Perjury Excused

Alas, it is too late ! I can no more
Love now than I have loved before :
My Flora, 'tis my fate, not I ;
And what you call contempt is destiny.
I am no monster, sure : I cannot show
Two hearts ; one I already owe ;
And I have bound myself with oaths, and vowed
Oft'ner, I fear, than Heaven hath e'er allowed.
That faces now should work no more on me.
Than if they could not charm, or I not see. '
And shall I break them ? shall I think you can
Love, if I could, so foul a perjur'd man ?
O no, 'tis equally impossible that I
Should love again, or you love perjury.