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Poem by Henry VIII, King of England


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Withowt dyscord
And bothe acorde
Now let us be;
Bothe hartes alone
To set in one
Best semyth me.
For when one sole
Ys in the dole
Of lovys payne,
Then helpe must have
Hymselfe to save
And love to optayne.
Wherfore now we
That lovers be
Let us now pray
Onys love sure
For to procure
Withowt denay.
Wher love so sewith,
Ther no hart rewith
But condyscend;
Yf contrarye,
What remedy?
God yt amen. 



Henry VIII, King of England


Henry VIII, King of England's other poems:
  1. Wherto Shuld I Expresse
  2. Though that Men do Call it Dotage
  3. Green Groweth the Holly
  4. The Time of Youth is to be Spent
  5. Though Some Saith That Youth Ruleth Me


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