Dearest of thousands, now the time draws neare

Dearest of thousands, now the time draws neere,

That with my lines my life must full-stop here;

Cut off thy haires, and let thy teares be shed

Over my turfe, when I am buried.

Then for effusions, let none wanting be,

Or other rites that doe belong to me;

As love shall helpe thee, when thou do'st go hence

Unto thy everlasting residence.