Sonnet 71

No longer mourn for me when I am deadThan you shall hear the surly sullen bellGive warning to the world that I am fledFrom this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell: 4Nay, if you read this line, remember notThe hand that writ it; for I love you so,That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,If thinking on me then should make you woe. 8O, if, I say, you look upon this verse,When I perhaps compounded am with clay,Do not so much as my poor name rehearse,But let your love even with my life decay; 12Lest the wise world should look into your moan,And mock you with me after I am gone.

3 Give warning to the world; cf. n.7 would be: wish to be10 compounded: mixed11 rehearse: repeat