From victory in love I now am come
Like a commander kild at the last blow:
Instead of Lawrell, to obtaine a tombe
With triumph that a steely faith I show.
Here must my grave be, which I thus will frame
Made of my stony heart to other name,
Then what I honor, scorne brings me my tombe,
Disdaine the Priest to bury me, I come.

Cloath'd in the reliques of a spotlesse love,
Embrace me you that let true lovers in;
Pure fires of truth doe light me when I moove,
Which lamp-like last, as if they did begin.
On you the sacred tombe of love, I lay
My life, neglect sends to the hellish way,
As offering of the chastest soule that knew
Love, and his blessing, till a change both slew.

Here doe I sacrifise worlds time of truth,
Which onely death can let me part with all,
Though in my dying, have perpetuall youth
Buried alone in you, whereby I fall.
Open the graves where lovers Saints have laine,
See if they will not fill themselves with paine
Of my affliction, or strive for my place,
Who with a constant honour gaine this grace.

Burne not my body yet, unlesse an Urne
Be fram'd of equall vertue with my love
To hold the ashes, which though pale, will burne
In true loves embers, where he still will move;
And by no meanes, let my dust fall to earth,
Lest men doe envy this my second birth,
Or learne by it to find a better state
Then I could doe for love immaculate.

Thus here, O here's my resting place ordain'd,
Fate made it ere I was; I not complaine,
Since had I kept, I had but blisse obtain'd,
And such for loyalty I sure shall gaine.
Fame beares the torches for my last farewell
To life, but not to love, for there I dwell,
But to that place, neglect appoints for tombe
Of all my hopes; thus Death I come, I come.