Classic Poem

My Fair's unkind, and I have spent my pains,
And purchas'd nothing but undue disdains.
Oh had she been as kind as I was true,
What praise to her, what joy to me'd been due?
But to my grief and her disgrace, I find
That fair ones too much lov'd, prove seldom kind,
What then, shall loving less be my revenge?
O no, I wrong my judgment if I change —
The dice are cast, and let her loathe or love,
I may unhappy, not inconstant prove,
For it is quite impossible for me,
To love her less, as more in love to be.