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Poem by Richard Lovelace The Scrutinie I 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. II 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. III Not, but all joy in thy browne haire, By others may be found; But I must search the blank and faire Like skilfull Minerallist’s 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’d sated with Varietie. Richard Lovelace Richard Lovelace's other poems:
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