That for seven lustres I did never come
To do the rites to thy religious tomb,
That neither hair was cut, or true tears shed
By me o'er thee (as justments to the dead),
Forgive, forgive me, since I did not know
Whether thy bones had here their rest or no.
But now 'tis known, behold, behold, I bring
Unto thy ghost the effused offering;
And look, what smallage, nightshade, cypress, yew,
Unto the shades have been, or now are due,
Here I devote; and something more than so:
I come to pay a debt of birth I owe.

Thou gav'st me life, but mortal; for that one
Favour I'll make full satisfaction:
For my life mortal, rise from out thy hearse,
And take a life immortal from my verse.