Dearest Juliet,
The heart that beat with passion,
When your eyes look'd at mine,
Now lies dead in my chest,
And never shall it climb,
To the peak of thy beauty's mountain.
Without our fingers laces as one,
At the seams I come undone;
The bitter chill of a far up breeze
Marbles my flesh as pallid as yours, I bequeath
My hue to replace yours robbed by loss of breath.
My cherish'd love gone, to the black robed reaper of death.
Fortune's Fates! Take me to my love's embrace,
But my body leave here in Capulets' case.
Without the warmth of so fair Juliet,
I have no life with mortals and yet,
O, dear lips, curled grey where once were red:
Pray now, sweet poison, make me dead.