When I'm stripped and mutilated, you cry. But when I'm burnt, you like it and relish it

I am the infant son of kings crown'd with ice and stone. I wear a verdant coat of green that shines when winds are blow'n. I roll and roll with feet unmov'd, on me human youth b'come kings. Some choose to die upon me, Choose wisely before cutting the strings.

Either flesh or plastic, still holds milk.

I am a furnace locked in a cage, My letters are four, but I live in a stage. I split the calm and sever the chain, I am felt in the storm, yet vanish with rain. What am I?

I am a soldier who can never retreat, Or a deal made on a city street. I rhyme with dawn, Shawn, and prawn. If I reach the end, the crown is drawn.