O Least the world should taske you to recite,
What merit liv'd in me that you should loue
After my death (deare love) forget me quite,
For you in me can nothing worthy prove.
Vnlesse you would devise some vertuous lye,
To doe more for me then mine owne desert,
And hange more prayse upon deceased I,
Then nigard truth would willingly impart:
O least your true love may seeme false in this,
That you for love speake 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 shamd by that which I bring forth,
  And so should you, to love things nothing worth.
But be contented when that fell arest,
Without all bayle shall carry me away,
My life hath in this line some interest,
Which for memoriall still with thee shall stay.
When thou reviewest this, thou dost review,
The very part was consecrate to thee,
The earth can have but earth, which is his due,
My spirit is thine the better part of me,
So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life,
The prey of wormes, my body being dead,
The coward conquest of a wretches knife,
To base of thee to be remembred.
  The worth of that, is that which it containes,
  And that is this, and this with thee remaines.

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