I have been wanton and too bold, I fear,
To chafe o’ermuch the ******’s cheek or ear.
Beg for my pardon, Julia: he doth win
Grace with the gods who’s sorry for his sin.
That done, my Julia, dearest Julia, come
And go with me to choose my burial room:
My fates are ended; when thy Herrick dies,
Clasp thou his book, then close thou up his eyes.