To Everlasting Oblivion
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.