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.