Poem by Thomas Wyatt

* * *

Madame, withouten many words,
Once, I am sure, ye will, or no:
And if ye will, then leave your bourds,
And use your wit, and show it so,

And with a beck you shall me call,
And if of one that burneth alway
Ye have any pity at all,
Answer him fair with yea or nay.

If it be yea, I shall be fain;
If it be nay, friends as before;
Ye shall another man obtain,
And I mine own and yours no more. 

1. What Needeth these Threnning Words and Wasted Wind
2. In Spain
3. To His Lute
4. A Description of Such a One As He Would Love
5. Since so Ye Please

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