My Lute, Awake!

My Lute, Awake!

My lute, awake! Perform the last
Labor that thou and I shall waste,
And ned that I have now begun;
For when this song is sung and past,
My lute, be still, for I have done

As to be heard where ear is none,
As lead to grave in marble stone
My song may pierce her heart as soon,
Should we then sigh or sing or moan?
No, no, my lute, for I have done

The rocks do not so curelly
Repulse the waves continually
As she my suit and affection.
So that I am past remedy
Whereby my lute and I have done

Proud of the spoil that thou has got
Of simple hearts, thorough love's shot;
By whom, unkind, thou hast them won,
Think not he hath his bow forgot,
Although my lute and I have done.

Vengeance shall fall on thy disdain
That makest but game on earnest pain.
Think not alone under the sun
Unquit to cause thy lovers plain,
Although my lute and I have done.

Perchance thee lie withered and old
The winter nights that are so cold,
Plaining in vain unto moon
Thy wishes then dare not be told
Care then who list, for I have done.

And then may chance thee to repent
The time that thou hast lost and spent
To cause thy lovers sigh and swoon.
Then shalt thou know beauty but lent,
And wish and want as I have done

Now cease, my lute. This is the last
Labor that thou and I shall waste,
And ended is that we begun.
Now is this song buth sung and past;

My lute, be still, for I have done.

This poem by Sir Thomas Wyatt the Elder was published in 1557 through the collection Tottel's Miscellany.