William Shakespeare, Earl of Oxford?

Lady, if this counterfeit must be the price
I pay, my investment is falsely dear;
The content of my padlocked vault is twice
The balance of accounts that I don’t clear.

I offer you my paper bond, and seal
Its cipher with a figure I encrypt,
With no additions able to reveal
The fake promissory hidden in its script.

Good credit turns to bad. The chancellery
Is bankrupt by dishonest dispensation.
Where singers thrive is wealth and penury,
Their duple notes a twofold affirmation.

What’s writ is double entry or amiss;
What’s read is true or false in all of this.