Classic Poem

Your Crime you did, against my Will, commit;
Must I, against my Will, be plagu'd for it?
You only did offend the Gods, and Me;
I only must disgrac'd and punish'd be.
Dishonour'd thus, and you alone to blame,
Must you, ungrateful Syren , boast your Shame?
Unknowing, unconsenting, I'm betray'd;
O Faith ill kept! O Kindness worse repaid!
But since I to your Crime no Party was,
Why shou'd your Infamy be my Disgrace?
Knowing I would your Frailties have withstood;
Committed, have conceal'd 'em, if I cou'd:
But lost to Modesty, to Love, and Me,
You make a Merit of your Infamy.
'Tis true, Confession oft does Guilt abate;
Your Crime Confession does but aggravate:
O that it did not too my Sorrows swell!
Suspicion would have been a lighter Hell.
Now more for your own'd Falshood I am griev'd,
And should have less been wrong'd, if more deceiv'd.
I had, perhaps, in part been satisfied;
And only jealous, had you still deny'd:
But when audaciously the Crime you own,
My Sorrows heighten, as your Shame is known.
Whilst still you all your wonted Ease maintain,
I feel for your Offence redoubled Pain.
Unequal Love! to take the Guilty's Part;
She breaks a Vow, but I must break a Heart.