John Donne Page 8

For ill is ill, and good, good still,

  But these are things indifferent

  Which we may neither hate, nor love,

  But one, and then another prove,

  As we shall find our fancy bent.

  If then at first wise nature had

  Made women either good or bad,

  Then some we might hate, and some choose,

  [10] But since she did them so create

  That we may neither love nor hate,

  Only this rests, all, all may use.

  If they were good it would be seen,

  Good is as visible as green,

  And to all eyes itself betrays;

  If they were bad, they could not last,

  Bad doth itself and others waste,

  So they deserve nor blame, nor praise.

  But they are ours as fruits are ours,

  [20] He that but tastes, he that devours,

  And he that leaves all, doth as well;

  Changed loves are but changed sorts of meat,

  And when he hath the kernel eat,

  Who doth not fling away the shell?

  Love’s Growth

  I scarce believe my love to be so pure

  As I had thought it was,

  Because it doth endure

  Vicissitude, and season, as the grass;

  Methinks I lied all winter, when I swore

  My love was infinite, if spring make’it more.

  But if this medicine, love, which cures all sorrow

  With more, not only be no quintessence,

  But mixed of all stuffs paining soul or sense,

  [10] And of the sun his working vigour borrow,

  Love’s not so pure and abstract as they use

  To say which have no mistress but their muse,

  But as all else, being elemented too,

  Love sometimes would contemplate, sometimes do.

  And yet no greater but more eminent,

  Love by the spring is grown;

  As in the firmament,

  Stars by the sun are not enlarged, but shown,

  Gentle love deeds, as blossoms on a bough,

  [20] From love’s awakened root do bud out now.

  If, as in water stirred more circles be

  Produced by one, love such additions take,

  Those, like so many spheres, but one heaven make,

  For they are all concentric unto thee;

  And though each spring do add to love new heat,

  As princes do in times of action get

  New taxes, and remit them not in peace,

  No winter shall abate the spring’s increase.

  Love’s Exchange

  Love, any devil else but you,

  Would for a given soul give something too.

  At court your fellows every day,

  Give th’art of rhyming, huntsmanship, and play,

  For them who were their own before;

  Only’I have nothing which gave more,

  But am, alas, by being lowly, lower.

  I ask no dispensation now

  To falsify a tear, or sigh, or vow,

  [10] I do not sue from thee to draw

  A non obstante on nature’s law,

  These are prerogatives, they inhere

  In thee and thine; none should forswear

  Except that he Love’s minion were.

  Give me thy weakness, make me blind,

  Both ways, as thou and thine, in eyes and mind;

  Love, let me never know that this

  Is love, or that love childish is.

  Let me not know that others know

  [20] That she knows my pain, least that so

  A tender shame make me mine own new woe.

  If thou give nothing, yet thou’art just,

  Because I would not thy first motions trust;

  Small towns which stand stiff, till great shot

  Enforce them, by war’s law condition not.

  Such in love’s warfare is my case:

  I may not article for grace,

  Having put Love at last to show this face.

  This face, by which he could command

  [30] And change the’idolatry of any land,

  This face, which wheresoe’er it comes,

  Can call vowed men from cloisters, dead from tombs,

  And melt both poles at once, and store

  Deserts with cities, and make more

  Mines in the earth, than quarries were before.

  For this, Love is enraged with me,

  Yet kills not; if I must example be

  To future rebels; if th’unborn

  Must learn, by my being cut up, and torn:

  [40] Kill, and dissect me, Love; for this

  Torture against thine own end is,

  Racked carcasses make ill anatomies.

  Confined Love

  Some man unworthy to’be possessor

  Of old or new love, himself being false or weak,

  Thought his pain and shame would be lesser,

  If on womankind he might his anger wreak,

  And thence a law did grow,

  One might but one man know,

  But are other creatures so?

  Are sun, moon, or stars by law forbidden,

  To’smile where they list, or lend away their light?

  [10] Are birds divorced, or are they chidden

  If they leave their mate, or lie abroad a night?

  Beasts do no jointures lose

  Though they new lovers choose,

  But we are made worse than those.

  Whoe’er rigged fair ship to lie in harbours,

  And not to seek new lands, or not to deal withal?

  Or built fair houses, set trees, and arbours,

  Only to’lock up, or else to let them fall?

  Good is not good unless

  [20] A thousand it possess,

  But doth waste with greediness.

  The Dream

  Dear love, for nothing less than thee

  Would I have broke this happy dream;

  It was a theme

  For reason, much too strong for fantasy,

  Therefore thou wak’dst me wisely; yet

  My dream thou brok’st not, but continued’st it;

  Thou art so truth, that thoughts of thee suffice

  To make dreams truths, and fables histories;

  Enter these arms, for since thou thought’st it best

  [10] Not to dream all my dream, let’s act the rest.

  As lightning, or a taper’s light,

  Thine eyes, and not thy noise, waked me;

  Yet I thought thee

  (For thou lovest truth) an angel, at first sight,

  But when I saw thou sawest my heart,

  And knew’st my thoughts, beyond an angel’s art,

  When thou knew’st what I dreamt, when thou knew’st when

  Excess of joy would wake me, and cam’st then,

  I must confess, it could not choose but be

  [20] Profane to think thee anything but thee.

  Coming and staying showed thee, thee,

  But rising makes me doubt that now

  Thou art not thou.

  That love is weak, where fear’s as strong as he;

  ’Tis not all spirit, pure and brave,

  If mixture it of fear, shame, honour, have.

  Perchance, as torches which must ready be,

  Men light and put out, so thou deal’st with me,

  Thou cam’st to kindle, goest to come; then I

  [30] Will dream that hope again, but else would die.

  A Valediction of Weeping

  Let me pour forth

  My tears before thy face, whil’st I stay here,

  For thy face coins them, and thy stamp they bear,

  And by this mintage they are something worth,

  For thus they be

  Pregnant of thee,

  Fruits of much grief they are, emblems of more;

  When a tear falls, th
at thou falls which it bore,

  So thou and I are nothing then, when on a diverse shore.

  [10] On a round ball

  A workman that hath copies by can lay

  An Europe, Afric, and an Asia,

  And quickly make that, which was nothing, all;

  So doth each tear,

  Which thee doth wear,

  A globe, yea world, by that impression grow,

  Till thy tears mixed with mine do overflow

  This world, by waters sent from thee, my heav’n dissolvèd so.

  O more than Moon,

  [20] Draw not up seas to drown me in thy sphere,

  Weep me not dead in thine arms, but forbear

  To teach the sea what it may do too soon;

  Let not the wind

  Example find

  To do me more harm than it purposeth;

  Since thou and I sigh one another’s breath,

  Whoe’er sighs most is cruellest, and hastes the other’s death.

  Love’s Alchemy

  Some that have deeper digged Love’s mine than I,

  Say where his centric happiness doth lie:

  I’have loved, and got, and told,

  But should I love, get, tell, till I were old,

  I should not find that hidden mystery;

  O, ’tis imposture all:

  And as no chemic yet th’elixir got,

  But glorifies his pregnant pot,

  If by the way to him befall

  [10] Some odoriferous thing, or medicinal,

  So, lovers dream a rich and long delight,

  But get a winter-seeming summer’s night.

  Our ease, our thrift, our honour, and our day,

  Shall we, for this vain bubble’s shadow pay?

  Ends love in this, that my man,

  Can be as happy as I can; if he can

  Endure the short scorn of a bridegroom’s play?

  That loving wretch that swears,

  ’Tis not the bodies marry, but the minds,

  [20] Which he in her angelic finds,

  Would swear as justly, that he hears,

  In that day’s rude hoarse minstrelsy, the spheres.

  Hope not for mind in women; at their best,

  Sweetness and wit they’are, but mummy possessed.

  The Flea

  Mark but this flea, and mark in this,

  How little that which thou deny’st me is;

  It sucked me first, and now sucks thee,

  And in this flea, our two bloods mingled be;

  Thou know’st that this cannot be said

  A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead;

  Yet this enjoys before it woo,

  And pampered swells with one blood made of two,

  And this, alas, is more than we would do.

  [10] O stay, three lives in one flea spare,

  Where we almost, yea more than married are.

  This flea is you and I, and this

  Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is;

  Though parents grudge, and you, we’are met

  And cloistered in these living walls of jet.

  Though use make you apt to kill me,

  Let not to that, self-murder added be,

  And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.

  Cruel and sudden, hast thou since

  [20] Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence?

  Wherein could this flea guilty be,

  Except in that drop which it sucked from thee?

  Yet thou triumph’st, and say’st that thou

  Find’st not thyself, nor me, the weaker now;

  ’Tis true; then learn how false, fears be;

  Just so much honour, when thou yield’st to me,

  Will waste, as this flea’s death took life from thee.

  The Curse

  Whoever guesses, thinks, or dreams he knows

  Who is my mistress, wither by this curse;

  His only,’and only’his purse

  May some dull heart to love dispose,

  And she yield then to all that are his foes;

  May he be scorned by one, whom all else scorn,

  Forswear to others, what to her he’hath sworn,

  With fear of missing, shame of getting, torn;

  Madness his sorrow, gout his cramp, may he

  [10] Make, by but thinking who hath made him such;

  And may he feel no touch

  Of conscience, but of fame, and be

  Anguished, not that ’twas sin, but that ’twas she;

  In early and long scarceness may he rot,

  For land which had been his, if he had not

  Himself incestuously an heir begot;

  May he dream treason, and believe that he

  Meant to perform it, and confess, and die,

  And no record tell why;

  [20] His sons, which none of his may be,

  Inherit nothing but his infamy;

  Or may he so long parasites have fed,

  That he would fain be theirs, whom he hath bred,

  And at the last be circumcised for bread;

  The venom of all stepdames, gamesters’ gall,

  What tyrants and their subjects interwish,

  What plants, mines, beasts, fowl, fish

  Can contribute, all ill which all

  Prophets or poets spake; and all which shall

  [30] Be’annexed in schedules unto this by me,

  Fall on that man; for if it be a she,

  Nature beforehand hath out-cursèd me.

  The Message

  Send home my long strayed eyes to me,

  Which (O) too long have dwelt on thee,

  Yet since there they have learned such ill,

  Such forced fashions,

  And false passions,

  That they be

  Made by thee

  Fit for no good sight, keep them still.

  Send home my harmless heart again,

  [10] Which no unworthy thought could stain,

  Which if’it be taught by thine

  To make jestings

  Of protestings,

  And break both

  Word and oath,

  Keep it, for then ’tis none of mine.

  Yet send me back my heart and eyes,

  That I may know, and see thy lies,

  And may laugh and joy, when thou

  [20] Art in anguish

  And dost languish

  For someone

  That will none,

  Or prove as false as thou art now.

  A Nocturnal upon St Lucy’s Day, Being the Shortest Day

  ’Tis the year’s midnight, and it is the day’s,

  Lucy’s, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks;

  The sun is spent, and now his flasks

  Send forth light squibs, no constant rays;

  The world’s whole sap is sunk;

  The general balm th’hydroptic earth hath drunk,

  Whither, as to the bed’s-feet, life is shrunk,

  Dead and interred; yet all these seem to laugh,

  Compared with me, who am their epitaph.

  [10] Study me then, you who shall lovers be

  At the next world, that is, at the next spring,

  For I am every dead thing,

  In whom love wrought new alchemy.

  For his art did express

  A quintessence even from nothingness,

  From dull privations, and lean emptiness;

  He ruined me, and I am re-begot

  Of absence, darkness, death, things which are not.

  All others, from all things, draw all that’s good,

  [20] Life, soul, form, spirit, whence they being have;

  I, by love’s limbeck, am the grave

  Of all that’s nothing. Oft a flood

  Have we two wept, and so

  Drowned the whole world, us two; oft did we grow

  To be two chaoses, when we did show

  Care to aught else; and often absences
>
  Withdrew our souls, and made us carcasses.

  But I am by her death (which word wrongs her),

  Of the first nothing the elixir grown;

  [30] Were I a man, that I were one

  I needs must know; I should prefer,

  If I were any beast,

  Some ends, some means; yea plants, yea stones, detest,

  And love; all, all, some properties invest;

  If I an ordinary nothing were,

  As shadow,’a light and body must be here.

  But I am none; nor will my sun renew.

  You lovers, for whose sake the lesser sun

  At this time to the Goat is run

  [40] To fetch new lust, and give it you,

  Enjoy your summer all;

  Since she enjoys her long night’s festival,

  Let me prepare towards her, and let me call

  This hour her vigil, and her eve, since this

  Both the year’s and the day’s deep midnight is.

  Witchcraft by a Picture

  I fix mine eye on thine, and there

  Pity my picture burning in thine eye,

  My picture drowned in a transparent tear,

  When I look lower I espy;

  Had’st thou the wicked skill

  By pictures made and marred, to kill,

  How many ways might’st thou perform thy will?

  But now I’have drunk thy sweet salt tears,

  And though thou pour more I’ll depart;

  [10] My picture vanished, vanish fears

  That I can be endamaged by that art;

  Though thou retain of me

  One picture more, yet that will be,

  Being in thine own heart, from all malice free.

  The Bait

  Come live with me, and be my love,

  And we will some new pleasures prove

  Of golden sands, and crystal brooks,

  With silken lines, and silver hooks.

  There will the river whispering run

  Warmed by thy eyes more than the sun.

  And there the’enamoured fish will stay,

  Begging themselves they may betray.

  When thou wilt swim in that live bath,

  [10] Each fish, which every channel hath,

  Will amorously to thee swim,

  Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.

  If thou, to be so seen, beest loath,

  By sun, or moon, thou dark’nest both,

  And if myself have leave to see,

  I need not their light, having thee.

  Let others freeze with angling reeds,

  And cut their legs with shells and weeds,