Sonnet XXI. Yea, but uncertain hopes are Anchors feeble

Barnabe Barnes (1569?–1609)

YEA, but uncertain hopes are Anchors feeble,

When such faint-hearted pilots guide my ships,

Of all my fortune’s Ballast with hard pebble,

Whose doubtful voyage proves not worth two chips.

If when but one dark cloud shall dim the sky,

The Cables of hope’s happiness be cut;

When bark, with thoughts-drowned mariners shall lie,

Prest for the whirlpool of grief’s endless glut.

If well thou mean, PARTHENOPHE! then ravish

Mine heart, with doubtless hope of mutual love!

If otherwise; then let thy tongue run lavish!

For this, or that, am I resolved to prove!

And both, or either ecstasy shall move

Me! ravished, end with surfeit of relief;

Or senseless, daunted, die with sudden grief.