Classic Poem

A secret love or two I must confess
I kindly welcome for change in close playing,
Yet my dear husband I love ne'ertheless,
His desires, whole or half, quickly allaying,
At all times ready to offer redress:
His own he never wants but hath it duly,
Yet twits me I keep not touch with him truly.

The more a spring is drawn the more it flows,
No lamp less light retains by light'ning others:
Is he a loser his loss that ne'er knows?
Or is he wealthy that waste treasure smothers?
My churl vows no man shall scent his sweet rose:
His own enough and more I give him duly,
Yet still he twits me I keep not touch truly.

Wise archers bear more than one shaft to field,
The venturer loads not with one ware his shipping;
Should warriors learn but one weapon to wield,
Or thrive fair plants e'er the worse for the slipping;
One dish cloys, many fresh appetite yield.
My own I'll use, and his he shall have duly:
Judge then what debtor can keep touch truly.