain.
Alas, and why do ye me blame?
It is no game thus to destroy my heart
Nor without cause thus to cause it smart.

I have assayed in all that ever I might
You for to please, for that was my delight.
All could not serve. Ye list not see,
But cruelly hath undone my poor heart
And without cause doth cause it suffer smart.

Ye make a play at all my woe and grief
And yet, alas, among all my mischief,
Nothing at all that ye regard,
Nor will reward a faithful-meaning heart
But thus causeless to cause it suffer smart.

If that ye list my painful death to see
Ye need no more but use this cruelty;
For shorter death cannot be found
Than, without ground, by force of cruel heart
Causeless by cause to cause me suffer smart.

Adieu! Farewell! I feel my joy's distress.
Fled is my wealth; my torments doth increase.
Thus have I won for all my hire
To burn in fire swelting my woeful heart
That without cause causeless thus suffer'th smart.





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