HE restful place ! renewer of my smart,
The labours' salve ! increasing my sorrow,
The body's ease, and troubler of my heart,
Quieter of mind, mine unquiet foe,
Forgetter of pain, rememberer of my woe ;
The place of sleep, wherein I do but wake,
Besprent with tears, my bed, I thee forsake !
The frosty snows may not redress my heat,
Nor heat of sun abate my fervent cold,
I know nothing to ease my pains so great ;
Each cure causeth increase by twenty fold,
Renewing cares upon my sorrows old,
Such overthwart effects in me they make :
Besprent with tears, my bed for to forsake.
But all for nought, I find no better ease
In bed or out : this most causeth my pain,
Where I do seek how best that I may please ;
My lost labour, alas, is all in vain :
My heart once set, I cannot it refrain ;
No place from me my grief away can take ;
Wherefore with tears, my bed, I thee forsake.
|
Sir Thomas Wyatt, the Elder
