Classic Poem

VI

Thou hast no faith of him that hath none.
But thou must love him needs by reason
For, as sayeth a proverb notable,
Each thing seeketh his semblable,
And thou hast thine of thy condition.
Yet is it not the thing I pass on,
Nor hot nor cold is mine affection;
For since thine heart is so mutable,
Thou hast no faith.
I thought thee true without exception.
But I perceive I lacked discretion
To fashion faith to words mutable:
Thy thought is too light and variable.
To change so oft without occasion,
Thou hast no faith.