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Richard Lovelace

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 you, too, shall adore;

I could not love thee, Dear, so much,

Loved I not Honor more.