Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honor more.

Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind, That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly.

Here we'll strip and cool our fire In cream below, in milk-baths higher; And when all wells are drawn dry, I'll drink a tear out of thine eye.

Though Seas and Land betwixt us both, Our Faith and Troth, Like separated soules, All time and space controules: Above the highest sphere wee meet Unseene, unk…

To those whose god is honour, disgrace alone is sin.

I have shared and I still share many of the contemporary frenzies. But I have never been able to get myself to spit, as so many others do, on the word 'honor.'

Give me, instead of beauty's bust, A tender heart, a loyal mind, Which with temptation I could trust, Yet never linked with error find.