Song

Why should you swear I am forsworn,         Since thine I vowed to be?     Lady, it is already morn,         And '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 skilful mineralists that sound         For treasure in unploughed-up ground.     Then, if when I have loved my round,         Thou prov'st the pleasant she;     With spoils of meaner beauties crowned         I laden will return to thee,         Even sated with variety.