To Lucasta. Going To the Warres.

I.
Tell me not, (sweet,) I am unkinde,
  That from the nunnerie
Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde
  To warre and armes I flie.

                    II.
True: a new Mistresse now I chase,
  The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith imbrace
  A sword, a horse, a shield.

                    III.
Yet this inconstancy is such,
  As you too shall adore;
I could not love thee, dear, so much,
  Lov'd I not Honour more.