I feel myself endangered beyond reason
My death already 'twixt the cup and lip,
Because my proud desire through cursèd treason
Would make my hopes mount heaven, which cannot skip;
My fancy still requireth at my hands
Such things as are not, cannot, may not be,
And my desire, although my power withstands
Will give me wings, who never yet could flee.
What then remains except my maimèd soul
Extort compassion from love-flying age,
Or if naught else their fury may control,
To call on death that quells affection's rage;
Which death shall dwell with me and never fly,
Since vain desire seeks that hope doth deny.