When my grave is broke up again Some second guest to entertain, (For graves have learn'd that woman head, To be to more than one a bed) And he that digs it, spiesA bracelet of bright hair about the bone, Will he not let'us alone,
And think that there a loving couple lies,
Who thought that this device might be some
To make their souls, at the last busy day,
Meet at this grave, and make a little stay? If this fall in a time, or land, Where mis-devotion doth command, Then he, that digs us up, will bring Us to the bishop, and the king, To make us relics;
Thou shalt be a Mary Magdalen, and I A something else thereby;
All women shall adore us, and some men;
And since at such time miracles are sought,
I would have that age by this paper
What miracles we harmless lovers wrought. First, we lov'd well and faithfully, Yet knew not what we lov'd, nor why; Difference of sex no more we knew Than our guardian angels do; Coming and going,
Perchance might kiss, but not between those meals; Our hands ne'er touch'd the
Which nature, injur'd by late law, sets free;
These miracles we did, but now alas,
All measure, and all language,
I should pass,
Should I tell what a miracle she was.
