| NO longer mourn for me when I am dead | |
| Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell | |
| Give warning to the world that I am fled | |
| From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell: | |
| Nay, if you read this line, remember not | 5 |
| The hand that writ it; for I love you so, | |
| That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, | |
| If thinking on me then should make you woe. | |
| O! if,—I say, you look upon this verse, | |
| When I perhaps compounded am with clay, | 10 |
| Do not so much as my poor name rehearse, | |
| But let your love even with my life decay; | |
| Lest the wise world should look into your moan, | |
| And mock you with me after I am gone. |