Rip out from ribs this heart which, burdened, hurts
For to you, tied, your course my life’s sure end.
For if the winds do not make separate words,
The course of sails, then grave, mine, I should win
So dig the hole and load the chamber once,
The cheapened price of death, a welcome cent
For if I miss this tiny window’s grunt
All value of my beating heart will quit.
Love is cruel and cares not for a heart,
It cares not for its victim’s murdered soul,
Or the hurt and sorrow that imparts
Or fairness of the loveless burning hole
The days drop out like sands from hour’s glass;
Will they to funeral or wedding cast?