Sir Thomas Wyatt lived from 1503 to 1542. He enjoyed translating the sonnets of Petrarch, an Italian poet who loved sonnets. Sir Thomas Wyatt then ended up also writings sonnets of his own.
Farewell, Love, and all thy laws for ever:
Thy baited hooks shall tangle me no more.
Senec and Plato call me from thy lore,
To perfect wealth my wit for to endeavour.
In blind error when I did persever,
Thy sharp repulse, that pricketh aye so sore,
Hath taught me to set in trifles no store,
And scape forth, since liberty is lever.
Therefore farewell, go trouble younger hearts,
And in me claim no more authority;
With idle youth go use thy property,
And thereon spend thy many brittle darts.
For, hitherto though I've lost my time,
Me lusteth no longer rotten boughs to climb.
Wyatt seems fairly jaded about love, how it has rotten boughs and painful jabs. Have you ever felt that way about love? That it just wasn't worth the hassle any more, and it was better to go without?
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