Richard Lovelace

Why should you swear I am forsworn,

            Since thine I vowed to be?

Lady it is already morn,

            Ans ‘twas last night I swore to thee

That fond impossibility

Have I not loved thee much and long,

            A tedious twelve hours’ space?

I must all other Beauties wrong,

            And rob thee of a new embrace;

Could I still dote upon thy face.

Not, but all joy in thy brown hair,

            By others may be found;

But I must search the black and fair

            Like skillful mineralists that sound

For treasure in un-plowed-up ground.

Then, if when I have loved my round,

            Thou provest the pleasantest she;

With spoils of meaner Beauties crowned,

I laden will return to thee,

Ev’n sated with variety.