The Scrutinie

Why should you 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.

Have I not lov’d thee much and long,

A tedious twelve houres space?

I must all other Beauties wrong,

And rob thee of a new imbrace;

Could I still dote upon thy Face.

Not, but all joy in thy browne haire,

By others may be found;

But I must search the black and faire

Like skilfull Minerallists that sound

For Treasure in un-plow’d-up ground.

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.

Copyright Credit: Richard Lovelace, “The Scrutinie” from The Metaphysical Poets, selected and edited by Helen Gardner. (London: Penguin Classics, 1985. Public domain.)

Source: The Metaphysical Poets (Penguin Classics, 1985)