Or a sword's sake:
All's the same, whate'er the chance, you know.
And in turn we make you ours, we say—
You and youth too,
Eyes and mouth too,
All the face composed of flowers, we say.
All's our own, to make the most of, Sweet—
Sing and say for,
Watch and pray for,
Keep a secret or go boast of, Sweet!
But for loving, why, you would not, Sweet,
Tho' we prayed you,
Paid you, brayed you
In a mortar—for you could not, Sweet!
So, we leave the sweet face fondly there,
Be its beauty
Secondary meaning of bray: “pound or crush (something) to small pieces, typically with a pestle and mortar.” 
 Used here figuratively, the same way we speak of “hounding” someone; but also prefigures the poem’s ambiguously violent ending
A Pretty Woman