TO these whom death again did wed 
This grave 's the second marriage-bed. 
For though the hand of Fate could force 
'Twixt soul and body a divorce, 
It could not sever man and wife, 
Because they both lived but one life. 
Peace, good reader, do not weep; 
Peace, the lovers are asleep. 
They, sweet turtles, folded lie 
In the last knot that love could tie. 
Let them sleep, let them sleep on, 
Till the stormy night be gone, 
And the eternal morrow dawn; 
Then the curtains will be drawn, 
And they wake into a light 
Whose day shall never die in night. 

TELL me not, Sweet, I am unkind, 
   That from the nunnery 
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind 
   To war and arms I fly. 

True, a new mistress now I chase, 
   The first foe in the field; 
And with a stronger faith embrace 
   A sword, a horse, a shield. 

Yet this inconstancy is such 
   As thou too shalt adore; 
I could not love thee, Dear, so much, 
   Loved I not Honour more.