If I extinguish you, flame, I can light you again if I have second thoughts. Extinguish the light, and then extinguish her light. Still, she must die or else she'll betray more men. ![]() But I won't shed her blood, or scar that skin of hers that is whiter than snow and as smooth as alabaster. I won't say the reason to the chaste stars in the sky, but it is the reason. That's the reason for this, that's the reason, my soul. This sorrow’s heavenly, It strikes where it doth love. (kissing her) One more, and that’s the last. Be thus when thou art dead and I will kill thee And love thee after. ![]() Oh, balmy breath, that dost almost persuade Justice to break her sword! One more, one more. When I have plucked thy rose I cannot give it vital growth again, It must needs wither. But once put out thy light, Thou cunning’st pattern of excelling nature, I know not where is that Promethean heat That can thy light relume. If I quench thee, thou flaming minister, I can again thy former light restore Should I repent me. Put out the light, and then put out the light. Yet she must die, else she’ll betray more men. Yet I’ll not shed her blood, Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow And smooth as monumental alabaster. ![]() Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars, It is the cause. It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul.
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