Poem from Hill MS Add. 36529


Lux, my fair falcon, and your fellows all,
How well pleasant it were your liberty!
Ye not forsake me that fair might yet befall,
But they that sometime liked my company,
Like lice away from dead bodies they crawl:
Lo what a proof in light adversity!
But ye, my birds, I swear by all your bells
Ye be my friends, and so be but few else.








by
Sir Thomas Wyatt
(1503-1542)



"CLXVIII," Poem from Hill MS Add. 36529, c. 1540-41. (After Cromwell's fall?)





the letter W


Something else (this-a-way)


Something or other (that-a-way)


Out of the Woods


"Wedgwood"



This site copyright (c) by Thomas Bolt. All rights reserved.