Philoclea's parting, Feb. 25. 1650.

KInder then a condemned Man's Reprieve
Was your dear Company that bad me live,
When by Rosannia's silence I had been
The wretchedst Martyr any Age hath seen.
But as when Traytors faint upon the Rack,
Tormentors strive to call their Spirits back;
Not out of kindness to preserve their breath,
But to increase the Torments of their Death:
So was I raised to this glorious height,
To make my fall the more unfortunate.
But this I know, none ever dy'd before
Upon a sadder or a nobler score.