When by thy scorne, O murdresse I am dead, And that thou thinkst thee free From all solicitation from mee, Then shall my ghost come to thy bed, And thee, fain'd vestall, in worse armes shall see; Then thy sicke taper will begin to winke, And he, whose thou art then, being tyr'd before, Will, if thou stirre, or pinch to wake him, thinke Thou call'st for more, And in false sleepe will from thee shrinke, And then poore Aspen wretch, neglected thou Bath'd in a cold quicksilver sweat wilt lye A veryer ghost then I; What I will say, I will not tell thee now, Lest that preserve thee'; and since my love is spent, I'had rather thou shouldst painfully repent, Then by my threatnings rest still innocent. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEDICATION OF THE FIRST SONNETS TO A FRIEND ... by GEORGE SANTAYANA AN ODE ON THE UNVEILING OF THE SHAW MEMORIA BOSTON COMMON, MAY 31, 1897 by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH MY ORCHA'D IN LINDEN LEA by WILLIAM BARNES EPITAPH ON ELIZABETH, L.H. by BEN JONSON A VISION UPON [THIS CONCEIT] OF THE FAERIE QUEENE (2) by WALTER RALEIGH PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 29. AL-HAKIM by EDWIN ARNOLD TO THE SKYLARK by BERNARD BARTON IN A LETTER TO A.R.C. ON HER WISHING TO BE CALLED ANNA by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS |