No longer mourn for me when I am dead
And you shall hear the surly sullen bells
Giving warning to the world that I have fled
From this vile world, with vile worms to dwell:
Now, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writes it; for I love you so,
That I in your sweet thoughts would no be forgotten,
O, if, I say, you look upon this verse
When I am turned to dust,
Do not forget my name,
But let your love with my life decay;
Lest the wise world should look into your moan,
And comfort you – after I am gone.