For I’ll believe I have her heart,
As much as she has mine.
✷ ✷ ✷ ✷
TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS.
By Richard Lovelace (1618–1658).
Tell me not, sweet, I am unkinde,
That from the nunnerie
Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde,
To warre and armes I flee.
True, a new mistress now I chase—