Holy Sonnet 10 (Death, Be Not Proud)

¹Death, be not proud, though some have called thee

²Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;

³For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow

⁴Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

⁵From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,

⁶Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,

⁷And soonest our best men with thee do go,

⁸Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.

⁹Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,

¹⁰And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,

¹¹And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well

¹²And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?

¹³One short sleep past, we wake eternally

¹⁴And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.