Here you will find the Poem My Lute, Awake of poet Sir Thomas Wyatt
My labor that thou and I shall waste And end 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. Proud of the spoil that thou hast got Of simple hearts through love's shot, By whom, unkind, thou hast them won, Think not he hath his bow forgot, Although my lute and I have done. Vengance 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 the 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 spnt 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 the song both sung and past; My lute, be still, for I have done.