Sir Thomas Wyatt's translation of no. 140
The longe love, that in my thought doeth harbar
And in myn hert doeth kepe his residence,
Into my face preseth with bolde pretence,
And therin campeth, spreding his baner.
She that me lerneth to love and suffre,
And willes that my trust and lustes negligence
Be rayned by reason, shame and reverence,
With his hardines taketh displeasur.
Wherewithall, vnto the hertes forrest he fleith,
Leving his entreprise with payn and cry;
And ther him hideth, and not appereth.
What may I do when my maister fereth
But in the feld with him to lyve and dye?
For goode is the liff, ending faithfully.
I owe the transcription to Carlo Bajetta