on Going to the Wars
by RICHARD LOVELACE (1618–1657)
Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind,
That from the Nunnery
Of thy chaste breast, and quiet mind,
To War and Arms I flee.
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.