III.
IF whilom, in times past, that Spartan Lass ("The Flower of Greece," Dan Paris's costly joy) Through her fair feature, the only causer was, So many Knights were slain at Siege of Troy: Thou, Laura, art unlike unto her far! In this our Age, a much more blessed star. For she brought Wars, Strife, Death, and Cruelty; Where thou, alone, bring'st Peace and Pleasure still. Ah, happy thrice, that ligs in love with thee! And if, by chance, un'wares, thou sometimes kill: Thou, with thy smile, the wound canst heal again; And give him life, whom thou before hadst slain
IV.
SHoot forth no more those darts from lightning eyes! Unkind! Why seek'st to stop my fainting breath? Go, and invent some new kind exercise; New weapons seek wherewith me to offend! Play the right Tyrant! Choices use in death; Whereby, I dying, content may rest thy will. But tell me? Wouldst so fain my life should end? And know'st not, Sweet extremes do sudden kill? Cruel, kiss me but once! and thou shalt see Ended my life with that same kiss to be.