Poems, by Andrew Marvell

Daphnis and Chloe


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 than 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 with Quailes and Manna fed,

He 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?


Last updated Sunday, March 27, 2016 at 11:58