Classic Poem

When thou didst think I did not love,
Then thou didst dote on me;
Now, when thou find'st that I do prove
As kind as kind can be,
Love dies in thee.

What way to fire the mercury
Of thy inconstant mind?
Methinks it were good policy
For me to turn unkind,
To make thee kind.

Yet will I not good nature strain
To buy, at so great cost,
That which, before I do obtain,
I make account almost
That it is lost.

And though I might myself excuse
By imitating thee,
Yet will I no examples use
That may bewray in me
Lightness to be.

But since I gave thee once my heart,
My constancy shall show
That though thou play the woman's part
And from a friend turn foe,
Men do not so.