Act I, Scene 71

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• Shakespeare. No longer mourn for me when I am dead
  Then you shall hear the surly sullen bell
  Give warning to the world that I am fled
  From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:
  Nay, if you read this line, remember not 985
  The 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.
  O, if, I say, you look upon this verse
  When I perhaps compounded am with clay, 990
  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.