Since I am coming to that holy roomnWhere with the choir of saints forever morenI shall be made the music as I comenI tune the instrument here at the doornWhile my physicians by their love are grownnCosmographers and by their map I lienFlat on this bed that by them they be shownnMy final breath and last remaining sighnSospirinSospirinSospirinSospirinSospirinSospirinSospirinSospirinSospirinSospirinSospirinSospirinSospirinSospirinSospirinSospiri