John Marston

Thou mighty gulf, insatiate cormorant!	
Deride me not, though I seem petulant	
To fall into thy chops. Let others pray	
For ever their fair poems flourish may,	
But as for me, hungry Oblivion	         
Devour me quick. Accept my orison,	
     My earnest prayers, which do importune thee	
     With gloomy shade of thy still empery	
     To veil both me and my rude poesy.
	
Far worthier lines, in silence of thy state,	         
Do sleep securely, free from love or hate;	
From which this living ne’er can be exempt,	
But whilst it breathes, will hate and fury tempt.	
Then close his eyes with thy all-dimming hand,	
Which not right-glorious actions can withstand;	         
Peace, hateful tongues; I now in silence pace,	
Unless some hound do wake me from my place.	
     I with this sharp, yet well-meant poesy	
     Will sleep secure, right free from injury	
     Of cankered hate, or rankest villainy.     


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