Richard Lovelace

To Lucasta, Going to the Warres

I.

 
Tell me not, (sweet,) I am unkinde,
   That from the nunnerie
Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde
   To warre and armes I flie.
 

II.

 
True: a new Mistresse now I chase,
   The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith imbrace
   A sword, a horse, a shield.
 

III.

 
Yet this inconstancy is such,
   As you too shall adore;
I could not love thee, dear, so much,
   Lov’d I not Honour more.
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