When I dyed last, and, Deare, I dye	
    As often as from thee I goe,	
    Though it be but an houre agoe	
And Lovers’ houres be full eternity—	
I can remember yet, that I	         
    Something did say, and something did bestow;	
Though I be dead, which sent mee, I should be  	
Mine own executor and Legacie.	
 
I heard mee say, ‘Tell her anon,	
    That my selfe, (that is you, not I,)	        
    Did kill me, and when I felt mee dye,	
I bid mee send my heart, when I was gone;	
But I alas! could there finde none;	
    When I had ripp’d me,’ and search’d where hearts did lye,  	
It kill’d mee againe, that I who still was true	         
In life, in my last Will should cozen you.	
 
Yet I found something like a heart,	
    But colours it, and corners had;	
    It was not good, it was not bad,	
It was intire to none, and few had part;	         
As good as could be made by art	
    It seem’d, and therefore for our losses sad.  
I meant to send this heart instead of mine,	
But oh, no man could hold it, for ’twas thine.