AWAY, delights! go seek some other dwelling, 
   For I must die. 
Farewell, false love! thy tongue is ever telling 
   Lie after lie. 
For ever let me rest now from thy smarts; 
   Alas, for pity go 
   And fire their hearts 
That have been hard to thee! Mine was not so. 

Never again deluding love shall know me, 
   For I will die; 
And all those griefs that think to overgrow me 
   Shall be as I: 
For ever will I sleep, while poor maids cry-- 
   'Alas, for pity stay, 
   And let us die 
With thee! Men cannot mock us in the clay.'