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 … - 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.

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.

Stone walls doe not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Mindes innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage;
If I have freedome in my love,
And in my soule am free,
Angels alone that sore above
Enjoy such liberty.

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 with an o’erflowing glass.