To Lucasta, on Going to the Wars

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.