Classic Poem

What means this strangeness now of late?
Since time doth truth approve,
This distance may consist with state,
It cannot stand with love.

'Tis either cunning or distrust,
That doth such ways allow,
The first is base, the last's unjust;
Let neither blemish you.

If you intend to draw me on,
You overact your part,
And if you mind to send me gone,
You need not half this art.

Speak but the word, or do but cast
A look which seems to frown,
I'll give you all the love that's past,
The rest shall be my own.

And such a fair and equal way
On both sides, none can blame,
Since every one is bound to play
The fairest of his game.