To Lucasta, on Going to the Wars

by Richard Lovelace

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 shalt adore;
I could not love thee, Dear, so much,
  Loved I not Honour more.