Classic Poem

I.

If you wou'd keep your Fame, (My Dear!)
 Then make it over quite to me;
What is my Pleasure, is my Care,
 Give it me, I'll keep it for thee;
A Frank Trust, does the Faithful make,
No Faith can the distrusted break.

II.

Since all, you Honour call, (you say,)
 Is but in keeping your Good Name;
Then lose it, that you keep it may,
 Since Men, the Virtuous most defame;
To your Love, Fame, to make me Just,
My Honour bind, yours to me trust:

III.

Trust, as more Voluntary 'tis,
 Does to more Faith, our Love constrain;
So the Loss of your Honour is,
 The Means, your Credit to maintain;
But when our Faith, our Friends, distrust,
Our Breach of it becomes then Just:

IV.

Not any's Honour, or Good-Name,
 But on their Merit, can depend;
Since Honour does itself defame,
 The more it does to Praise pretend;
When it our selves, we justifie
Too much, it grows our Infamy:

V.

True Honour, like Religion, so,
 But by too much Profession, does,
But more into Suspicion grow,
 The Credit it wou'd gain, to lose;
As Liers, swearing to a Lie,
Professing Faith, their Truth deny.