Classic Poem

Deceav'd and undeceav'd to be
At once I seek with equal care,
Wretched in the discovery,
Happy if cozen'd still I were:
Yet certain ill of ill hath lesse
Then the mistrust of happinesse.

But if when I have reach'd my Aime,
(That which I seek less worthy prove,)
Yet still my Love remains the same,
The subject not deserving Love;
I can no longer be excus'd,
Now more in fault as less abus'd.

Then let me flatter my Desires,
And doubt what I might know too sure,
He that to cheat himself conspires,
From falsehood doth his Faith secure;
In Love uncertain to believe
I am deceiv'd, doth undeceive.

For if my Life on Doubt depend,
And in distrust inconstant steer,
If I essay the strife to end
(When Ignorance were Wisdom here;)
All thy attempts how can I blame
To work my Death? I seek the same.