TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS

Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind,— That from the nunnery Of thy 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.