Classic Poem

Full well it may be seen
To such as understand,
How some there be that ween
They have their wealth at hand:
Through love's abusèd band
But little do they see
The abuse wherein they be.

Of love there is a kind
Which kindleth by abuse,
As in a feeble mind
Whom fancy may induce
By love's deceitful use
To follow the fond lust
And proof of a vain trust.

As I myself may say,
By trial of the same,
No wight can well bewray
The falsehood love can frame.
I say, twixt grief and game,
There is no living man
That knows the craft love can.

For love so well can feign
To favour for the while
That such as seeks the gain
Are servèd with the guile,
And some can this concile
To give the simple leave
Themselves for to deceive.

What thing may more declare
Of love the crafty kind,
Than see the wise, so ware,
In love to be so blind?
If so it be assign'd,
Let them enjoy the gain
That thinks it worth the pain.