The Apparition by John Donne

When by thy scorn, O murderess, I am dead, 
And that thou think’st thee free 
From all solicitation from me,
 Then shall my ghost come to thy bed, 
And thee, feigned vestal, in worse arms shall see; 
Then thy sick taper will begin to wink, 
'And he, whose thou art then, being tired before, '
Will, if thou stir, or pinch to wake him, think'
 Thou call’st for more,     
 'And in false sleep will from thee shrink,
 And then poor aspen wretch, neglected thou 
Bathed in a cold quicksilver sweat wilt lie
 A verier ghost than I; 
What I will say, I will not tell thee now,
 Lest that preserve thee; and since my love is spent, 
I had rather thou shouldst painfully repent, 
Than by my threatenings rest still innocent