I' the bed of strawburies.

Ile seek him there; I know, ere this,

The cold, cold Earth doth shake him;

But I will go, or send a kiss

By you, Sir, to awake him.

Pray hurt him not, though he be dead,

He knowes well who do love him,

And who with green-turfes reare his head,

And who do rudely move him.

He's soft and tender (Pray take heed);