Tell me not, (sweet,) I am unkind,
That from the nunnerie
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 fair 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,
Lov’d I not Honour more.
–Richard Lovelace