Though of the sort there be that feign


Though of the sort there be that feign
And cloak their craft to serve their turn,
Shall I, alas, that truly mean,
For their offence thus guiltless burn?
And if I buy their fault too dear,
That their untruth thus heat my fire,
Then have I wrong.

Though frailty fail not to appear
In them that wail as well as I,
And though the false by like desire
Doth swear himself thine own to be —
If thou dost judge me one of these
That so can feign such common ways
Then have I wrong.

Though chance hath power to change their love
That all by chance their will doth guide,
Such chance may not my heart remove
For I by choice myself have tried
And not by chance; wherefore I say,
If thou dost not my welfare stay,
Then have I wrong.

Though steadfastness in them do lack
That do protest the contrary
And though performance none they make
Of that they promise diversely,
Yet since their faults are none of mine,
If thou refusest me for thine,
Then have I wrong.
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