Classic Poem

Englished thus by the Author

1

To what end serve the promises
And oaths lost in the air,
Since all your proffer'd services
To me but tortures are?

2

Another now enjoys my love,
Set you your heart at rest:
Think not me from my faith to move,
Because you faith protest.

3

The man that doth possess my heart,
Has twice as much perfection,
And does excel you in desert,
As much as in affection.

4

I cannot break so sweet a bond,
Unless I prove untrue:
Nor can I ever be so fond,
To prove untrue for you.

5

Your attempts are but in vain
(To tell you is a favour):
For things that may be rack your brain;
Then lose not thus your labour.