To Dianeme.

DEare, though to part it be a Hell,
Yet Dianeme now farewell:
Thy frown (last night) did bid me goe;
But whither, onely Grief do's know.
I doe beseech thee, ere we part,
(If mercifull, as faire thou art;
Or else defir'st that Maids sho'd tell
Thy pitty by Loves-Chronicle)
O Dianeme, rather kill
Me, then to make me languish stil!
'Tis cruelty in thee to'th'height,
Thus, thus to wound, not kill out-right:
Yet there's a way found (if thou please)
By sudden death to give me ease:
And thus devis'd, doe thou but this,
Bequeath to me one parting kisse:
So sup'rabundant joy shall be
The Executioner of me.