Tell me not, sweet, I am unkinde,
  That from the nunnerie
Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde,
  To warre and armes I flee.

True, a new mistresse now I chase.—
  The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith imbrace
  A sword, a...

  IF to be absent were to be
      Away from thee;
    Or that, when I am gone,
    You or I were alone;
  Then, my Lucasta, might I crave
Pity from blustering wind or swallowing wave.

  But I ’ll not sigh one blast or gale
      To swell...