Though your strangeness frets my heart

Though your strangeness frets my heart,
Yet may not I complain:
You persuade me, 'tis but art,
That secret love must feign.
If another you affect,
'Tis but a show, t'avoid suspect.
Is this fair excusing? O, no! all is abusing!

Your wished sight if I desire,
Suspicions you pretend:
Causeless you yourself retire,
While I in vain attend.
This a lover whets, you say,
Still made more eager by delay.
Is this fair excusing? O, no! all is abusing!

When another holds your hand,
You swear I hold your heart:
When my rivals close do stand,
And I sit far apart,
I am nearer yet than they,
Hid in your bosom, as you say.
Is this fair excusing? O, no! all is abusing!

Would my rival then I were,
Or else your secret friend:
So much lesser should I fear,
And not so much attend.
They enjoy you, every one,
Yet I must seem your friend alone.
Is this fair excusing? O, no! all is abusing!