When I am dead, and doctors know not why,
And my friends’ curiosity
Will have me cut up, to survey each part,
And they shall find your picture in mine heart;
You think a sudden Damp of love
Will through all their senses move,
And work on them as me, and so prefer
Your murder to the name of massacre.
For stanzas of different structure on similar models cf. Metrik, ii, § 472 (a5 a b3 b c5 d3 c2 d4, a5 a b2 b c5 c2 d4 d5, a5 a3 b b5 c c4 d d5, a b a4 b5 c c4 d d5, a a5 b b c d c4 d5, and a4 b5 a4 b3 c d4 c2 d4).