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Poem	--AND, cruel maid, because I see You scornful of my love, and me, I'll trouble you no more, but go My way, where you shall never know What is become of me; there I Will find me out a path to die, Or learn some way how to forget You and your name for ever;--yet Ere I go hence, know this from me, What will in time your fortune be; This to your coyness I will tell; And having spoke it once, Farewell. --The lily will not long endure, Nor the snow continue pure; The rose, the violet, one day See both these lady-flowers decay; And you must fade as well as they. And it may chance that love may turn, And, like to mine, make your heart burn And weep to see't; yet this thing do, That my last vow commends to you; When you shall see that I am dead, For pity let a tear be shed; And, with your mantle o'er me cast, Give my cold lips a kiss at last; If twice you kiss, you need not fear That I shall stir or live more here. Next hollow out a tomb to cover Me, me, the most despised lover; And write thereon, THIS, READER, KNOW; LOVE KILL'D THIS MAN. No more, but so.
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