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 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, Lov’d I not Honour more.