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The Sonnets 71

William Shakespeare
71

No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Then you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:

Nay, if you read this line, remember not
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.

O, if, I say, you look upon this verse
When I perhaps compounded am with clay,
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.

Londres: Cambridge University Press, 1967.
Translated by Txema Martínez
Txema Martínez, 2014
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The Sonnets 116 - William Shakespeare
The Sonnets 135 - William Shakespeare
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The Sonnets 66 - William Shakespeare
The Sonnets 71 - William Shakespeare
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