The Scrutinie

By Richard Lovelace 1618–1657 Richard Lovelace

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.

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.

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.

Biography

Like the other Cavalier poets of 17th-century England, Richard Lovelace lived a legendary life as a soldier, lover, and courtier. Persecuted for his unflagging support of King Charles I, he died in dire poverty — but not before writing two of the age’s most melodic and moving lyrics: “To Althea, from Prison” and “To Lucasta, Going to the Wars.”

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