Death, Be Not Proud (Holy Sonnet 10)

1Death, be not proud, though some have callèd 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 yet thy pictures be,

6Much pleasure, then from thee much more, must low

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.