Sonnet XLVIII: The Dungeon

As to the centre all things that have weight
Sink from the surface: as the silly mouse
Runs at a venture, rash though timorous,
Into the monster's jaws to meet her fate:
Thus all who love high Science, from the strait
Dead sea of Sophistry sailing like us
Into Truth's ocean, bold and amorous,
Must in our haven anchor soon or late.
One calls this haunt a Cave of Polypheme,
And one Atlante's Palace, one of Crete
The Labyrinth, and one Hell's lowest pit.
Knowledge, grace, mercy, are an idle dream
In this dread place. Nought but fear dwells in it,
Of stealthy Tyranny the sacred seat.