Tell me not, (sweet,) I am unkinde,

That from the nunnerie

Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde

To warre and armes I flie.

True: a new Mistresse now I chase,

The first foe in the field;

And with a stronger faith imbrace

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.