- 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
- 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,
- 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.