Don't cry for me when I am dead
Then you shall hear the angry, grumpy bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world, with vilest people to dwell:
Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that wrote it; for I love you so,
So I wish that in your sweet thoughts I would be forgotten,
If thinking on me then should make you sad.
O, if, I say, you look upon this verse
When I perhaps am covered with clay,
Do not so much as say my poor name,
But let your love even with my life die;
Lest the wise world should look into your cry,
And make fun of you with me after I am gone.
Sonnet LXXI sort of
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