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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. Thomas Wyatt Thomas Wyatt's other poems:
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