Friday, March 4, 2011


O, do not mourn for me when I am gone—
Not merely mourn—but wail and gnash and groan!
Yea, pull out all the stops, from night till dawn,
And for a full year after, weep and moan.
For, dearest lady, I deserve this state,
Nor would you wish to pay a lower fee
Than miserable sobs that ne’er abate,
All for the woeful loss of precious me.
But yet I should some pity show on you
And from your grieving give you some relief,
Though mournful lamentations are my due—
Let’s say, one day a week, give o’er your grief
     And think instead of how you loved me true,
     As I deserved, for which I loved you, too.