Classic Poem

That of my Love, you found so small Effect,
Ne'r think, 'twas want of True Love, or Respect,
'Twas more my Value for you, than Neglect;
Which rather shou'd, prove my Love to thee more,
As I, to prove it to thee, had less Pow'r;
Since Love, like Rage, when it is in Excess,
But, as 'tis more, can prove itself the less;
'Tis Mettle makes the Furious Courser fall,
Who, for his Speed, comes later to the Goal;
Whose Haste, is but his Speed's Impediment,
Till that, which shou'd most forward his Intent,
Does its own End, pursuing it, prevent;
I to you, had sure but so Great a Mind,
That you, less real Proof of it, cou'd find;
Out of more Love, I was less to you, kind;
Yet, if my Love enough I did not prove,
In doing Reason to thee, and thy Love,
The Fault, (my Charming Dear!) was none of mine,
Shou'd not displease thee, since 'twas rather thine;
Thou wert too Lovely, to be more belov'd,
Less Active I, as more by thy Love mov'd;
So 'twas my Love, my Joy's Prevention prov'd;
I, like Love's Miser, beggar'd by Love's Store,
Had less Use of it, as I'd of it more;
Since my Desire 'twas, took away my Pow'r;
My Pow'r, my Faith, and Love to justifie,
So that it was my Zeal's Extremity,
Made my Devotion sensless Ecstacy;
'Twas only my True Love's, and Faith's Excess,
Which made in Fact, my Kindness to thee less;
It was my too much Passion, which did prove,
The Cause I show'd you, but so little Love;
You lost my Kindness, on my Passion's Score,
My Love prov'd less, as I had for you more.