Poor verdant fool, and now green ice! thy joys, Large and as lasting as thy perch of grass, Bid us lay in ‘gainst winter rain, and poise Their floods… - Richard Lovelace

Then, if when I have lov’d my round,
Thou prov’st the pleasant she,
With spoils of meaner beauties crown’d
I laden will return to thee,
Ev’n sated with variety.

TELL me not Sweet I am unkind,
That from the Nunnery
Of thy chaste breast, and quiet mind,
To War and Armes I fly.
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,
Loved I not honor more.

When I lie tangled in her hair,
And fettered to her eye,
The gods that wanton in the air
Know no such liberty.