Would thou wert dead! so strictly dead to me, That nor my sight, nor my vex'd memorie Could reach thee more: so dead, that but to name Thou wert, might give the sawcie lie to Fame; That the bold Sonnes of Honour, and the milde Race of Lovers (both thy disciples stil'd) Might aske; who could the first example bee To all their good? yet none should mention thee, Knocking at my Brest, when this hou'r is come; I hope, I once shall finde my heart at home. Say, thou art dead; yet whisper't but to me; For should thy so well-spent mortalitie, End to the world, and that sad end be knowne; I might (perhaps) still live, but live alone: The better world would follow thee, and all That I should gaine, by that large Funerall, Would be, the wanton vanitie to boast, What they enjoy, was from my plenty lost.
