But they dissolved once, our woes disband,
Th' assurance cancell'd by one fatal hand;
Soon as the passing bell proclaims me dead,
My sorrows sink with me, lie buried
In the same heap of dust, the self-same urn
80Doth them and me alike to nothing turn.
If then of these I might election make
Whether I would refuse, and whether take,
Rather than like a sullen anchorite
I would live cas'd in stone, and learn to write