No no no no, my Deare let bee.
8 Sweete, alas why strive you thus?
Concord better fitteth us;
Leave to Mars the force of hands.
Your power in your beautie stands.
Take me to thee, and thee to mee.
No no no no, my Deare let bee.
9 Woe to mee, and do you sweare,
Me to hate but I forbeare?
Curst be my destinies all,