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The Scrutiny

 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, Ev'n sated with variety.

Poem by Richard Lovelace
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