Come away, come away, death,
⁠And in sad cypress let me be laid;
Fly away, fly away, breath;
⁠I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,
⁠O, prepare it!
My part of death, no one so true
⁠Did share it.

Not a flower, not a flower sweet.
⁠On my black coffin let there be strown;
Not a friend, not a friend greet
⁠My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown:
A thousand thousand sighs to save,
⁠Lay me, O, where
Sad true lover never find my grave
⁠To weep there!