Oft have I mused, but now at length I find Why those that die, men say, they do depart: Depart: a word so gentle to my mind, Weakly did seem to paint Deaths ugly dart.

But now the stars, with their strange course, do bind Me one to leave, with whom I leave my heart; I hear a cry of spirits faint and blind, That parting thus, my chiefest part I part.

Part of my life, the loathed part to me, Lives to impart my weary clay some breath; But that good part wherein all comforts be, Now dead, doth show departure is a death:

Yea, worse than death, death parts both woe and joy, From joy I part, still living in annoy.

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