Sonnet 71
No longer mourn for me when I am deadThen you shall hear the surly sullen bellGive warning to the world that I am fledFrom this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:Nay, if you read this line, remember notThe hand that writ it; for I love you soThat I in your sweet thoughts would be forgotIf thinking on me then should make you woe.O, if, I say, you look upon this verseWhen I perhaps compounded am with clay,Do not so much as my poor name rehearse.But let your love even with my life decay, Lest the wise world should look into your moan And mock you with me after I am gone.
When I shuffle this coil, don't combat it.I love you, but death is such that itjust won't be sweet sorrowif there's no tomorrow.So forget it, and me while you're at it.