Me me and none but me,
dart home O gentle death

And quicklie, for
I draw too long this idle breath.
O howe I long till I
may fly to heaven above,

Unto my faithfull and
beloved turtle dove.
Like to the silver Swanne,
before my death I sing:

And yet alive
my fatall knell I helpe to ring.

Still I desire from earth
and earthly joyes to flie,

He never happie liv’d,
that cannot love to die.