Compounded with clay

Done with classes for the week (it’s after five on Saturday).  Sonnet 71:

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LXXI

  No longer mourn for me when I am dead

  Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell

  Give warning to the world that I am fled

  From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell:

  Nay, if you read this line, remember not

  The hand that writ it, for I love you so,

  That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,

  If thinking on me then should make you woe.

  O! if,--I say you look upon this verse,

  When I perhaps compounded am with clay,

  Do not so much as my poor name rehearse;

  But let your love even with my life decay;

    Lest the wise world should look into your moan,

    And mock you with me after I am gone.

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Reminds me of at least a dozen later (and lesser) poems in at least four languages, and I’m wondering which (if any) of those poems were consciously inspired by this one  J  The volta’s the lest at the beginning with the closing couplet, explaining the striking sequence of imperatives in the first twelve lines.