 T may be good, like it who list ;
But I do doubt : who can me blame ?
For oft assured, yet have I mist ;
And now again I fear the same.
The words, that from your mouth last came,
Of sudden change, make me aghast ;
For dread to fall, I stand not fast.
Alas, I tread an endless maze,
That seek t' accord two contraries :
And hope thus still, and nothing hase,
Imprisoned in liberties :
As one unheard, and still that cries ;
Always thirsty, and naught doth taste ;
For dread to fall, I stand not fast.
Assured, I doubt I be not sure ;
Should I then trust unto such surety ;
That oft have put the proof in ure,
And never yet have found it trusty ?
Nay, sir, in faith, it were great folly :
And yet my life thus do I waste ;
For dread to fall, I stand not fast.
|
Sir Thomas Wyatt, the Elder
