Sonnet 71

No longer mourn for me when I am dead

Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell

Give warning to the world that I am fled

From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell;

Nay, if you read this line, remember not

The hand that writ it; for I love you so

That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,

If thinking on me then should make you woe.

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.

Don’t take more time to mourn for me

Than it takes the bell to toll

To mark my death. Just as fast, let me flee

From this vile world, and silent dwell.

No: more. If you read this poem, these very

Lines, forget the hand that wrote them.

For I love you so, I don’t want you to carry

My love around in your mind like a tomb.

So now, I say, if you look upon these lyrics

When I have been compounded with clay,

Wash my name in the River Styx

And let your love die the same day.

I pray it didn’t have to be this way,

But this world would make your grief its prey.