To Dianeme (Dear, though to part it be a hell)

Dear, though to part it be a hell,Yet, Dianeme, now farewell:Thy frown last night did bid me go,But whither only grief does know.I do beseech thee ere we part,If merciful as fair thou art,Or else desir'st that maids should tellThy pity by love's chronicle,O Dianeme, rather killMe, than to make me languish still!'Tis cruelty in thee to th' heightThus, thus to wound, not kill outright;Yet there's a way found, if you please,By sudden death to give me ease;And thus devis'd, do thou but this—Bequeath to me one parting kiss,So sup'rabundant joy shall beThe executioner of me.