I can love both fair and brown
Her whom abundance melts, and her whom want betrays
Her who loves loneness best, and her who masks and plays
Her whom the country formed, and whom the town
Her who believes, and her who tries
Her who still weeps with spongy eyes
And her who is dry cork, and never cries;
I can love her, and her, and you, and you
I can love any, so she be not true

Will no other vice content you?
Will it not serve your turn to do as did your mothers?
Or have you old vices spent, and now would find out others?
Or doth a fear, that men are true, torment you?
Oh we are not, be not you so;
Let me, and do you, twenty know
Rob me, but bind me not, and let me go
Must I, who came to travel thorough you
Grow your fixed subject, because you are true?

Venus heard me sigh this song
And by Love's sweetest part, Variety, she swore
She heard not this till now; and that it should be so no more
She went, examined, and returned ere long
And said, "Alas, some two or three
Poor heretics in love there be
Which think to 'stablish dangerous constancy
But I have told them, Since you will be true
You shall be true to them who're false to you."