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