text: 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, spies
  A 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 way
  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; then
  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 taught
  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, we
  Perchance might kiss, but not between those meals;
                  Our hands ne'er touch'd the seals
  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.