Thou mighty gulf, insatiate cormorant
Deride me not, thought I seem petulant
To fall into thy chops. Let others pray
For ever their fair poems flourish may.
Far worthier lines in silence of thy state
Do sleep securely free from love or hate,
From which this living never can be exempt
But whilst it breathes
will hate and fury tempt
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 vail both me and my poesy
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