Читать книгу A Satire Anthology - Wells Carolyn - Страница 26

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,

Even sated with variety.