To Lucasta, Going to the Wars
by Richard Lovelace
Tell me not, Sweet,
I am unkind,
That from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breasts,
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.
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