Without the sword: Unhappy man, thy love had made thee die;
Thy love (she said) hath made thee slay thyself. This hand of mine
Is strong enough to do the like. My love no less than thine
Shall give me force to work my wound. I will pursue thee dead,
And, wretched woman as I am, it shall of me be said,
That like as of thy death I was the only cause and blame,
So am I thy companion eke and partner in the same.
For death which only could, alas! asunder part us twain,
Shall never so dissever us but we will meet again.
And you the parents of us both, most wretched folk alive,