Sonnet 72

O, lest the world should task you to recite

What merit lived in me that you should love

After my death, dear love, forget me quite,

For you in me can nothing worthy prove,

Unless you would devise some virtuous lie

To do more for me than mine own desert,

And hang more praise upon deceasèd I

Than niggard truth would willingly impart.

O, lest your true love may seem false in this,

That you for love speak well of me untrue,

My name be buried where my body is,

And live no more to shame nor me, nor you.

For I am shamed by that which I bring forth,

And so should you, to love things nothing worth.

Please, so the world doesn’t ask you to recite

Everything I’ve written and explain why you loved me,

After I’m gone, turn off the light.

There’s nothing here that would prove me worthy.

You’d have to lie—in some kindness lie—

To say more for me than I have deserved—

And give more to me than I

Myself have ever served.

Don’t let your love seem deceptive this way,

Representing me falsely, for no more than love.

Where my body is, let them also lay

My name—no shame—nobody’s heart to move.

For I’m ashamed of what I bring forth—

And you should be too—loving lesser worth.