He that cannot choose but love,
And strives against it still,
Never shall my fancy move;
For he loves 'gainst his will;

Nor he which is all his own,
And can at pleasure choose,
When I am caught he can be gone,
And when he list refuse.

Nor he that loves none but fair,
For such by all are sought;
Nor he that can for foul ones care,
For his judgement then is naught:

Nor he that hath wit, for he
Will make me his jest or slave;
Nor a fool, for when others . . .
He can neither . . . .

Nor he that still his mistress pays,
For she is thralled therefore:
Nor he that pays not, for he says
Within she's worth no more.

Is there then no kind of men
Whom I may freely prove?
I will vent that humour then
In mine own self love.