“Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am /And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.”

“Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,But as for me, hélas, I may no more.The vain travail hath wearied me so sore,I am of them that farthest cometh behind.Yet may I by no means my wearied mindDraw from the deer, but as she fleeth aforeFainting I follow. I leave off therefore,Sithens in a net I seek to hold the wind.Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,As well as I may spend his time in vain.And graven with diamonds in letters plainThere is written, her fair neck round about:Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am,And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.”

“Whoso List to HuntWhoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind, But as for me, helas! I may no more. The vain travail hath worried me so sore, I am of them that furthest come behind. Yet may I by no means, my worried mind Draw from the deer; but as she fleeth afore Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore, Since in a net I seek to hold the wind. Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt, As well as I, may spend his time in vain; And graven in diamonds in letters plain There is written, her fair neck round about, "Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am,And wild to hold, though I seem tame." Sir Thomas Wyatt”

“Noli me tangere; for Caesar's I am.”

“My galley, charged with forgetfulness,Thorough sharp seas in winter nights doth pass'Tween rock and rock; and eke mine enemy, alas,That is my lord, steereth with cruelness;And every oar a thought in readiness,As though that death were light in such a case.An endless wind doth tear the sail apaceOf forced sighs and trusty fearfulness.A rain of tears, a cloud of dark disdain,Hath done the weared cords great hinderance;Wreathed with error and eke with ignorance.The stars be hid that led me to this pain.Drowned is reason that should me consort,And I remain despairing of the port.”

“The Lover Compareth his State to a Ship in Perilous Storm Tossed on the SeaMy galley chargèd with forgetfulnessThorough sharp seas, in winter nights doth pass'Tween rock and rock; and eke mine enemy, alas,That is my lord, steereth with cruelness;And every oar a thought in readinessAs though that death were light in such a case.An endless wind doth tear the sail apaceOf forcèd sighs and trusty fearfulness.A rain of tears, a cloud of dark disdain,Hath done the wearied cords great hindranceWreathèd with error and eke with ignorance.The stars be hid that led me to this pain.Drownèd is reason that should me consort,And I remain despairing of the port.”

“The fructe of all the servise that I serveDispaire doth repe, such haples hap have I ;But tho he have no powre to make me swarve,Yet by the fire for colde I fele I dye :In paradis for hunger still I sterve :And in the flowde for thurste to deth I drye ;So Tantalus ane I and yn worse payne,Amyds my helpe, and helples doth remayne.”