Versión en The Poetical Works of Sir Thomas Wyatt
Because I still kept thee from lies and blame,
And to my power always thee honoured,
Unkind tongue ! to ill hast thou me rend’red,
For such desert to do me wreke and shame.
In need of succour most when that I am,
To ask reward, thou stand’st like one afraid:
Alway most cold, and if one word be said,
As in a dream, unperfect is the same.
And ye salt tears, against my will each night
That are with me, when I would be alone;
Then are ye gone when I should make my moan:
And ye so ready sighs to make me shright,
Then are ye slack, when that ye should outstart;
And only doth my look declare my heart.
Fuente: The Poetical Works of Sir Thomas Wyatt. Edited by James Yeowell. London: George Bell and Sons, 1904.