When I dyed last, and, Deare, I dye
As often as from thee I goe,
Though it be but an houre agoe
And Lovers’ houres be full eternity—
I can remember yet, that I
Something did say, and something did bestow;
Though I be dead, which sent mee, I should be
Mine own executor and Legacie.
I heard mee say, ‘Tell her anon,
That my selfe, (that is you, not I,)
Did kill me, and when I felt mee dye,
I bid mee send my heart, when I was gone;
But I alas! could there finde none;
When I had ripp’d me,’ and search’d where hearts did lye,
It kill’d mee againe, that I who still was true
In life, in my last Will should cozen you.
Yet I found something like a heart,
But colours it, and corners had;
It was not good, it was not bad,
It was intire to none, and few had part;
As good as could be made by art
It seem’d, and therefore for our losses sad.
I meant to send this heart instead of mine,
But oh, no man could hold it, for ’twas thine.