Richard Lovelace. 1618–1658 |
To Lucasta, 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, | 5 |
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; | 10 |
I could not love thee, Dear, so much, | |
Loved I not Honour more. |
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