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. My Lute Awake
2. Of the Mean and Sure Estate
3. The Furious Gun
4. Since so Ye Please
5. Lucks, My Fair Falcon

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