Taking Leave of Chloris

She sighs; as if she would restore
The Life, she took away before;
As if she did recant my Doom,
And, sweetly would reprieve me home;
Such hope to one condemn'd appears
From every whisper that he hears;
But what do such vain hopes avail,
If those sweet sighs compose a gale
To drive me hence, and swell my sail?

See, see! she weeps! who would not swear
That Love descended in that Tear,
Boasting him of his wounded prize,
Thus in the bleeding of her Eyes;
Or that those Tears, with just pretence,
Would quench the fire that came from thence?
But, oh! they are (which strikes me dead)
Christal, her frozen Heart has bred,
Neither in Love, nor Pitty shed.

Thus, of my merit jealous grown,
My happiness I dare not own;
But wretchedly her favous wear,
Blind to my self, unjust to her,
Whose sighs and tears at least discover,
She pitties, if not loves, her Lover,
And more betrays the Tyrant's skill,
Than any blemish in her will,
That thus laments, whom she doth kill.

Pitty still, Sweet, my dying state,
My Flame may sure pretend to that,
Since it was only unto thee,
I gave my Life, and Liberty;
Howe're my Life's misfortune's laid,
By Love I'm Pitties object made.
Pitty me then; and if thou hear
I'm dead, drop such another tear,
And I am paid my full arrear.