Prowd of the spoyll that thou has gott
Of simple hertes, thorough love's shot,
Thinck not he hath his bow forgot,
Al tho my lute I have done.
Vengeaunce shall fall on thy disdain,
That makest but game on ernest pain;
Thinck not alone under the sonne
Unquyt to cause thy lovers plain [complain],
All tho my lute and I have done...
And then may chaunce the to repent
Thy tyme that thou hast lost and spent,
To cause thy lovers sigh and swone [swoon];
Then shalt thou knowe beaultie but lent,
And wisshe and want as I have done.
(Sir Thomas Wyatt)
