If he should lie a-dying

I am not willing you should go

Into the earth, where Helen went;

She is awake by now, I know.

Where Cleopatra's anklets rust

You will not lie with my consent;

And Sappho is a roving dust;

Cressid could love again; Dido,

Rotted in state, is restless still:

You leave me much against my will.