|
| Therefore Ile give no more, but I'le undo |
| The world by dying: because love dies too. |
| Then all your beauties will be no more worth |
| Then gold in Mines, where none doth draw it forth; |
| And all your graces no more use shall have, |
| Than a Sun-dyal in a grave. |
| Thou Love taught'st me, by making me |
| Love her who doth neglect both me and thee, |
| To invent and practise this one way, to annihilate thee. |
|
| The Funeral. |
|
| Who ever comes to shroud me, do not harm |
| Nor question much |
| That subtle wreath of hair, about myne arm; |
| The mystery, the sign you must not touch, |
| For 'tis my outward Soul, |
| Viceroy to that, which unto heaven being gone, |
| Will leave this to controul, |
| And keep these limbes, her Provinces, from dissolution. |
|
| For if the sinewie thread my brain lets fall |
| Through every part, |
| Can ty those parts, and make me one of all; |
| Those hairs which upward grow, and strength and art |
| Have from a better brain, |
| Can better do't: except she meant that I |
| By this should know my pain, |
| As prisoners then are manacl'd, when they are condemn'd to die. |
|
| What 'ere she meant by 't bury it with me, |
| For since I am |
| Loves martyr, it might breed Idolatry,
|
[CW: If] |