When
my grave is broke up again
Some second guest
to entertain,
(For graves have learned that woman head,
To be to more than
one a bed)
And he that digs it, spies
A bracelet of bright hair about the bone,
Will he not let'us alone,
And think that there a loving couple lies,
Who thought that this device might be some
way
To make their souls, at the last busy day,
Meet at this grave, and make a little stay?
If this fall in a time, or
land,
Where mis-devotion doth
command,
Then he, that digs us up, will
bring
Us to the bishop, and the
king,
To
make us relics; then
Thou shalt be a Mary Magdalen, and I
A something else thereby;
All women shall adore us, and some men;
And since at such time miracles are sought,
I would have that age by this paper taught
What miracles we harmless lovers wrought.
First, we loved well and
faithfully,
Yet knew not what we loved,
nor why;
Difference of sex no more we
knew
Than our guardian angels do;
Coming
and going, we
Perchance might kiss, but not between those meals;
Our
hands ne'er touched the seals
Which nature, injured by late law, sets free;
These miracles we did, but now alas,
All measure, and all language, I should pass,
Should I tell what a miracle she was.
