Classic Poem

For pity, pretty eyes, surcease
To give me war, and grant me peace!
Triumphant eyes, why bear you arms
Against a heart that thinks no harms,
A heart already quite appalled,
A heart that yields and is enthralled?
Kill rebels, proudly that resist;
Not those that in true faith persist
And, conquered, serve your deity.
Will you, alas, command me die?
Then die I yours, and death my cross;
But unto you pertains the loss.