Come Away Death (Will S.)

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Come away, come away, death,
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And in sad cypress let me be laid;
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Fly away, fly away breath;
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I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
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My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,
      920  
O, prepare it!
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My part of death, no one so true
    920  
Did share it.
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Not a flower, not a flower sweet
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On my black coffin let there be strown;
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Not a friend, not a friend greet
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My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown:
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A thousand thousand sighs to save,
           920  
Lay me, O, where
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Sad true lover never find my grave,
        920  
To weep there!