by John Donne
That keeps him up.’ I would thou wert thine own,
Or hadst as good a friend as thou art one.
No present want, nor future hope made me
Desire, as once I did, thy friend to be;
But he had cruelly possess’d thee then, 75
And as our neighbours, the Low-Country men,
Being — whilst they were loyal, with tyranny
Oppress’d — broke loose, have since refused to be
Subject to good kings, I found even so,
Wert thou well rid of him, thou’dst have no moe. 80
Couldst thou but choose, as well as love, to none
Thou shouldst be second. Turtle and Damon
Should give thee place in songs, and lovers sick
Should make thee only love’s hieroglyphic.
Thy impress should be the loving elm and vine, 85
Where now an ancient oak with ivy twine.
Destroy’d thy symbol is! O dire mischance!
And O vile verse! And yet our Abraham Fraunce
Writes thus, and jests not. Good Fidus for this
Must pardon me; satires bite when they kiss. 90
But as for Natta, we have since fallen out;
Here on his knees he pray’d; else we had fought.
And because God would not he should be winner,
Nor yet would have the death of such a sinner,
At his seeking our quarrel is deferr’d. 95
I’ll leave him at his prayers, and, as I heard,
His last; and, Fidus, you and I do know
I was his friend, and durst have been his foe,
And would be either yet; but he dares be
Neither yet; sleep blots him out and takes in thee. 100
The mind, you know, is like a table-book;
The old unwiped, new writing never took.
Hear how the ushers’ checks, cupboard and fire,
I pass’d — by which degrees young men aspire
In court. And how that idle and she state 105
— When as my judgment cleared — my soul did hate;
How I found there — if that my trifling pen
Durst take so hard a task — kings were but men,
And by their place more noted, if they err;
How they and their lords unworthy men prefer; 110
And, as unthrifts, had rather give away
Great sums to flatterers, than small debts pay.
So they their greatness hide, and greatness show,
By giving them that which to worth they owe.
What treason is, and what did Essex kill, 115
Not true treason, but treason handled ill;
And which of them stood for their country’s good,
Or what might be the cause of so much blood;
He said she stunk; and men might not have said
That she was old before that she was dead. 120
His case was hard to do or suffer; loth
To do, he made it harder, and did both.
Too much preparing lost them all their lives;
Like some in plagues kill with preservatives.
Friends, like land soldiers in a storm at sea, 125
Not knowing what to do, for him did pray.
They told it all the world, where was their wit?
Cuffe’s putting on a sword might have told it.
And princes must fear favourites more than foes,
For still beyond revenge ambition goes. 130
How since her death with sumpter-horse that Scot
Hath rid, who, at his coming up, had not
A sumpter-dog. But till that I can write
Things worth thy tenth reading (dear Nick), good-night.
UPON MR. THOMAS CORYATS CRUDITIES
OH, to what height will love of greatness drive
Thy learned spirit, sesqui-superlative?
Venice’ vast lake thou’st seen, and wouldst seek then
Some vaster thing, and found’st a courtesan.
That inland sea having discover’d well, 5
A cellar-gulf, where one might sail to hell
From Heidelberg, thou longed’st to see; and thou
This book, greater than all, producest now.
Infinite work! which doth so far extend,
That none can study it to any end. 10
‘Tis no one thing; it is not fruit nor root,
Nor poorly limited with head or foot.
If man be therefore man, because he can
Reason and laugh, thy book doth half make man.
One-half being made, thy modesty was such, 15
That thou on th’ other half wouldst never touch.
When wilt thou be at full, great lunatic?
Not till thou exceed the world? canst thou be like
A prosperous nose-born wen, which sometimes grows
To be far greater than the mother-nose? 20
Go then, and as to thee, when thou didst go,
Münster did towns, and Gesner authors show,
Mount now to Gallo-Belgicus; appear
As deep a statesman, as a gazetteer. 1
Homely and familiarly, when thou comest back, 25
Talk of Will Conqueror, and Prester Jack.
Go, bashful man, lest here thou blush to look
Upon the progress of thy glorious book,
To which both Indies sacrifices send.
The West sent gold, which thou didst freely spend, 30
Meaning to see ‘t no more, upon the press.
The East sends hither her deliciousness,
And thy leaves must embrace what comes from thence, 2
The myrrh, the pepper, and the frankincense.
This magnifies thy leaves; but if they stoop 35
To neighbour wares, when merchants do unhoop
Voluminous barrels; if thy leaves do then
Convey these wares in parcels unto men;
If for vast tons 3 of currants and of figs,
Of medicinal and aromatic twigs, 40
Thy leaves a better method do provide,
Divide to pounds, and ounces subdivide;
If they stoop lower yet, and vent our wares,
Home-manufactures, to thick popular fairs;
If omni-pregnant there upon warm stalls 45
They hatch all wares for which the buyer calls;
Then thus thy leaves we justly may commend,
That they all kind of matter comprehend.
Thus thou, by means which th’ ancients never took,
A Pandect makest, and universal book. 50
The bravest heroës, for public good,
Scattered in divers lands their limbs and blood;
Worst malefactors, to whom men are prize,
Do public good, cut in anatomies;
So will thy book in pieces for a lord, 55
Which casts at Portescue’s, and all the board
Provide whole books; each leaf enough will be
For friends to pass time, and keep company.
Can all carouse up thee? no, thou must fit
Measures and fill out for the half-pint wit. 60
Some shall wrap pills, and save a friend’s life so;
Some shall stop muskets, and so kill a foe.
Thou shalt not ease the critics of next age
So much, as once their hunger to assuage;
Nor shall wit-pirates hope to find thee lie 65
All in one bottom, in one library.
Some leaves may paste strings there in other books,
And so one may, which on another looks,
Pilfer, alas, a little wit from you;
But hardly much; and yet I think this true; 70
As Sibyl’s was, your book is mystical,
For every piece is as much worth as all.
Therefore mine impotency I confess;
The healths, which my brain bears, must be far less;
Thy giant wit o’erthrows me; I am gone; 75
And rather than read al
l, I would read none.
IN EUNDEM MACARONICUM
QUOT, dos haec, Linguists perfetti, Disticha fairont,
Tot cuerdos Statesmen, hic livre fara tuus
Es sat a my l’honneur estre hic inteso; car I leave
L’honra, de personne n’estre creduto, tibi.
EXPLICIT JOANNES DONES.
MARRIAGE SONGS
CONTENTS
EPITHALAMION ON THE LADY ELIZABETH AND COUNT PALATINE BEING MARRIED ON ST. VALENTINE’S DAY.
ECLOGUE AT THE MARRIAGE OF THE EARL OF SOMERSET.
EPITHALAMION MADE AT LINCOLN’S INN.
EPITHALAMION ON THE LADY ELIZABETH AND COUNT PALATINE BEING MARRIED ON ST. VALENTINE’S DAY.
I
HAIL Bishop Valentine, whose day this is;
All the air is thy diocese,
And all the chirping choristers
And other birds are thy parishioners;
Thou marriest every year
The lyric lark, and the grave whispering dove,
The sparrow that neglects his life for love,
The household bird with the red stomacher;
Thou makest the blackbird speed as soon,
As doth the goldfinch, or the halcyon;
The husband cock looks out, and straight is sped,
And meets his wife, which brings her feather-bed.
This day more cheerfully than ever shine;
This day, which might enflame thyself, old Valentine.
II.
Till now, thou warmd’st with multiplying loves
Two larks, two sparrows, or two doves;
All that is nothing unto this;
For thou this day couplest two phoenixes;
Thou makst a taper see
What the sun never saw, and what the ark
— Which was of fouls and beasts the cage and park —
Did not contain, one bed contains, through thee;
Two phoenixes, whose joined breasts
Are unto one another mutual nests,
Where motion kindles such fires as shall give
Young phoenixes, and yet the old shall live;
Whose love and courage never shall decline,
But make the whole year through, thy day, O Valentine.
III.
Up then, fair phoenix bride, frustrate the sun;
Thyself from thine affection
Takest warmth enough, and from thine eye
All lesser birds will take their jollity.
Up, up, fair bride, and call
Thy stars from out their several boxes, take
Thy rubies, pearls, and diamonds forth, and make
Thyself a constellation of them all;
And by their blazing signify
That a great princess falls, but doth not die.
Be thou a new star, that to us portends
Ends of much wonder; and be thou those ends.
Since thou dost this day in new glory shine,
May all men date records from this day, Valentine.
IV.
Come forth, come forth, and as one glorious flame
Meeting another grows the same,
So meet thy Frederick, and so
To an inseparable union go,
Since separation
Falls not on such things as are infinite,
Nor things, which are but one, can disunite.
You’re twice inseparable, great, and one;
Go then to where the bishop stays,
To make you one, his way, which divers ways
Must be effected; and when all is past,
And that you’re one, by hearts and hands made fast,
You two have one way left, yourselves to entwine,
Besides this bishop’s knot, of Bishop Valentine.
V.
But O, what ails the sun, that here he stays,
Longer to-day than other days?
Stays he new light from these to get?
And finding here such stars, is loth to set?
And why do you two walk,
So slowly paced in this procession?
Is all your care but to be look’d upon,
And be to others spectacle, and talk?
The feast with gluttonous delays
Is eaten, and too long their meat they praise;
The masquers come late, and I think, will stay,
Like fairies, till the cock crow them away.
Alas! did not antiquity assign
A night as well as day, to thee, old Valentine?
VI.
They did, and night is come; and yet we see
Formalities retarding thee.
What mean these ladies, which — as though
They were to take a clock in pieces — go
So nicely about the bride?
A bride, before a “ Good-night” could be said,
Should vanish from her clothes into her bed,
As souls from bodies steal, and are not spied.
But now she’s laid; what though she be?
Yet there are more delays, for where is he?
He comes and passeth through sphere after sphere;
First her sheets, then her arms, then anywhere.
Let not this day, then, but this night be thine;
Thy day was but the eve to this, O Valentine.
VII.
Here lies a she sun, and a he moon there;
She gives the best light to his sphere;
Or each is both, and all, and so
They unto one another nothing owe;
And yet they do, but are
So just and rich in that coin which they pay,
That neither would, nor needs forbear, nor stay;
Neither desires to be spared nor to spare.
They quickly pay their debt, and then
Take no acquittances, but pay again;
They pay, they give, they lend, and so let fall
No such occasion to be liberal.
More truth, more courage in these two do shine,
Than all thy turtles have and sparrows, Valentine.
VIII.
And by this act these two phoenixes
Nature again restorèd is;
For since these two are two no more,
There’s but one phoenix still, as was before.
Rest now at last, and we —
As satyrs watch the sun’s uprise — will stay
Waiting when your eyes opened let out day,
Only desired because your face we see.
Others near you shall whispering speak,
And wagers lay, at which side day will break,
And win by observing, then, whose hand it is
That opens first a curtain, hers or his:
This will be tried to-morrow after nine,
Till which hour, we thy day enlarge, O Valentine.
ECLOGUE AT THE MARRIAGE OF THE EARL OF SOMERSET.
1613, DECEMBER 26.
ALLOPHANES FINDING IDIOS IN THE COUNTRY IN CHRISTMAS TIME, REPREHENDS HIS ABSENCE FROM COURT, AT THE MARRIAGE OF THE EARL OF SOMERSET; IDIOS GIVES AN ACCOUNT OF HIS PURPOSE THEREIN, AND OF HIS ACTIONS THERE.
ALLOPHANES.
UNSEASONABLE man, statue of ice,
What could to countries solitude entice
Thee, in this year’s cold and decrepit time?
Nature’s instinct draws to the warmer clime
Even smaller birds, who by that courage dare
In numerous fleets sail through their sea, the air.
What delicacy can in fields appear,
Whilst Flora herself doth a frieze jerkin wear?
Whilst winds do all the trees and hedges strip
Of leaves, to furnish rods enough to whip
Thy madness from thee, and all springs by frost
Have taken cold, and their sweet murmurs lost?
If thou thy faults or fortunes wouldst lament
With just solemnity, do it in Lent.
At court the spring already
advanced is,
The sun stays longer up; and yet not his
The glory is; far other, other fires.
First, zeal to prince and state, then love’s desires
Burn in one breast, and like heaven’s two great lights,
The first doth govern days, the other, nights.
And then that early light which did appear
Before the sun and moon created were,
The princes favour is diffused o’er all,
From which all fortunes, names, and natures fall.
Then from those wombs of stars, the bride’s bright eyes,
At every glance, a constellation flies,
And sows the court with stars, and doth prevent
In light and power, the all-eyed firmament.
First her eyes kindle other ladies’ eyes,
Then from their beams their jewels’ lustres rise,
And from their jewels torches do take fire,
And all is warmth, and light, and good desire.
Most other courts, alas! are like to hell,
Where in dark places, fire without light doth dwell;
Or but like stoves; for lust and envy get
Continual, but artificial heat.
Here zeal and love grown one all clouds digest,
And make our court an everlasting east.
And canst thou be from thence?
IDIOS. No, I am there;
As heaven — to men disposed — is everywhere,
So are those courts, whose princes animate
Not only all their house but all their state.
Let no man think, because he’s full, he hath all.
Kings — as their pattern, God — are liberal
Not only in fullness, but capacity,
Enlarging narrow men to feel and see,
And comprehend the blessings they bestow.
So, reclused hermits oftentimes do know
More of heaven’s glory than a worldling can.
As man is of the world, the heart of man
Is an epitome of God’s great book
Of creatures, and man need no farther look;
So is the country of courts, where sweet peace doth,
As their one common soul, give life to both;
And am I then from court?
ALLOPHANES. Dreamer, thou art:
Think’st thou, fantastic, that thou hast a part
In the Indian fleet, because thou hast
A little spice or amber in thy taste?
Because thou art not frozen, art thou warm?
Seest thou all good, because thou seest no harm?
The earth doth in her inner bowels hold
Stuff well-disposed, and which would fain be gold;
But never shall, except it chance to lie
So upward, that heaven gild it with his eye.