LXXI
No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the surly sullen1 bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile2 world with vilest3 worms to dwell: Nay4, if you read this line, remember not The hand that writ5 it, for I love you so, That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, If thinking on me then should make you woe6. 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.