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| O! lest the world should task you to recite | 1 |
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| What merit lived in me, that you should love |
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| After my death,—dear love, forget me quite, |
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| For you in me can nothing worthy prove; |
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| Unless you would devise some virtuous lie, | 5 |
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| To do more for me than mine own desert, |
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| And hang more praise upon deceased I |
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| Than niggard truth would willingly impart: |
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| O! lest your true love may seem false in this |
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| That you for love speak well of me untrue, | 10 |
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| My name be buried where my body is, |
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| And live no more to shame nor me nor you. |
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 For I am shamed by that which I bring forth, |
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| And so should you, to love things nothing worth. |
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