Richard Lovelace

The Scrutinie. Song

I.
Why shouldst thou sweare I am forsworn,
 Since thine I vow’d to be?
Lady, it is already Morn,
 And ’twas last night I swore to thee
 That fond impossibility.
 
                   II.
Have I not lov’d thee much and long,
 A tedious twelve moneths space?
I should all other beauties wrong,
 And rob thee of a new imbrace;
 Should I still dote upon thy face.
 
                   III.
Not but all joy in thy browne haire
 In others may be found;
But I must search the black and faire,
 Like skilfulle minerallists that sound
 For treasure in un-plow’d-up ground.
 
                   IV.
Then if, when I have lov’d my round,
 Thou prov’st the pleasant she;
With spoyles of meaner beauties crown’d,
 I laden will returne to thee,
 Ev’n sated with varietie.
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