The poem
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.