To Lucasta on Going to the Wars
TELL me not, Sweet, I am unkind,That from the nunneryOf thy chaste breast and quiet mindTo war and arms I fly.
True; a new mistress now I chase,The first foe in the field;And with a stronger faith embraceA sword, a horse, a shield.
Yet this inconstancy is suchAs thou, too, shalt adore;I could not love thee, dear, so muchLoved I not honour more.