Sonnet 71

1 No longer mourn for me when I am dead,
2 Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell
3 Give warning to the world that I am fled
4 From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell:
5 Nay if you read this line, remember not,
6 The hand that writ it, for I love you so,
7 That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,
8 If thinking on me then should make you woe.
9 O if, I say, you look upon this verse,
10 When I (perhaps) compounded am with clay,
11 Do not so much as my poor name rehearse;
12 But let your love even with my life decay.
13 Lest the wise world should look into your moan,
14 And mock you with me after I am gone.