e thus?
Say nay! say nay!

And wilt thou leave me thus,
And have no more pity
Of him that loveth thee?
Alas! thy cruelty!
And wilt thou leave me thus?
Say nay! say nay!

Sir Thomas Wyatt.

A SONNET.

Love, that liveth and reigneth in my thought,
That built his seat within my captive breast,
Clad in the arms wherein with me he fought,
Oft in my face he doth his banner rest:
She that me taught to love and suffer pain,
My doubtful hope and eke my hot desire
With shamefaced cloak to shadow and restrain,
Her smiling grace converteth straight to ire:
And coward Love then to the heart apace
Taketh his flight, whereas he lurks and plains
His purpose lost, and dare not show his face.
For my lord's guilt, thus faultless, bide I pains:
Yet from my lord shall not my foot remove;
Sweet is his death that takes his end by love!

Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey.

A VOW TO LOVE FAITHFULLY HOWSOEVER HE BE REWARDED.

Set me whereas the sun doth parch the green,
Or where his beams do not dissolve the ice,
In temperate heat where he is felt and seen,
In presence pressed of people mad or wise,
Set me in high, or yet in low degree,
In longest night, or in the shortest day,
In clearest sky, or where clouds thickest be,
In lusty youth, or when my hairs are gray,
Set me in heaven, in earth, or else in hell,
In hill or dale, or in the foaming flood,
Thrall, or at large, alive whereso I dwell,
Sick, or in health, in evil fame or good:
Hers will I be, and only with this thought
Content myself, although my chance be nought.

Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey.

MY SWEET SWEETING.

Ah, my sweet sweeting!
My little pretty sweeting,
My sweeting will I love wherever I go:
She is so proper and pure,
Full steadfast, stable, and demure,
There is none such, you may be sure,
As my sweet sweeting.

In all this world, as thinketh me,
Is none so pleasant to my eye,
That I am glad so oft to see
As my sweet sweeting.

When I behold my sweeting sweet,
Her face, her hands, her mignon feet,
They seem to me there is none so sweet
As my sweet sweeting.

Anon., circa 1530.

THE LOVER TO HIS LADY.

My girl, thou gazest much
Upon the golden skies:
Would _I_ were Heaven! I