To Lucasta, On Going To The Wars

TELL me not, Sweet, I am unkind,

    That from the nunnery

Of thy chaste breasts, and quiet mind,

    To war and arms I fly.

True, a new mistress now I chase,

    The first foe in the field;

And with a stronger faith embrace

    A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such,

    As you too shall adore;

I could not love thee, Dear, so much,

    Loved I not honour more.