Classic Poem

A rival's worth I must admire,
Or not in rivalry persist:
Either must wish his virtues higher, —
Or wish that they did not exist.

Thy lover's truth I will adore;
Though she that loves him loves not me.
What? Wish him false? Then were I more.
Not less departed, Dear, from thee!

For since thy beauty lives to make
Valiance more flourish, — evil die:
How can I wish thy heart should take
Delight in one more mean than I?

And what were meaner, Dear, than this, —
To win by wishing he were worse?
Oh, could I so attain thy kiss,
Then Paradise would prove a curse.

But since to bliss I may not win
Till from thy favour he remove:
This hope I'll cherish as my sin —
That he for thee too good may prove.