Verse > Anthologies > Hunt and Lee, eds. > The Book of the Sonnet
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Hunt and Lee, comps.  The Book of the Sonnet.  1867.
 
VIII. True Self-Sacrifice of Love
By William Shakespeare (1564–1616)
 
NO longer mourn for me when I am dead
Than you shall hear the surly, sullen bell
Give notice to the world that I am fled
From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell:
Nay, if you read this line, remember not        5
The hand that writ it; for I love you so,
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
Oh! if, I say, you look upon this verse,
When I perhaps compounded am with clay,        10
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse,
But let your love even with my life decay;
  Lest the wise world should look into your moan,
  And mock you with me after I am gone. 1
 
Note 1. This divine sonnet has been noticed in the Introductory Essay. [back]
 
 
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