The Poems of John Donne, Volume 1 (of 2) / Edited from the Old Editions and Numerous Manuscripts

TELL her if she to hired servants shew

Dislike, before they take their leave they goe;

When nobler spirits start at no disgrace,

For who hath but one minde, hath but one face:

  5If then why I tooke not my leave she aske,

Aske her againe why she did not unmaske?

Was she or proud or cruell, or knew shee

'Twould make my losse more felt, and pittyed me?

Or did she feare one kisse might stay for moe?

10Or else was she unwilling I should goe?

I thinke the best, and love so faithfully

I cannot chuse but thinke that she loves mee.

If this prove not my faith, then let her trie

How in her service I would fructifie.

15Ladies have boldly lov'd; bid her renew

That decay'd worth, and prove the times past true.

Then he whose wit and verse goes now so lame,

With songs to her will the wild Irish tame.

Howe'r, I'll weare the black and white ribband,

20White for her fortunes, blacke for mine shall stand.

I doe esteeme her favours, not their stuffe;

If what I have was given, I have enough:

And all's well; for had she lov'd, I had had

All my friends hate; for now, departing sad

25I feele not that; Yet as the Rack the Gout

Cures, so hath this worse griefe that quite put out:

My first disease nought but that worse cureth,

Which (which I dare foresee) nought cures but death.

Tell her all this before I am forgot,

30That not too late shee grieve shee lov'd me not.

Burden'd with this, I was to depart lesse

Willing, then those which die, and not confesse.

THAT unripe side of earth, that heavy clime

That gives us man up now, like Adams time

Before he ate; mans shape, that would yet bee

(Knew they not it, and fear'd beasts companie)

  5So naked at this day, as though man there

From Paradise so great a distance were,

As yet the newes could not arrived bee

Of Adams tasting the forbidden tree;

Depriv'd of that free state which they were in,

10And wanting the reward, yet beare the sinne.

But, as from extreme hights who downward looks,

Sees men at childrens shapes, Rivers at brookes,

And loseth younger formes; so, to your eye,

These (Madame) that without your distance lie,

15Must either mist, or nothing seeme to be,

Who are at home but wits mere Atomi.

But, I who can behold them move, and stay,

Have found my selfe to you, just their midway;

And now must pitty them; for, as they doe

20Seeme sick to me, just so must I to you.

Yet neither will I vexe your eyes to see

A sighing Ode, nor crosse-arm'd Elegie.

I come not to call pitty from your heart,

Like some white-liver'd dotard that would part

25Else from his slipperie soule with a faint groane,

And faithfully, (without you smil'd) were gone.

I cannot feele the tempest of a frowne,

I may be rais'd by love, but not throwne down.

Though I can pittie those sigh twice a day,

30I hate that thing whispers it selfe away.

Yet since all love is fever, who to trees

Doth talke, doth yet in loves cold ague freeze.

'Tis love, but, with such fatall weaknesse made,

That it deftroyes it selfe with its owne shade.

35Who first look'd sad, griev'd, pin'd, and shew'd his paine,

Was he that first taught women, to disdaine.

As all things were one nothing, dull and weake,

Vntill this raw disordered heape did breake,

And severall desires led parts away,

40Water declin'd with earth, the ayre did stay,

Fire rose, and each from other but unty'd,

Themselves unprison'd were and purify'd:

So was love, first in vast confusion hid,

An unripe willingnesse which nothing did,

45A thirst, an Appetite which had no ease,

That found a want, but knew not what would please.

What pretty innocence in those dayes mov'd?

Man ignorantly walk'd by her he lov'd;

Both sigh'd and enterchang'd a speaking eye,

50Both trembled and were sick, both knew not why.

That naturall fearefulnesse that struck man dumbe,

Might well (those times consider'd) man become.

As all discoverers whose first assay

Findes but the place, after, the nearest way:

55So passion is to womans love, about,

Nay, farther off, than when we first set out.

It is not love that sueth, or doth contend;

Love either conquers, or but meets a friend.

Man's better part consists of purer fire,

60And findes it selfe allow'd, ere it desire.

Love is wise here, keepes home, gives reason sway,

And journeys not till it finde summer-way.

A weather-beaten Lover but once knowne,

Is sport for every girle to practise on.

65Who strives through womans scornes, women to know,

Is lost, and seekes his shadow to outgoe;

It must bee sicknesse, after one disdaine,

Though he be call'd aloud, to looke againe.

Let others sigh, and grieve; one cunning sleight

70Shall freeze my Love to Christall in a night.

I can love first, and (if I winne) love still;

And cannot be remov'd, unlesse she will.

It is her fault if I unsure remaine,

Shee onely can untie, and binde againe.

75The honesties of love with ease I doe,

But am no porter for a tedious woo.

But (madame) I now thinke on you; and here

Where we are at our hights, you but appeare,

We are but clouds you rise from, our noone-ray

80But a foule shadow, not your breake of day.

You are at first hand all that's faire and right,

And others good reflects but backe your light.

You are a perfectnesse, so curious hit,

That youngest flatteries doe scandall it.

85For, what is more doth what you are restraine,

And though beyond, is downe the hill againe.

We'have no next way to you, we crosse to it:

You are the straight line, thing prais'd, attribute;

Each good in you's a light; so many a shade

90You make, and in them are your motions made.

These are your pictures to the life. From farre

We see you move, and here your Zani's are:

So that no fountaine good there is, doth grow

In you, but our dimme actions faintly shew.

95Then finde I, if mans noblest part be love,

Your purest luster must that shadow move.

The soule with body, is a heaven combin'd

With earth, and for mans ease, but nearer joyn'd.

Where thoughts the starres of soule we understand,

100We guesse not their large natures, but command.

And love in you, that bountie is of light,

That gives to all, and yet hath infinite.

Whose heat doth force us thither to intend,

But soule we finde too earthly to ascend,

105'Till slow accesse hath made it wholy pure,

Able immortall clearnesse to endure.

Who dare aspire this journey with a staine,

Hath waight will force him headlong backe againe.

No more can impure man retaine and move

110In that pure region of a worthy love:

Then earthly substance can unforc'd aspire,

And leave his nature to converse with fire:

Such may have eye, and hand; may sigh, may speak;

But like swoln bubles, when they are high'st they break.

115Though far removed Northerne fleets scarce finde

The Sunnes comfort; others thinke him too kinde.

There is an equall distance from her eye,

Men perish too farre off, and burne too nigh.

But as ayre takes the Sunne-beames equall bright

120From the first Rayes, to his last opposite:

So able men, blest with a vertuous Love,

Remote or neare, or howsoe'r they move;

Their vertue breakes all clouds that might annoy,

There is no Emptinesse, but all is Ioy.

125He much profanes whom violent heats do move

To stile his wandring rage of passion, Love:

Love that imparts in every thing delight,

Is fain'd, which only tempts mans appetite.

Why love among the vertues is not knowne

130Is, that love is them all contract in one.

D EATH be not proud, thy hand gave not this blow,

 Sinne was her captive, whence thy power doth flow;

The executioner of wrath thou art,

But to destroy the just is not thy part.

  5Thy comming, terrour, anguish, griefe denounce;

Her happy state, courage, ease, joy pronounce.

From out the Christall palace of her breast,

The clearer soule was call'd to endlesse rest,

(Not by the thundering voyce, wherewith God threats,

10But, as with crowned Saints in heaven he treats,)

And, waited on by Angels, home was brought,

To joy that it through many dangers sought;

The key of mercy gently did unlocke

The doores 'twixt heaven and it, when life did knock.

15Nor boast, the fairest frame was made thy prey,

Because to mortall eyes it did decay;

A better witnesse than thou art, assures,

That though dissolv'd, it yet a space endures;

No dramme thereof shall want or losse sustaine,

20When her best soule inhabits it again.

Goe then to people curst before they were,

Their spoyles in Triumph of thy conquest weare.

Glory not thou thy selfe in these hot teares

Which our face, not for hers, but our harme weares,

25The mourning livery given by Grace, not thee,

Which wils our soules in these streams washt should be,

And on our hearts, her memories best tombe,

In this her Epitaph doth write thy doome.

Blinde were those eyes, saw not how bright did shine

30Through fleshes misty vaile the beames divine.

Deafe were the eares, not charm'd with that sweet sound

Which did i'th spirit-instructed voice abound.

Of flint the conscience, did not yeeld and melt,

At what in her last Act: it saw, heard, felt.

35Weep not, nor grudge then, to have lost her sight,

Taught thus, our after stay's but a short night:

But by all soules not by corruption choaked

Let in high rais'd notes that power be invoked.

Calme the rough seas, by which she sayles to rest,

40From sorrowes here, to a kingdome ever blest;

And teach this hymne of her with joy, and sing,

The grave no conquest gets, Death hath no sting.

BY Euphrates flowry side

We did bide,

From deare Juda farre absented,

Tearing the aire with our cryes,

  5And our eyes,

With their streames his streame augmented.

When, poore Syons dolefull state,

Desolate;

Sacked, burned, and inthrall'd,

10And the Temple spoil'd, which wee

Ne'r should see,

To our mirthlesse mindes wee call'd:

Our mute harpes, untun'd, unstrung,

Up wee hung

15On greene willowes neere beside us,

Where, we sitting all forlorne;

Thus, in scorne,

Our proud spoylers 'gan deride us.

Come, sad Captives, leave your moanes,

20And your groanes

Under Syons ruines bury;

Tune your harps, and sing us layes

In the praise

Of your God, and let's be merry.

25Can, ah, can we leave our moanes?

And our groanes

Under Syons ruines bury?

Can we in this Land sing Layes

In the praise

30Of our God, and here be merry?

No; deare Syon, if I yet

Do forget

Thine affliction miserable,

Let my nimble joynts become

35Stiffe and numme,

To touch warbling harpe unable.

Let my tongue lose singing skill,

Let it still

To my parched roofe be glewed,

40If in either harpe or voice

I rejoyce,

Till thy joyes shall be renewed.

Lord, curse Edom's traiterous kinde,

Beare in minde

45In our ruines how they revell'd.

Sack, kill, burne, they cry'd out still,

Sack, burne, kill,

Downe with all, let all be levell'd.

And, thou Babel, when the tide

50Of thy pride

Now a flowing, growes to turning;

Victor now, shall then be thrall,

And shall fall

To as low an ebbe of mourning.

55Happy he who shall thee waste,

As thou hast

Us, without all mercy, wasted,

And shall make thee taste and see

What poore wee

60By thy meanes have seene and tasted.

Happy, who, thy tender barnes

From the armes

Of their wailing mothers tearing,

'Gainst the walls shall dash their bones,

65Ruthlesse stones

With their braines and blood besmearing.

I N that, ô Queene of Queenes, thy birth was free

 From that which others doth of grace bereave,

When in their mothers wombe they life receive,

God, as his sole-borne daughter loved thee.

  5To match thee like thy births nobilitie,

He thee his Spirit for thy spouse did leave,

By whom thou didst his onely sonne conceive,

And so wast link'd to all the Trinitie.

Cease then, ô Queenes, that earthly Crownes doe weare,

10To glory in the Pompe of earthly things;

If men such high respects unto you beare,

Which daughters, wives, and mothers are to Kings,

What honour can unto that Queene be done

Who had your God for Father, Spouse and Sonne?

A BSENCE heare my protestation

Against thy strengthe

Distance and lengthe,

Doe what thou canst for alteration:

  5For harts of truest mettall

Absence doth joyne, and time doth settle.

Who loves a Mistris of right quality,

His mind hath founde

Affections grounde

10Beyond time, place, and all mortality:

To harts that cannot vary

Absence is present, time doth tary:

My Sences want their outward motion

Which now within

15Reason doth win,

Redoubled by her secret notion:

Like rich men that take pleasure

In hidinge more then handling treasure.

By absence this good means I gaine

20That I can catch her

Where none can watch her

In some close corner of my braine:

There I embrace and there kiss her,

And so enjoye her, and so misse her.

SOULES joy, now I am gone,

And you alone,

(Which cannot be,

Since I must leave my selfe with thee,

  5And carry thee with me)

Yet when unto our eyes

Absence denyes

Each others sight,

And makes to us a constant night,

10When others change to light;

O give no way to griefe,

But let beliefe

Of mutuall love,

This wonder to the vulgar prove

15Our Bodyes, not wee move.

Let not thy wit beweepe

Wounds but sense-deepe,

For when we misse

By distance our lipp-joying blisse,

20Even then our soules shall kisse,

Fooles have no meanes to meet,

But by their feet.

Why should our clay,

Over our spirits so much sway,

25To tie us to that way?

O give no way to griefe, &c.

I F her disdaine least change in you can move,

you doe not love,

For whilst your hopes give fuell to the fire,

you sell desire.

  5Love is not love, but given free,

And so is mine, so should yours bee.

Her heart that melts at others moane,

to mine is stone.

Her eyes that weepe a strangers hurt to see,

10 joy to wound mee:

Yet I so much affect each part,

As (caus'd by them) I love my smart.

Say her disdaynings justly must be grac't

with name of chaste.

15And that shee frownes least longing should exceed,

and raging breed;

Soe can her rigor ne'er offend

Unlesse selfe-love seeke private end.

'Tis love breeds love in mee, and cold disdaine

20 kils that againe,

As water causeth fire to fret and fume,

till all consume.

Who can of love more free gift make,

Then to loves self, for loves own sake.

25I'll never dig in Quarry of an heart

to have no part,

Nor roast in fiery eyes, which alwayes are

Canicular.

Who this way would a Lover prove,

30May shew his patience, not his love.

A frowne may be sometimes for physick good,

But not for food;

And for that raging humour there is sure

A gentler Cure.

35Why barre you love of private end,

Which never should to publique tend?

And each for others faith and zeale stand bound:

As safe as spirits are from any wound,

15Soe free from impure thoughts they shal be found.

Admit our magique then by which wee doe

Make you appeere to us, and us to you,

Supplying all the Muses in you twoe.

Wee doe consider noe flower that is sweet,

20But wee your breath in that exhaling meet,

And as true types of you, them humbly greet.

Heere in our Nightingales we heere you singe

Who soe doe make the whole yeare through a springe,

And save us from the feare of Autumns stinge.

25In Anchors calme face wee your smoothnes see,

Your mindes unmingled, and as cleare as shee

That keepes untoucht her first virginitie.

Did all St. Edith nunns descend againe

To honor Polesworth with their cloystred traine,

30Compar'd with you each would confesse some stayne.

Or should wee more bleed out our thoughts in inke,

Noe paper (though it woulde be glad to drinke

Those drops) could comprehend what wee doe thinke.

For t'were in us ambition to write

35Soe, that because wee two, you two unite,

Our letter should as you, bee infinite.

O   FRUTEFULL garden, and yet never tilde,

  Box full of Treasure yet by noe man filde.

O thou which haste, made him that first made thee;

O neare of kinne to all the Trinetie;

  5O Pallace where the kinge of all, and more;

Went in, and out, yet never opened doore;

Whose flesh is purer, than an others sperrit

Reache him our Prayers, and reach us down his merrit;

O bread of lyfe which sweld'ste up without Leaven;

10O bridge which joynst togeather earth and heaven;

Whose eyes see me through these walles, and throughe glasse,

And through this fleshe as thorowe Cipres passe.

Behould a little harte made greate by thee

Swellinge, yet shrinkinge at thy majestie.

15O dwell in it, for where soe ere thou go'ste

There is the Temple of the Holy Ghoste.

FYE, Fye you sonnes of Pallas what madd rage

Makes you contend that Love's, or God, or page?

Hee that admires, his weaknes doth confess;

For as Love greater growes; soe hee growes less.

  5Hee that disdaines, what honor wynns thereby,

That he feeles not, or triumphes on a fly?

If love with queasie paine thy stomack move,

Soe will a slutt whome none dare touch; or love.

If it with sacred straines doe thee inspire

10Of Poetrie; soe wee maye want admire.

If it thee valiant make, his ryvall hate

Can out doe that and make men desperate.

Yealdinge to us, all woemen conquer us,

By gentlenes we are betrayed thus.

15We will not strive with Love that's a shee beaste;

But playinge wee are bounde, and yeald in Jest;

As in a Cobwebb toyle, a flye hath beene

Undone; so have I some fainte lover seene.

Love cannot take away our strength, but tame,

20And wee less feele the thinge then feare the name;

Love is a temperate bath; hee that feeles more

Heate or could there, was hott, or could before.

But as Suñ beames which would but norishe, burne,

Drawne into hollow Christall, soe we turne

25To fire her bewties Lustre willingly,

By gatheringe it in our false treacherous eye.

Love is nor you, nor you; but I a balme,

Sword to the stiff, unto the wounded balme.

Prayes noe thinge adds, if it be infinite,

30If it be nothing, who can lessen it?