To Lucasta, on Going to the Wars
Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind,
That from the nunnery
Of your chaste breast 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!
—Richard Lovelace