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.

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