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Poem	Daphnis must from Chloe part: Now is come the dismal Hour That must all his Hopes devour, All his Labour, all his Art. Nature, her own Sexes foe, Long had taught her to be coy: But she neither knew t' enjoy, Nor yet let her Lover go. But, with this sad News surpriz'd, Soon she let that Niceness fall; And would gladly yield to all, So it had his stay compriz'd. Nature so her self does use To lay by her wonted State, Left the World should separate; Sudden Parting closer glews. He, well read in all the wayes By which men their Siege maintain, Knew not that the Fort to gain Better 'twas the siege to raise. But he came so full possest With the Grief of Parting thence, That he had not so much Sence As to see he might be blest. Till Love in her Language breath'd Words she never spake before; But then Legacies no more To a dying Man bequeath'd. For, Alas, the time was spent, Now the latest minut's run When poor Daphnis is undone, Between Joy and Sorrow rent. At that Why, that Stay my Dear, His disorder'd Locks he tare; And with rouling Eyes did glare, And his cruel Fate forswear. As the Soul of one scarce dead, With the shrieks of Friends aghast, Looks distracted back in hast, And then streight again is fled. So did wretched Daphnis look, Frighting her he loved most. At the last, this Lovers Ghost Thus his Leave resolved took. Are my Hell and Heaven Joyn'd More to torture him that dies? Could departure not suffice, But that you must then grow kind? Ah my Chloe how have I Such a wretched minute found, When thy Favours should me wound More than all thy Cruelty? So to the condemned Wight The delicious Cup we fill; And allow him all he will, For his last and short Delight. But I will not now begin Such a Debt unto my Foe; Nor to my Departure owe What my Presence could not win. Absence is too much alone: Better 'tis to go in peace, Than my Losses to increase By a late Fruition. Why should I enrich my Fate? 'Tis a Vanity to wear, For my Executioner, Jewels of so high a rate. Rather I away will pine In a manly stubborness Than be fatted up express For the Canibal to dine. Whilst this grief does thee disarm, All th' Enjoyment of our Love But the ravishment would prove Of a Body dead while warm. And I parting should appear Like the Gourmand Hebrew dead, While he Quailes and Manna fed, And does through the Desert err. Or the Witch that midnight wakes For the Fern, whose magick Weed In one minute casts the Seed. And invisible him makes. Gentler times for Love are ment: Who for parting pleasure strain Gather Roses in the rain, Wet themselves and spoil their Sent. Farewel therefore all the fruit Which I could from Love receive: Joy will not with Sorrow weave, Nor will I this Grief pollute. Fate I come, as dark, as sad, As thy Malice could desire; Yet bring with me all the Fire That Love in his Torches had. At these words away he broke; As who long has praying ly'n, To his Heads-man makes the Sign, And receives the parting stroke. But hence Virgins all beware. Last night he with Phlogis slept; This night for Dorinda kept; And but rid to take the Air. Yet he does himself excuse; Nor indeed without a Cause. For, according to the Lawes, Why did Chloe once refuse?
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