Classic Poem

I.

My Love, makes me conceal my Love;
My Pain, makes me to her cry out,
Whilst she says, Silence Love shou'd prove;
Tho' that Proof more shou'd cause her Doubt.
Yet must I hold my Tongue, (I find)
That she may better know my Mind.

II.

Then 'tis all one, to hide my Pain,
Or own to her, my Killing-Grief;
Begging her Love, her Scorn I gain;
Not asking it, can't hope Relief:
Yet wou'd I have my Love deny'd,
By my Fear, rather than her Pride.

III.

I rather wou'd love her in vain,
Than I to her in vain shou'd speak:
By my Love, and not her Disdain,
Wou'd rather have my Heart to break,
I wou'd deny my self her Love,
Rather than her Denial prove.

IV.

Since I fear more, to love her less,
Than that at all she shou'd not me,
It were some kind of Happiness,
Not sure, of my bad luck to be;
Since better were it, to be born,
To Die by my Love, than her Scorn.

V.

So then it is all one, (I find)
Whether I my True Love conceal,
Or I shou'd tell her all my Mind;
If I shou'd not my Love reveal,
Her pity shall I ne'r obtain,
Nor if I do, her Pardon gain.