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 I'll trouble you no more; but go My way where you shall never know What is become of me: there I Will find me out a path to die, Or learn some way how to forget You and your name for ever: yet, Ere I go hence, know this from me, What will, in time, your fortune be: This to your coyness I will tell, And, having spoke it once, farewell. The lily will not long endure, Nor the snow continue pure; The rose, the violet, one day, See, both these lady-flowers decay: And you must fade as well as they. And it may chance that Love may turn, And, like to mine, make your heart burn And weep to see't; yet this thing do, That my last vow commends to you: When you shall see that I am dead, For pity let a tear be shed; And, with your mantle o'er me cast, Give my cold lips a kiss at last: If twice you kiss you need not fear That I shall stir or live more here. Next, hollow out a tomb to cover Me—me, the most despisèd lover, And write thereon: This, reader, know: Love kill'd this man. No more, but so.