Sonnet XXI. Come Death! the anchor hold of all my thoughts

Samuel Daniel (1562–1619)

COME DEATH! the anchor hold of all my thoughts,

My last resort whereto my soul appealeth:

For all too long on earth my Fancy dotes,

While dearest blood my fiery passions sealeth.

That heart is now the prospective of horror

That honoured hath the cruel’st Fair that liveth;

The crudest Fair that knows I languish for her,

And never mercy to my merit giveth;

This is the laurel and her triumph’s prize,

To tread me down with foot of her disgrace;

Whilst I did build my fortune in her eyes,

And laid my soul’s rest on so fair a face.

That rest I lost; my love, my life and all:

Thus high attempts to low disgrace do fall.