The Legacy

• When I died last, and, Dear, I die
• As often as from thee I go,
• Though it be but an hour ago,
• —And Lovers' hours be full eternity—
• I can remember yet, that I
• Something did say, and something did bestow;
• Though I be dead, which sent me, I should be
• Mine own executor and legacy.
•  
• I heard me say, “Tell her anon,
• That myself, that is you, not I,
• Did kill me,” and when I felt me die,
• I bid me send my heart, when I was gone,
• But alas could there find none,
• When I had ripp'd me, and search'd where hearts should lie;
• It kill'd me again, that I who still was true,
• In life, in my last will should cozen you.
•  
• Yet I found something like a heart,
• But colors it, and corners had,
• It was not good, it was not bad,
• It was intire to none, and few had part.
• As good as could be made by art
• It seem'd, and therefore for our losses sad,
• I meant to send this heart in stead of mine,
• But oh, no man could hold it, for 'twas thine.