Poems by John Donne

Poems

• A Burnt Ship Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Out of a fired ship, which by no way
  But drowning could be rescued from the flame,
  Some men leap'd forth, and ever as they came
  Near the foes' ships, did by their shot decay;
  So all were lost, which in the ship were found,
  They in the sea being burnt, they in the burnt ship drown'd.

• A dialogue between Sir Henry Wootton and Mr. Donne Read Poem Log in to favourite

  [W.
  
  ]
  IF her disdain least change in you can move,
  You do not love,
  For when that hope gives fuel to the fire,
  You sell desire.
  
  Love is not love, but given free ;
  And so is mine ; so should yours be.
  
  [D.
  
  ]
  Her heart, that weeps to hear of others' moan,
  To mine is stone.
  
  Her eyes, that weep a stranger's eyes to see,
  Joy to wound me.
  
  Yet I so well affect each part,
  As—caused by them—I love my smart.
  
  [W.
  
  ]
  Say her disdainings justly must be graced
  With name of chaste ;
  And that she frowns lest longing should exceed,
  And raging breed ;
  So her disdains can ne'er offend,
  Unless self-love take private end.
  
  [D.
  
  ]
  'Tis love breeds love in me, and cold disdain
  Kills that again,
  As water causeth fire to fret and fume,
  Till all consume.
  
  Who can of love more rich gift make,
  That to Love's self for love's own sake?
  
  I'll never dig in quarry of an heart
  To have no part,
  Nor roast in fiery eyes, which always are
  Canicular.
  
  Who this way would a lover prove,
  May show his patience, not his love.
  
  A frown may be sometimes for physic good,
  But not for food ;
  And for that raging humour there is sure
  A gentler cure.
  
  Why bar you love of private end,
  Which never should to public tend?

• A Fever Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Oh do not die, for I shall hate
  All women so, when thou art gone,
  That thee I shall not celebrate,
  When I remember, thou wast one.
  
  But yet thou canst not die, I know;
  To leave this world behind, is death,
  But when thou from this world wilt go,
  The whole world vapours with thy breath.
  
  Or if, when thou, the world’s soul, go`st,
  It stay, ’tis but thy carcase then,
  The fairest woman, but thy ghost,
  But corrupt worms, the worthiest men.
  
  Oh wrangling schools, that search what fire
  Shall burn this world, had none the wit
  Unto this knowledge to aspire,
  That this her fever might be it ?
  
  And yet she cannot waste by this,
  Nor long bear this torturing wrong,
  For much corruption needful is
  To fuel such a fever long.
  
  These burning fits but meteors be,
  Whose matter in thee is soon spent.
  
  Thy beauty, and all parts, which are thee,
  Are unchangeable firmament.
  
  Yet ’twas of my mind, seizing thee,
  Though it in thee cannot persever.
  
  For I had rather owner be
  Of thee one hour, than all else ever.

• A Hymn To Christ At The Author's Last Going Into Germany Read Poem Log in to favourite

  In what torn ship soever I embark,
  That ship shall be my emblem of thy Ark;
  What sea soever swallow me, that flood
  Shall be to me an emblem of thy blood;
  Though thou with clouds of anger do disguise
  Thy face, yet through that mask I know those eyes,
  Which, though they turn away sometimes,
  They never will despise.
  
  I sacrifice this Island unto thee,
  And all whom I loved there, and who loved me;
  When I have put our seas 'twixt them and me,
  Put thou thy sea betwixt my sins and thee.
  
  As the tree's sap doth seek the root below
  In winter, in my winter now I go,
  Where none but thee, th' Eternal root
  Of true Love, I may know.
  
  Nor thou nor thy religion dost control
  The amorousness of an harmonious Soul,
  But thou wouldst have that love thyself: as thou
  Art jealous, Lord, so I am jealous now,
  Thou lov'st not, till from loving more, Thou free
  My soul: who ever gives, takes liberty:
  O, if thou car'st not whom I love
  Alas, thou lov'st not me.
  
  Seal then this bill of my Divorce to All,
  On whom those fainter beams of love did fall;
  Marry those loves, which in youth scattered be
  On Fame, Wit, Hopes (false mistresses) to thee.
  
  Churches are best for Prayer, that have least light:
  To see God only, I go out of sight:
  And to 'scape stormy days, I choose
  An Everlasting night.

• A Hymn To God The Father Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Wilt thou forgive that sin where I begun,
  Which was my sin, though it were done before?
  
  Wilt thou forgive that sin, through which I run,
  And do run still, though still I do deplore?
  
  When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
  For I have more.
  
  Wilt thou forgive that sin which I have won
  Others to sin, and made my sin their door?
  
  Wilt thou forgive that sin which I did shun
  A year or two, but wallow'd in, a score?
  
  When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
  For I have more.
  
  I have a sin of fear, that when I have spun
  My last thread, I shall perish on the shore;
  But swear by thyself, that at my death thy Son
  Shall shine as he shines now, and heretofore;
  And, having done that, thou hast done;
  I fear no more.

• A Jet Ring Sent Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Thou art not so black as my heart,
  Nor half so brittle as her heart, thou art ;
  What would'st thou say ?
  
  shall both our properties by thee be spoke,
  —Nothing more endless, nothing sooner broke?
  
  Marriage rings are not of this stuff ;
  Oh, why should ought less precious, or less tough
  Figure our loves ?
  
  except in thy name thou have bid it say,
  "—I'm cheap, and nought but fashion ; fling me away.
  
  "
  Yet stay with me since thou art come,
  Circle this finger's top, which didst her thumb ;
  Be justly proud, and gladly safe, that thou dost dwell with me ;
  She that, O ! broke her faith, would soon break thee.

• A Lame Beggar Read Poem Log in to favourite

  I am unable, yonder beggar cries,
  To stand, or move; if he say true, he lies.

• A Lecture Upon The Shadow Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Stand still, and I will read to thee
  A lecture, love, in love's philosophy.
  
  These three hours that we have spent,
  Walking here, two shadows went
  Along with us, which we ourselves produc'd.
  
  But, now the sun is just above our head,
  We do those shadows tread,
  And to brave clearness all things are reduc'd.
  
  So whilst our infant loves did grow,
  Disguises did, and shadows, flow
  From us, and our cares; but now 'tis not so.
  
  That love has not attain'd the high'st degree,
  Which is still diligent lest others see.
  
  Except our loves at this noon stay,
  We shall new shadows make the other way.
  
  As the first were made to blind
  Others, these which come behind
  Will work upon ourselves, and blind our eyes.
  
  If our loves faint, and westwardly decline,
  To me thou, falsely, thine,
  And I to thee mine actions shall disguise.
  
  The morning shadows wear away,
  But these grow longer all the day;
  But oh, love's day is short, if love decay.
  
  Love is a growing, or full constant light,
  And his first minute, after noon, is night.

• A Licentious Person Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Thy sins and hairs may no man equal call ;
  For, as thy sins increase, thy hairs do fall.

• A Litany Read Poem Log in to favourite

  I.
  
  THE FATHER.
  
  FATHER of Heaven, and Him, by whom
  It, and us for it, and all else for us,
  Thou madest, and govern'st ever, come
  And re-create me, now grown ruinous:
  My heart is by dejection, clay,
  And by self-murder, red.
  
  From this red earth, O Father, purge away
  All vicious tinctures, that new-fashioned
  I may rise up from death, before I'm dead.
  
  II.
  
  THE SON.
  
  O Son of God, who, seeing two things,
  Sin and Death, crept in, which were never made,
  By bearing one, tried'st with what stings
  The other could Thine heritage invade ;
  O be Thou nail'd unto my heart,
  And crucified again ;
  Part not from it, though it from Thee would part,
  But let it be by applying so Thy pain,
  Drown'd in Thy blood, and in Thy passion slain.
  
  III.
  
  THE HOLY GHOST.
  
  O Holy Ghost, whose temple I
  Am, but of mud walls , and condensèd dust,
  And being sacrilegiously
  Half wasted with youth's fires of pride and lust,
  Must with new storms be weather-beat,
  Double in my heart Thy flame,
  Which let devout sad tears intend, and let—
  Though this glass lanthorn, flesh, do suffer maim—
  Fire, sacrifice, priest, altar be the same.
  
  IV.
  
  THE TRINITY.
  
  O blessed glorious Trinity,
  Bones to philosophy, but milk to faith,
  Which, as wise serpents, diversely
  Most slipperiness, yet most entanglings hath,
  As you distinguish'd, undistinct,
  By power, love, knowledge be,
  Give me a such self different instinct,
  Of these let all me elemented be,
  Of power, to love, to know you unnumbered three.
  
  V.
  
  THE VIRGIN MARY.
  
  For that fair blessed mother-maid,
  Whose flesh redeem'd us, that she-cherubin,
  Which unlock'd paradise, and made
  One claim for innocence, and disseizèd sin,
  Whose womb was a strange heaven, for there
  God clothed Himself, and grew,
  Our zealous thanks we pour.
  
  As her deeds were
  Our helps, so are her prayers ; nor can she sue
  In vain, who hath such titles unto you.
  
  VI.
  
  THE ANGELS.
  
  And since this life our nonage is,
  And we in wardship to Thine angels be,
  Native in heaven's fair palaces
  Where we shall be but denizen'd by Thee ;
  As th' earth conceiving by the sun,
  Yields fair diversity,
  Yet never knows what course that light doth run ;
  So let me study that mine actions be
  Worthy their sight, though blind in how they see.
  
  VII.
  
  THE PATRIARCHS.
  
  And let Thy patriarchs' desire,
  —Those great grandfathers of Thy Church, which saw
  More in the cloud than we in fire,
  Whom nature clear'd more, than us grace and law,
  And now in heaven still pray, that we
  May use our new helps right—
  Be satisfied, and fructify in me ;
  Let not my mind be blinder by more light,
  Nor faith by reason added lose her sight.
  
  VIII.
  
  THE PROPHETS.
  
  Thy eagle-sighted prophets too,
  —Which were Thy Church's organs, and did sound
  That harmony which made of two
  One law, and did unite, but not confound ;
  Those heavenly poets which did see
  Thy will, and it express
  In rhythmic feet—in common pray for me,
  That I by them excuse not my excess
  In seeking secrets, or poeticness.
  
  IX.
  
  THE APOSTLES.
  
  And thy illustrious zodiac
  Of twelve apostles, which engirt this All,
  —From whom whosoever do not take
  Their light, to dark deep pits throw down and fall ;—
  As through their prayers Thou'st let me know
  That their books are divine,
  May they pray still, and be heard, that I go
  Th' old broad way in applying ; O decline
  Me, when my comment would make Thy word mine.
  
  X.
  
  THE MARTYRS.
  
  And since Thou so desirously
  Didst long to die, that long before Thou couldst,
  And long since Thou no more couldst die,
  Thou in thy scatter'd mystic body wouldst
  In Abel die, and ever since
  In Thine ; let their blood come
  To beg for us a discreet patience
  Of death, or of worse life ; for O, to some
  Not to be martyrs, is a martyrdom.
  
  XI.
  
  THE CONFESSORS.
  
  Therefore with Thee triumpheth there
  A virgin squadron of white confessors,
  Whose bloods betroth'd not married were,
  Tender'd, not taken by those ravishers.
  
  They know, and pray that we may know,
  In every Christian
  Hourly tempestuous persecutions grow ;
  Temptations martyr us alive ; a man
  Is to himself a Diocletian.
  
  XII.
  
  THE VIRGINS.
  
  The cold white snowy nunnery,
  Which, as Thy Mother, their high abbess, sent
  Their bodies back again to Thee,
  As Thou hadst lent them, clean and innocent ;
  Though they have not obtain'd of Thee,
  That or Thy Church or I
  Should keep, as they, our first integrity,
  Divorce Thou sin in us, or bid it die,
  And call chaste widowhead virginity.
  
  XIII.
  
  THE DOCTORS.
  
  The sacred academy above
  Of Doctors, whose pains have unclasp'd, and taught
  Both books of life to us—for love
  To know Thy scriptures tells us, we are wrote
  In Thy other book—pray for us there,
  That what they have misdone
  Or missaid, we to that may not adhere.
  
  Their zeal may be our sin.
  
  Lord, let us run
  Mean ways, and call them stars, but not the sun.
  
  XIV.
  
  And whilst this universal quire,
  That Church in triumph, this in warfare here,
  Warm'd with one all-partaking fire
  Of love, that none be lost, which cost Thee dear,
  Prays ceaselessly, and Thou hearken too
  —Since to be gracious
  Our task is treble, to pray, bear, and do—
  Hear this prayer, Lord ; O Lord, deliver us
  From trusting in those prayers, though pour'd out
  thus.
  
  XV.
  
  From being anxious, or secure,
  Dead clods of sadness, or light squibs of mirth,
  From thinking that great courts immure
  All, or no happiness, or that this earth
  Is only for our prison framed,
  Or that Thou'rt covetous
  To them whom Thou lovest, or that they are maim'd
  From reaching this world's sweet who seek Thee
  thus,
  With all their might, good Lord, deliver us.
  
  XVI.
  
  From needing danger, to be good,
  From owing Thee yesterday's tears to-day,
  From trusting so much to Thy blood
  That in that hope we wound our soul away,
  From bribing Thee with alms, to excuse
  Some sin more burdenous,
  From light affecting, in religion, news,
  From thinking us all soul, neglecting thus
  Our mutual duties, Lord, deliver us.
  
  XVII.
  
  From tempting Satan to tempt us,
  By our connivance, or slack company,
  From measuring ill by vicious
  Neglecting to choke sin's spawn, vanity,
  From indiscreet humility,
  Which might be scandalous
  And cast reproach on Christianity,
  From being spies, or to spies pervious,
  From thirst or scorn of fame, deliver us.
  
  XVIII.
  
  Deliver us through Thy descent
  Into the Virgin, whose womb was a place
  Of middle kind ; and Thou being sent
  To ungracious us, stay'dst at her full of grace ;
  And through Thy poor birth, where first Thou
  Glorified'st poverty ;
  And yet soon after riches didst allow,
  By accepting kings' gifts in th' Epiphany ;
  Deliver us, and make us to both ways free.
  
  XIX.
  
  And through that bitter agony,
  Which is still th' agony of pious wits,
  Disputing what distorted Thee,
  And interrupted evenness with fits ;
  And through Thy free confession,
  Though thereby they were then
  Made blind, so that Thou mightst from them have gone ;
  Good Lord, deliver us, and teach us when
  We may not, and we may, blind unjust men.
  
  XX.
  
  Through Thy submitting all, to blows
  Thy face, Thy robes to spoil, Thy fame to scorn,
  All ways, which rage, or justice knows,
  And by which Thou couldst show that Thou wast born ;
  And through Thy gallant humbleness
  Which Thou in death didst show,
  Dying before Thy soul they could express ;
  Deliver us from death, by dying so
  To this world, ere this world do bid us go.
  
  XXI.
  
  When senses, which Thy soldiers are,
  We arm against Thee, and they fight for sin ;
  When want, sent but to tame, doth war,
  And work despair a breach to enter in ;
  When plenty, God's image, and seal,
  Makes us idolatrous,
  And love it, not him, whom it should reveal ;
  When we are moved to seem religious
  Only to vent wit ; Lord, deliver us.
  
  XXII.
  
  In churches, when th' infirmity
  Of him which speaks, diminishes the word ;
  When magistrates do misapply
  To us, as we judge, lay or ghostly sword ;
  When plague, which is Thine angel, reigns,
  Or wars, Thy champions, sway ;
  When heresy, Thy second deluge, gains ;
  In th' hour of death, th' eve of last Judgment day ;
  Deliver us from the sinister way.
  
  XXIII.
  
  Hear us, O hear us, Lord; to Thee
  A sinner is more music, when he prays,
  Than spheres' or angels' praises be,
  In panegyric alleluias ;
  Hear us, for till Thou hear us, Lord,
  We know not what to say ;
  Thine ear to our sighs, tears, thoughts, gives voice and word ;
  O Thou, who Satan heard'st in Job's sick day,
  Hear Thyself now, for Thou in us dost pray.
  
  XXIV.
  
  That we may change to evenness
  This intermitting aguish piety ;
  That snatching cramps of wickedness
  And apoplexies of fast sin may die ;
  That music of Thy promises,
  Not threats in thunder may
  Awaken us to our just offices ;
  What in Thy book Thou dost, or creatures say,
  That we may hear, Lord, hear us when we pray.
  
  XXV.
  
  That our ears' sickness we may cure,
  And rectify those labyrinths aright,
  That we by heark'ning not procure
  Our praise, nor others' dispraise so invite ;
  That we get not a slipp'riness
  And senselessly decline,
  From hearing bold wits jest at kings' excess,
  To admit the like of majesty divine ;
  That we may lock our ears, Lord, open Thine.
  
  XXVI.
  
  That living law, the magistrate,
  Which to give us, and make us physic, doth
  Our vices often aggravate ;
  That preachers taxing sin, before her growth ;
  That Satan, and envenom'd men—
  Which will, if we starve, dine—
  When they do most accuse us, may see then
  Us to amendment hear them, Thee decline ;
  That we may open our ears, Lord, lock Thine.
  
  XXVII.
  
  That learning, Thine ambassador,
  From Thine allegiance we never tempt ;
  That beauty, paradise's flower
  For physic made, from poison be exempt ;
  That wit—born apt high good to do—
  By dwelling lazily
  On nature's nothing be not nothing too ;
  That our affections kill us not, nor die ;
  Hear us, weak echoes, O, Thou Ear and Eye.
  
  XXVIII.
  
  Son of God, hear us, and since Thou
  By taking our blood, owest it us again,
  Gain to Thyself, or us allow ;
  And let not both us and Thyself be slain ;
  O Lamb of God, which took'st our sin,
  Which could not stick to Thee,
  O let it not return to us again ;
  But patient and physician being free,
  As sin is nothing, let it nowhere be.

• A Nocturnal upon St. Lucy's Day, Being the Shortest Day Read Poem Log in to favourite

  '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 interr'd; yet all these seem to laugh,
  Compar'd with me, who am their epitaph.
  
  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 ruin'd me, and I am re-begot
  Of absence, darkness, death: things which are not.
  
  All others, from all things, draw all that's good,
  Life, soul, form, spirit, whence they being have;
  I, by Love's limbec, am the grave
  Of all that's nothing.
  
  Oft a flood
  Have we two wept, and so
  Drown'd 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;
  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
  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.
  
  NOTES
  Form:
  abbacccdd
  1.
  
  St.
  
  Lucy's day, Dec.
  
  13, was regarded as the
  shortest day in the old (Julian) calendar.
  
  3.
  
  flasks: obsolete variant of flashes.
  
  4.
  
  squibs: (unimpressive) fireworks.
  
  6.
  
  general balm.
  
  It was thought that, as Donne puts
  it in one of his verse letters, \

• A Self Accuser Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Your mistress, that you follow whores, still taxeth
  you ;
  'Tis strange that she should thus confess it, though 't be true.

• A Sheaf Of Snakes Used Heretofore To Be My Seal, The Crest Of Our Poor Family Read Poem Log in to favourite

  ADOPTED in God's family and so
  Our old coat lost, unto new arms I go.
  
  The Cross—my seal at baptism—spread below
  Does, by that form, into an Anchor grow.
  
  Crosses grow Anchors ; bear, as thou shouldest do
  Thy Cross, and that Cross grows an Anchor too.
  
  But He that makes our Crosses Anchors thus,
  Is Christ, who there is crucified for us.
  
  Yet may I, with this, my first serpents hold ;
  God gives new blessings, and yet leaves the old.
  
  The serpent may, as wise, my pattern be ;
  My poison, as he feeds on dust, that's me.
  
  And, as he rounds the earth to murder sure,
  My death he is, but on the Cross, my cure.
  
  Crucify nature then, and then implore
  All grace from Him, crucified there before ;
  Then all is Cross, and that Cross Anchor grown ;
  This seal's a catechism, not a seal alone.
  
  Under that little seal great gifts I send,
  Works, and prayers, pawns, and fruits of a friend.
  
  And may that saint which rides in our great seal,
  To you who bear his name,* great bounties deal !

• A Valediction of my Name in the Window Read Poem Log in to favourite

  I.
  
  MY name engraved herein
  Doth contribute my firmness to this glass,
  Which ever since that charm hath been
  As hard, as that which graved it was ;
  Thine eye will give it price enough, to mock
  The diamonds of either rock.
  
  II.
  
  'Tis much that glass should be
  As all-confessing, and through-shine as I ;
  'Tis more that it shows thee to thee,
  And clear reflects thee to thine eye.
  
  But all such rules love's magic can undo ;
  Here you see me, and I am you.
  
  III.
  
  As no one point, nor dash,
  Which are but accessories to this name,
  The showers and tempests can outwash
  So shall all times find me the same ;
  You this entireness better may fulfill,
  Who have the pattern with you still.
  
  IV.
  
  Or if too hard and deep
  This learning be, for a scratch'd name to teach,
  It as a given death's head keep,
  Lovers' mortality to preach ;
  Or think this ragged bony name to be
  My ruinous anatomy.
  
  V.
  
  Then, as all my souls be
  Emparadised in you—in whom alone
  I understand, and grow, and see—
  The rafters of my body, bone,
  Being still with you, the muscle, sinew, and vein
  Which tile this house, will come again.
  
  VI.
  
  Till my return repair
  And recompact my scatter'd body so,
  As all the virtuous powers which are
  Fix'd in the stars are said to flow
  Into such characters as gravèd be
  When these stars have supremacy.
  
  VII.
  
  So since this name was cut,
  When love and grief their exaltation had,
  No door 'gainst this name's influence shut.
  
  As much more loving, as more sad,
  'Twill make thee ; and thou shouldst, till I return,
  Since I die daily, daily mourn.
  
  VIII.
  
  When thy inconsiderate hand
  Flings open this casement, with my trembling name,
  To look on one, whose wit or land
  New battery to thy heart may frame,
  Then think this name alive, and that thou thus
  In it offend'st my Genius.
  
  IX.
  
  And when thy melted maid,
  Corrupted by thy lover's gold and page,
  His letter at thy pillow hath laid,
  Disputed it, and tamed thy rage,
  And thou begin'st to thaw towards him, for this,
  May my name step in, and hide his.
  
  X.
  
  And if this treason go
  To an overt act and that thou write again,
  In superscribing, this name flow
  Into thy fancy from the pane ;
  So, in forgetting thou rememb'rest right,
  And unaware to me shalt write.
  
  XI.
  
  But glass and lines must be
  No means our firm substantial love to keep ;
  Near death inflicts this lethargy,
  And this I murmur in my sleep ;
  Inpute this idle talk, to that I go,
  For dying men talk often so.

• A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning Read Poem Log in to favourite

  As virtuous men pass mildly away,
  And whisper to their souls, to go,
  Whilst some of their sad friends do say,
  "The breath goes now," and some say, "No:"
  So let us melt, and make no noise,
  No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move;
  'Twere profanation of our joys
  To tell the laity our love.
  
  Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears;
  Men reckon what it did, and meant;
  But trepidation of the spheres,
  Though greater far, is innocent.
  
  Dull sublunary lovers' love
  (Whose soul is sense) cannot admit
  Absence, because it doth remove
  Those things which elemented it.
  
  But we by a love so much refin'd,
  That ourselves know not what it is,
  Inter-assured of the mind,
  Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss.
  
  Our two souls therefore, which are one,
  Though I must go, endure not yet
  A breach, but an expansion,
  Like gold to airy thinness beat.
  
  If they be two, they are two so
  As stiff twin compasses are two;
  Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show
  To move, but doth, if the' other do.
  
  And though it in the centre sit,
  Yet when the other far doth roam,
  It leans, and hearkens after it,
  And grows erect, as that comes home.
  
  Such wilt thou be to me, who must
  Like th' other foot, obliquely run;
  Thy firmness makes my circle just,
  And makes me end, where I begun.

• A Valediction: Of Weeping Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Let me pour forth
  My tears before thy face, whilst 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, that thou falls which it bore,
  So thou and I are nothing then, when on a diverse shore.
  
  On a round ball
  A workman that hath copies by, can lay
  An Europe, Afrique, 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 mixt with mine do overflow
  This world; by waters sent from thee, my heaven dissolved so.
  
  O more than moon,
  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.

• Air and Angels Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Twice or thrice had I lov'd thee,
  Before I knew thy face or name;
  So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame
  Angels affect us oft, and worshipp'd be;
  Still when, to where thou wert, I came,
  Some lovely glorious nothing I did see.
  
  But since my soul, whose child love is,
  Takes limbs of flesh, and else could nothing do,
  More subtle than the parent is
  Love must not be, but take a body too;
  And therefore what thou wert, and who,
  I bid Love ask, and now
  That it assume thy body, I allow,
  And fix itself in thy lip, eye, and brow.
  
  Whilst thus to ballast love I thought,
  And so more steadily to have gone,
  With wares which would sink admiration,
  I saw I had love's pinnace overfraught;
  Ev'ry thy hair for love to work upon
  Is much too much, some fitter must be sought;
  For, nor in nothing, nor in things
  Extreme, and scatt'ring bright, can love inhere;
  Then, as an angel, face, and wings
  Of air, not pure as it, yet pure, doth wear,
  So thy love may be my love's sphere;
  Just such disparity
  As is 'twixt air and angels' purity,
  'Twixt women's love, and men's, will ever be.

• An Anatomy Of The World... Read Poem Log in to favourite

  AN ANATOMY OF THE WORLD Wherein, by occasion of the untimely death of
  Mistress Elizabeth Drury, the frailty and the decay of this whole world is
  represented THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY
  When that rich soule which to her heauen is gone,
  Whom all doe celebrate, who know they haue one
  (For who is sure he hath a soule, vnlesse
  It see, and Iudge, and follow worthinesse,
  And by Deedes praise it; Hee who doth not this,
  May lodge an Inmate soule, but tis not his.
  
  )
  When that Queene ended here her progresse time.
  
  And, as t'her standing house, to heauen did clymbe,
  Where loath to make the Saints attend her long,
  Shee's now a part both of the Quire, and Song.
  
  This, world, in that great earthquake languished;
  For in a common Bath of teares it bled,
  Which drew the strongest vitall spirits out:
  But succour'd then with a perplexed doubt,
  Whether the world did loose or gaine in this,
  (Because since now no other way there is,
  But goodnesse, to see her, whom all would see,
  All must endeauour to bee good as shee.
  
  )
  This great consumption to a feuer turn'd,
  And so the world had fits; it ioy'd, it mournd,
  And, as men thinke, that Agues Physicke are,
  And the Ague being spent, giue ouer care,
  So thou sicke world, mistak'st thy selfe to bee
  Well, when alas, thou'rt in a Letargee.
  
  Her death did wound and tame thee than, and than
  Thou might'st haue better spar'd the Sunne, or Man.
  
  That wound was deepe, but 'tis more misery,
  That thou hast lost thy sense and memory.
  
  T'was heauy then to heare thy voice of mone,
  But this is worse, that thou art speechlesse growne.
  
  Thou hast forgot thy name, thou hadst; thou wast
  Nothing but she, and her thou hast o'repast.
  
  For as a child kept from the Fount, vntill
  A Prince, expected long, come to fulfill
  The Cermonies, thou vnnam'd hadst laid,
  Had not her comming, thee her Palace made:
  Her name defin'd thee, gaue thee forme and frame,
  And thou forget'st to celebrate thy name.
  
  Some moneths shee hath bene dead (but being dead,
  Measures of times are all determined)
  But long shee'ath beene away, long, long, yet none
  Offers to tell vs who it is that's gone.
  
  But as in states doubtfull of future heyres,
  When sicknesse without remedy, empayres
  The present Prince, they're loth it should be said,
  The Prince doth languish, or the Prince is dead:
  So mankinde feeling now a generall thaw,
  A strong example gone equall to law.
  
  The Cyment which did faithfully compact
  And glue all vertues, now resolu'd, and slack'd,
  Thought it was some blasphemy to say sh' was dead;
  Or that our weakness was discouered
  In that confession; therefore spoke no more
  Then tongues, the soule being gonne, the losse deplore.
  
  But though it be too late to succour thee,
  Sicke world, yea dead, yea putrified, since shee
  Thy'ntrinsique Balme, and thy preseruatiue,
  Can neuer be renew'd, thou neuer liue,
  I (since no man can make thee liue) will trie,
  What we may gaine by thy Anatomy.
  
  Her death hath taught vs dearely, that thou art
  Corrupt and mortall in thy purest part.
  
  Let no man say, the world it selfe being dead,
  Tis labour lost to haue discouered.
  
  The worlds infirmities, since there is none
  Aliue to study this dissection;     [VVhat life the vvorld hath stil.
  
  ]
  For there's a kind of world remaining still,
  Though shee which did inanimate and fill
  The world, begone, yet in this last long night,
  Her Ghost doth walke, that is, a glimmering light,
  A faint weake loue of vertue and of good
  Reflects from her, on them which vnderstood
  Her worth; And though she haue shut in all day,
  The twi-light of her memory doth stay;
  Which, from the carkasse of the old world, free
  Creates a new world; and new creatures bee
  Produc'd: The matter and the stuffe of this,
  Her vertue, and the forme our practise is.
  
  And thought to be thus Elemented, arme
  These creatures, from hom-borne intrinsique harme,
  (For all assumed vnto this Dignitee,
  So many weedlesse Paradises bee,
  Which of themselues produce no venemous sinne,
  Except some forraine Serpent bring it in)
  Yet, because outward stormes the strongest breake,
  And strength it selfe by confidence growes weake,
  This new world may be safer, being told.
  
  [The sickenesse of the vvorld]
  The dangers and diseases of the old:
  For with due temper men doe then forgoe,
  Or couet things, when they their true worth know.
  
  There is no health; Phisitians say that we
  At best, enioy, but a neutralitee.
  
  And can there be worse sicknes, then to know   [Impossibility of health.
  
  ]
  That we are neuer well, nor can be so?
  
  We are borne ruinous: poore mothers cry,
  That children come not right, nor orderly:
  Except they headlong come and fall vpon
  An ominous precipitation.
  
  How witty's ruine?
  
  how impotunate
  Vpon mankinde?
  
  It labour'd to frustrate
  Euen Gods purpose; and made woman, sent
  For mans reliefe, cause of his languishment.
  
  They were to good ends, and they are so still,
  But accessory, and principall in ill.
  
  For that first mariage was our funerall:
  One woman at one blow, then kill'd vs all,
  And singly, one by one, they kill vs now.
  
  We doe delightfully our selues allow
  To that consumption; and profusely blinde,
  We kill ourselues, to propagate our kinde.
  
  And yet we doe not that; we are not men:
  There is not now that mankinde, which was then
  When as the Sun, and man, did seeme to striue,   [Shortnesse of life.
  
  ]
  (Ioynt tena[n]ts of the world) who should surui[u]e.
  
  When Stag, and Rauen, and the long liu'd tree,
  Compar'd with man, dy'de in minoritee.
  
  When, if a slow-pac'd starre had stolne away
  From the obseruers marking, he might stay
  Two or three hundred yeeres to see't againe,
  And then make vp his obseruation plaine;
  When, as the age was long, the sise was great:
  Mans grouth conf[e]ss'd, and recompenc'd the meat:
  So spacious and large, that euery soule
  Did a faire Kingdome, and large Realme controule:
  And when the very stature thus erect,
  Did that soule a good way towards Heauen direct.
  
  Where is this mankind now?
  
  who liues to age,
  Fit to be made Methusalem his page?
  
  Alas, we scarse liue long enough to trie;
  Whether a true made clocke run right, or lie.
  
  Old Grandsires talke of yesterday with sorrow,
  And for our children we reserue to morrow.
  
  So short is life, that euery peasant striues,
  In a torne house, or field, to haue three liues,
  And as in lasting, so in length is man.
  
  [Smalenesse of stature.
  
  ]
  Contracted to an inch, who was a span,
  For had a man at first, in Forrests stray'd,
  Or shipwrack'd in the Sea, one would haue laid
  A wager that an Elephant, or Whale
  That met him, would not hastily assaile
  A th[in]g so equall to him: now alasse.
  
  The Fayries, and the Pigmies well may passe
  As credible; mankind decayes so soone,
  We're s[c]arse our Fathers shadowes cast at noone.
  
  Onely death addes t'our length: nor are we growne
  In stature to be men, till we are none.
  
  But this were light, did our lesse volumes hold
  All the old Text; or had we chang'd to gold
  Their siluer or dispos'd into lesse glas,
  Spirits of vertue, which then scattred was.
  
  But 'tis not so: w'are not retir'd, but dampt?
  
  And as our bodies, so our minds are crampt:
  Tis shrinking, not close weaning that hath thus,
  In minde and body both be-dwarfed vs.
  
  We seeme ambitious, Gods whole worke t'vndoe;
  Of nothing he made vs, and we striue too,
  To bring our selues to nothing backe; and we
  Doe what we can, to do't so soone as he.
  
  With new diseases on our selues we warre,
  And with new Physicke, a worse Engin farre.
  
  Thus man, this worlds Vice-Emperor, in whom
  All faculties, all graces are at home;
  And if in other creatures they appeare,
  They're but mans Ministers, and Legats ther[e],
  To worke on their rebellions, and reduce
  Them to Ciuility, and to mans vse.
  
  This man, whom God did woo, and loth t'attend
  Till man came vp, did downe to man descend,
  This man so great, that all that is, is his,
  Oh what a trifle, and poore thing he is?
  
  If man were any thing; he's nothing now:
  Helpe, or at least some time to wast, allow
  T'his other wants, yet when he did depart
  With her whom we lament, he lost his heart.
  
  She, of whom th'Ancients seem'd to prophesie,
  When they call'd vertues by the name of shee,
  She in whom vertue was so much refin'd,
  That for Allay vnto so pure a minde
  She tooke the weaker Sex, she that could driue
  The poysonous tincture, and the stayne of Eue,
  Out of her thought, and deedes, and purifie
  All, by a true religious Alchemy;
  See, shee is dead; shee's dead: when thou knowest this,
  Thou knowest how poore a trifling thing man is.
  
  And learn'st thus much by our Anatomee,
  The heart being perish'd, [no] part can be free.
  
  And that except thou feed (not banquet) on
  The supernaturall food, Religion.
  
  Thy better growth growes whithered, and scant;
  Be more than man, or thou'rt lesse then an Ant.
  
  Then, as mankinde, so is the worlds whole frame
  Quite out of ioynt, almost created lame:
  For, before God had made vp all the rest,
  Corruption entred, and deprau'd the best:
  It seis'd the Angels, and then first of all
  The world did in her Cradle take a fall,
  And turn'd her brains, and tooke a generall maime
  Wronging each ioynt of th'vniuersall frame.
  
  [Decay of Nature in other parts.
  
  ]
  The noblest part, man, felt it first; and than
  Both beasts and plants, curst in the curse of man.
  
  So did the world from the first houre decay,
  That euening was beginning of the day,
  And now the Springs and Sommers which we see,
  Like sonnes of women after fifty bee.
  
  And new Philosophy cals all in doubt,
  The Element of fire is quite put out;
  The Sunne is lost, and th'earth, and no mans wit
  Can well direct him where to looke for it.
  
  And freely men confesse that this world's spent,
  When in the Planets, and the Firmament
  They seeke so many new; they see that this
  Is crumbled out againe to his Atomis.
  
  'Tis all in pieces, all coherence gone;
  All iust supply, and all Relation:
  Prince, Subiect, Father, Sonne, are things forgot,
  [F]or euery man alone thinkes he hath got
  To be a Phoenix, and that then can be
  None of that kinde, of which he is, but he.
  
  This is the worlds condition now, and now
  She that should all parts to reunion bow,
  She that had all Magnetique force alone,
  To draw, and fasten sundred parts in one;
  She whom wise nature had in[u]ented then
  When she obseru'd that euery sort of men
  Did in their voyage in this worlds Sea stray,
  And needed a new compasse for their way;
  Shee that was best, and first originall
  Of all faire copies and the generall
  Steward to Fate; shee whose rich eyes, and brest:
  Guilt the West-Indies, and perfum'd the East;
  Whose hauing breath'd in this world, did bestow
  Spice on those Isles, and bad them still smell so,
  And that rich Indie which doth gold interre,
  Is but as single money, coyn'd from her:
  She to whom this world must it selfe refer,
  As Suburbs, or the Microcosme of her,
  Shee, shee is dead; shee's dead: when thou knowest this,
  Thou knowst how lame a cripple this world is.
  
  And learnst thus much by our Anatomy,
  That this worlds generall sicknesse doth not lie
  In any humour, or one certaine part;
  But as thou sawest it rotten at the heart,
  Thou seest a Hectique feuer hath got hold
  Of the whole substance, not to be contrould.
  
  And that thou hast but one way, not t'admit
  The worlds infection, to be none of it.
  
  For the worlds subtill immaterial parts
  Feele this consuming wound, and ages darts.
  
  [F]or the worlds beauty is decayd, or gone,   [Disformity of parts.
  
  ]
  Beauty, that's colour, and proportion.
  
  We thinke the heauens enioy their Sphericall
  Their round proportion embracing all.
  
  But yet their various and perplexed course,
  Obseru'd in diuerse ages doth enforce
  Men to find out so many Eccentrique parts,
  Such diuers downe-right lines, such ouerthwarts,
  As disproportion that pure forme.
  
  It teares
  The Firmament in eight and forty sheeres,
  And in these constillations then arise
  New starres, and old doe vanish from our eyes:
  As though heau[']n suffered earth quakes, peace or war,
  When new Towers rise, and old demolish't are.
  
  They haue impayld within a Zodiake
  The free-borne Sun, and keepe twelue signes awake
  To watch his stepps; the Goat and Crabbe controule,
  And fright him backe, who els to either Pole,
  (Did not these Tropiques fetter him) might runne:
  For his course is not round; nor can the Sunne
  Perfit a Circle, or maintaine his way
  One inche direct; but where he rose to day
  He comes no more, but with a cousening line,
  Steales by that point, and so is Serpentine:
  And seeming weary with his reeling thus,
  He meanes to sleepe, being now falne nearer vs.
  
  So, of the Starres which boast that they doe runne.
  
  In Circle still, none ends where he begunne.
  
  All their proportion's lame, it sinckes, it swels.
  
  For of Meridians, and Parallels,
  Man hath weaued out a net, and this net throwne
  Vpon the Heauens, and now they are his owne.
  
  Loth to goe vp the hill, or labour thus
  To goe to heauen, we make heauen come to vs.
  
  We spur, we raigne the stars, and in their race
  They're diuersly content t'obey our peace,
  But keepes the earth her round proportion still?
  
  Doth not a Tenerif, or higher Hill
  Rise so high like a Rocke, that one might thinke
  The floating Moone would shipwracke there, and sinke?
  
  Seas are so deepe, that Whales being strooke to day,
  Perchance too morrow, scarse at middle way
  Of their wish'd iorneys ende, the bottom, die.
  
  And men, to sound depths, so much line vntie,
  As one might iustly thinke, that there would rise
  At end thereof, one of th'Antipodies:
  If vnder all, a Vault infernall be,
  (Which sure is spacious, except that we
  Invent another torment, that there must
  Millions into a strait hot roome be thrust)
  Then solidnesse, and roundnesse haue no place.
  
  Are these but warts, and pock-holes in the face
  Of th'earth?
  
  Thinke so: But yet confesse, in this
  The worlds proportion disfigured is,
  That those two legges whereon it doth rely,
  Reward and punishment are bent awry.
  
  And, Oh, it can no more be questioned,
  That beauties best, proportion, is dead,
  Since euen griefe it selfe, which now alone
  Is left vs, is without proportion.
  
  Shee by whose lines proportion should bee
  Examin'd measure of all Symmetree,
  Whom had the Ancient seene, who thought soules made
  Of Harmony, he would at next haue said
  That Harmony was shee, and thence infer.
  
  That soules were but Resultances from her,
  And did from her into our bodies goe,
  As to our eyes, the formes from obiects flow:
  Shee, who if those great Doctors truely said
  That the Arke to mans proportion was made,
  Had beene a type for that, as that might be
  A type of her in this, that contrary
  Both Elements and Passions liu'd at peace
  In her, who cau'd all Ciuill war to cease.
  
  Shee, after whom, what forme soe're we see,
  Is discord, and rude incongruitee,
  Shee, shee is dead, she's dead; when thou knowest this,
  Thou knowst how vgly a monster this world is:
  And learnest thus much by our Anatomee,
  That here is nothing to enamour thee:
  And that, not onely faults in inward parts,
  Corruptions in our brains, or in our hearts.
  
  Poysoning the fountaines, whence our actions spring,
  Endanger us: but that if euery thing
  Be not done fitly'nd in proportion,
  To satisfie wise, and good lookers on,
  (Since most men be such as most thinke they bee)
  They're lothsome too, by this Deformitee.
  
  For good, and well, must in our actions meete;
  Wicked is not much worse then indiscreet.
  
  But beauties other second Element,
  Colour, and lustre now, is as neere spent.
  
  And had the world his iust proportion,
  Were it a ring still, yet the stone is gone.
  
  As a compassionate Turcoyse which doth tell
  By looking pale, the wearer is not well,
  As gold fals sicke being stung with Mercury,
  All the worlds parts of such complexion bee.
  
  When nature was most busie, the first weeke,
  Swadling the new borne earth God seemd to like,
  That she should sport her selfe sometimes, and play,
  To mingle, and vary colours euery day.
  
  And then, as though she could not make inow
  Himselfe his various Rainbow did allow,
  Sight is the noblest sense of any one,
  Yet sight hath onely colour to feede on,
  And colour is decayd: summers robe growes
  Duskie, and like an oft dyed garment showes.
  
  Our blushing redde, which vs'd in cheekes to spred,
  Is inward sunke and onely our soules are redde.
  
  Perchance the world might haue recouered,
  If shee whom we lament had not bene dead:
  But she, in whom all white, and red, and blew
  (Beauties ingredients) voluntary grew,
  As in an vnuext Paradise; from whom
  Did all things verdure, and their lustre come,
  Whose composition was miraculous,
  Being all colour, all Diaphanous,
  (For Ayre, and Fire but thinke grosse bodies were,
  And liueliest stones but drowsie, and pale to her,)
  Shee, shee, is dead; she's dead: when thou knowest this,
  Thou knowest how wan a Ghost this our world is:
  And learnst thus much by our Anatomee,
  That it should more affright, then pleasure thee.
  
  And that, since all faire colour then did sinke,
  'Tis now but wicked vanitie to thinke,   [Weakenesse in the vvant of correspondence of heauen & earth.
  
  ]
  To colour vicious deeds with good pretence,
  Or with bought colors to illude mens sense.
  
  Nor in ought more this worlds decay appeares,
  Then that her influence the heau'n forbeares,
  Or that the Elements doe not feele this,
  The father, or the mother barren is.
  
  The clouds conceiue not raine, or doe not powre
  In the due birth-time, down the balmy showre.
  
  Th'Ayre doth not motherly sit on the earth,
  To hatch her seasons, and giue all things birth.
  
  Spring-times were common cradles, but are toombes,
  And false conceptions fill the generall wombes.
  
  Th'ayre showes such Meteors, as none can see,
  Not onely what they meane, but what they bee.
  
  Earth such new wormes, as would haue troubled much,
  Th'Egyptian Mages to haue made more such.
  
  What Artist now dares boast that he can bring
  Heauen hither, or constellate any thing,
  So as the influence of those starres may bee
  Imprisoned in an Hearbe, or Charme, or Tree.
  
  And doe by touch, all which those starres could doe?
  
  The art is lost, and correspondence too.
  
  For heauen giues little, and the earth takes lesse,
  And man least knowes their trades and purposes.
  
  If this commerce twixt heauen and earth were not
  Embarr'd, and all this trafique quite forgot,
  Shee, for whose losse we haue lamented thus,
  Would worke more fully and pow'rfully on vs.
  
  Since herbes and roots by dying, lose not all,
  But they, yea Ashes too, are medicinall,
  Death could not quench her vertue so, but that
  It would be (if not follow'd) wondred at:
  And all the world would be one dying Swan,
  To sing her generall praise, and vanish than.
  
  But as some Serpents poyson hurteth not,
  Except it be from the liue Serpent shot,
  So doth her vertue need her here, to fit
  That unto vs; she working more then it.
  
  But she, in whom, to such maturity,
  Verue was grown, past gtrouth, that it must die,
  She from whose influence all Impresion came,
  But by receiuers impotencies, lame,
  Who, though she could not transubstantiate
  All states to gold, yet guilded euery state,
  So that some Princes haue some temperance;
  Some Counsellors some purpose to aduance
  The common profite; and some people haue
  Some stay, no more then Kings should giue, to craue;
  Some women haue some taciturnity,
  Some Nunneries, some graines of chastity.
  
  She that did thus much, & much more could doe,
  But that our age was Iron, and rusty too,
  Shee, shee is dead; shee's dead: when thou knowest this,
  Thou knowest how drie a Cinder this world is.
  
  And learnst thus much by our Anatomy,
  That 'tis in vaine to dew, or mollifie
  It with thy Teares, or Sweat, or Blood: no thing
  Is worth our trauaile, griefe, or perishing,
  But those rich ioyes, which did possesse her heart,
  Of which shee's now partaker, and a part.
  
  [Conclusion.
  
  ]
  But as in cutting vp a man that's dead,
  The body will not last out to haue read
  On euery part, and therefore men direct
  Their speech to parts, that are of most effect;
  So the worlds carcasse would not last, if I
  Were punctuall in this Anatomy.
  
  Nor smels it well to hearers, if one tell
  Them their disease, who faine would thinke they're well.
  
  Here therefore be the end: And, blessed maid,
  Of whom is meant what euer hath beene said,
  Or shall be spoken well by any tongue,
  Whose name refines course lines, and makes prose song,
  Accept this tribute, and his first yeeres rent,
  Who till his darke short tapers end be spent,
  As oft as thy feast sees this widowed earth,
  Will yeerely celebrate thy second birth,
  That is, thy death.
  
  For though the soule of man
  Be got when man is made, 'tis borne but than
  When man doth die, Our bodi's as the wombe,
  And as a Mid-wife death directs it home.
  
  And you her creatures, whom she workes vpon
  And haue your last, and best concoction
  From her example, and her vertue, if you
  In reuerence to her, doe thinke it due,
  That no one should her prayses thus reherse,
  As matter fit for Chronicle, not verse,
  Vouchsafe to call to minde, that God did make
  A last, and lastingst peece, a song.
  
  He spake
  To Moses, to deliuer vnto all,
  That song: because he knew they would let fall,
  The Law, the Prophets, and the History,
  But keepe the song still in their memory.
  
  Such an opinion (in due measure) made
  Me this great Office boldly to inuade.
  
  Nor could incomprehensiblenesse deterre
  Me, from thus trying to emprison her.
  
  Which when I saw that a strict graue could doe,
  I saw not why verse might not doe so too.
  
  Verse hath a middle nature: Heauen keepes soules,
  The Graue keepes bodies, Verse the fame enroules.

• An Obscure Writer Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Philo with twelve years' study hath been grieved
  To be understood ; when will he be believed?

• Annunciation Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Salvation to all that will is nigh;
  That All, which always is all everywhere,
  Which cannot sin, and yet all sins must bear,
  Which cannot die, yet cannot choose but die,
  Lo, faithful virgin, yields Himself to lie
  In prison, in thy womb; and though He there
  Can take no sin, nor thou give, yet He will wear,
  Taken from thence, flesh, which death's force may try.
  
  Ere by the spheres time was created, thou
  Wast in His mind, who is thy Son and Brother;
  Whom thou conceivst, conceived; yea thou art now
  Thy Maker's maker, and thy Father's mother;
  Thou hast light in dark, and shutst in little room,
  Immensity cloistered in thy dear womb.

• Antiquary Read Poem Log in to favourite

  If in his study he hath so much care
  To hang all old strange things, let his wife beware.

• Ascension Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Salute the last and everlasting day,
  Joy at th' uprising of this Sun, and Son,
  Ye whose true tears, or tribulation
  Have purely wash'd, or burnt your drossy clay.
  
  Behold, the Highest, parting hence away,
  Lightens the dark clouds, which He treads upon ;
  Nor doth He by ascending show alone,
  But first He, and He first enters the way.
  
  O strong Ram, which hast batter'd heaven for me !
  Mild Lamb, which with Thy Blood hast mark'd the path !
  Bright Torch, which shinest, that I the way may see !
  O, with Thy own Blood quench Thy own just wrath ;
  And if Thy Holy Spirit my Muse did raise,
  Deign at my hands this crown of prayer and praise.

• At The Round Earth's Imagin'D Corners Read Poem Log in to favourite

  At the round earths imagin'd corners, blow
  Your trumpets, Angells, and arise, arise
  From death, you numberlesse infinities
  Of soules, and to your scattered bodies goe,
  All whom the flood did, and fire shall o'erthrow,
  All whom warre, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies,
  Despaire, law, chance, hath slaine, and you whose eyes,
  Shall behold God, and never tast deaths woe.
  
  But let them sleepe, Lord, and mee mourne a space,
  For, if above all these, my sinnes abound,
  'Tis late to aske abundance of thy grace,
  When wee are there; here on this lowly ground,
  Teach mee how to repent; for that's as good
  As if thou’hadst seal'd my pardon, with thy blood.

• Break of Day (another of the same) Read Poem Log in to favourite

  'Tis true, 'tis day; what though it be?
  
  O wilt thou therefore rise from me?
  
  Why should we rise, because 'tis light?
  
  Did we lie down, because 'twas night?
  
  Love which in spite of darkness brought us hither
  Should in despite of light keep us together.
  
  Light hath no tongue, but is all eye;
  If it could speak as well as spy,
  This were the worst that it could say -
  That being well, I fain would stay,
  And that I loved my heart and honour so,
  That I would not from her, that had them, go.
  
  Must business thee from hence remove?
  
  Oh, that's the worst disease of love!
  The poor, the foul, the false, love can
  Admit, but not the busied man.
  
  He which hath business, and makes love, doth do
  Such wrong as when a married man doth woo.

• Break Of Day! Read Poem Log in to favourite

  STAY, O sweet, and do not rise ;
  The light that shines comes from thine eyes ;
  The day breaks not, it is my heart,
  Because that you and I must part.
  
  Stay, or else my joys will die,
  And perish in their infancy.

• Community Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Good we must love, and must hate ill,
  For ill is ill, and good good still ;
  But there are things indifferent,
  Which wee 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 wee might hate, and some choose ;
  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 ;
  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?

• Confined Love Read Poem Log in to favourite

  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?
  
  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.
  
  Who e'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 arbors,
  Only to lock up, or else to let them fall?
  
  Good is not good unless
  A thousand it possess,
  But dost waste with greediness.

• Crucifying Read Poem Log in to favourite

  By miracles exceeding power of man,
  He faith in some, envy in some begat,
  For, what weak spirits admire, ambitious hate :
  In both affections many to Him ran.
  
  But O ! the worst are most, they will and can,
  Alas ! and do, unto th' Immaculate,
  Whose creature Fate is, now prescribe a fate,
  Measuring self-life's infinity to span,
  Nay to an inch.
  
  Lo ! where condemned He
  Bears His own cross, with pain, yet by and by
  When it bears him, He must bear more and die.
  
  Now Thou art lifted up, draw me to Thee,
  And at Thy death giving such liberal dole,
  Moist with one drop of Thy blood my dry soul.

• Daybreak Read Poem Log in to favourite

  STAY, O sweet and do not rise!
  The light that shines comes from thine eyes;
  The day breaks not: it is my heart,
  Because that you and I must part.
  
  Stay! or else my joys will die
  And perish in their infancy.

• Death Be Not Proud Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Death be not proud, though some have called thee
  Mighty and dreadful, for, thou art not soe,
  For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
  Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
  
  From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures bee,
  Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
  And soonest our best men with thee doe go,
  Rest of their bones, and souls delivery.
  
  Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
  And dost with poison, warre, and sickness dwell,
  And poppie, or charms can make us sleep as well,
  And better then thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
  
  One short sleep past, wee wake eternally,
  And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

• Disinherited Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Thy father all from thee, by his last will,
  Gave to the poor ; thou hast good title still.

• Eclogue Read Poem Log in to favourite

  I6I3,  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.
  
  As, for divine things, faith comes from above,
  So, for best civil use, all tinctures move
  From higher powers ; from God religion springs,
  Wisdom and honour from the use of kings :
  Then unbeguile thyself, and know with me,
  That angels, though on earth employ'd they be,
  Are still in heaven, so is he still at home
  That doth abroad to honest actions come.
  
  Chide thyself then, O fool, which yesterday
  Mightst have read more than all thy books bewray ;
  Hast thou a history, which doth present
  A court, where all affections do assent
  Unto the king's, and that that king's are just ;
  And where it is no levity to trust ;
  Where there is no ambition, but to obey ;
  Where men need whisper nothing, and yet may ;
  Where the king's favours are so placed, that all
  Find that the king therein is liberal
  To them, in him, because his favours bend
  To virtue, to the which they all pretend ?
  
  Thou hast no such ; yet here was this, and more.
  
  An earnest lover, wise then, and before,
  Our little Cupid hath sued livery,
  And is no more in his minority ;
  He is admitted now into that breast
  Where the king's counsels and his secrets rest.
  
  What hast thou lost, O ignorant man ?
  
  IDIOS.
  
  I knew
  All this, and only therefore I withdrew.
  
  To know and feel all this, and not to have
  Words to express it, makes a man a grave
  Of his own thoughts ; I would not therefore stay
  At a great feast, having no grace to say.
  
  And yet I 'scaped not here ; for being come
  Full of the common joy, I utter'd some.
  
  Read then this nuptial song, which was not made
  Either the court or men's hearts to invade ;
  But since I am dead and buried, I could frame
  No epitaph, which might advance my fame
  So much as this poor song, which testifies
  I did unto that day some sacrifice.
  
  I.
  
  THE TIME OF THE MARRIAGE.
  
  Thou art reprieved, old year, thou shalt not die ;
  Though thou upon thy death-bed lie,
  And should'st within five days expire,
  Yet thou art rescued by a mightier fire,
  Than thy old soul, the sun,
  When he doth in his largest circle run.
  
  The passage of the west or east would thaw,
  And open wide their easy liquid jaw
  To all our ships, could a Promethean art
  Either unto the northern pole impart
  The fire of these inflaming eyes, or of this loving
  heart.
  
  II.
  
  EQUALITY OF PERSONS.
  
  But undiscerning Muse, which heart, which eyes,
  In this new couple, dost thou prize,
  When his eye as inflaming is
  As hers, and her heart loves as well as his ?
  
  Be tried by beauty, and then
  The bridegroom is a maid, and not a man ;
  If by that manly courage they be tried,
  Which scorns unjust opinion ; then the bride
  Becomes a man.
  
  Should chance or envy's art
  Divide these two, whom nature scarce did part,
  Since both have the inflaming eye, and both the
  loving heart?
  
  III.
  
  RAISING OF THE BRIDEGROOM.
  
  Though it be some divorce to think of you
  Single, so much one are you two,
  Let me here contemplate thee,
  First, cheerful bridegroom, and first let me see,
  How thou prevent'st the sun,
  And his red foaming horses dost outrun ;
  How, having laid down in thy Sovereign's breast
  All businesses, from thence to reinvest
  Them when these triumphs cease, thou forward art
  To show to her, who doth the like impart,
  The fire of thy inflaming eyes, and of thy loving heart.
  
  IV.
  
  RAISING OF THE BRIDE.
  
  But now to thee, fair bride, it is some wrong,
  To think thou wert in bed so long.
  
  Since soon thou liest down first, 'tis fit
  Thou in first rising shouldst allow for it.
  
  Powder thy radiant hair,
  Which if without such ashes thou wouldst wear,
  Thou which, to all which come to look upon,
  Wert meant for Phoebus, wouldst be Phaëton.
  
  For our ease, give thine eyes th' unusual part
  Of joy, a tear ; so quench'd, thou mayst impart,
  To us that come, thy inflaming eyes ; to him, thy
  loving heart.
  
  V.
  
  HER APPARELLING.
  
  Thus thou descend'st to our infirmity,
  Who can the sun in water see.
  
  So dost thou, when in silk and gold
  Thou cloud'st thyself ; since we which do behold
  Are dust and worms, 'tis just,
  Our objects be the fruits of worms and dust.
  
  Let every jewel be a glorious star,
  Yet stars are not so pure as their spheres are ;
  And though thou stoop, to appear to us, in part,
  Still in that picture thou entirely art,
  Which thy inflaming eyes have made within his
  loving heart.
  
  VI.
  
  GOING TO THE CHAPEL.
  
  Now from your easts you issue forth, and we,
  As men, which through a cypress see
  The rising sun, do think it two ;
  So, as you go to church, do think of you ;
  But that veil being gone,
  By the church rites you are from thenceforth one.
  
  The church triumphant made this match before,
  And now the militant doth strive no more.
  
  Then, reverend priest, who God's Recorder art,
  Do, from his dictates, to these two impart
  All blessings which are seen, or thought, by angel's
  eye or heart.
  
  VII.
  
  THE BENEDICTION.
  
  Blest pair of swans, O may you interbring
  Daily new joys, and never sing ;
  Live, till all grounds of wishes fail,
  Till honour, yea, till wisdom grow so stale,
  That new great heights to try,
  I must serve your ambition, to die ;
  Raise heirs, and may here, to the world's end, live
  Heirs from this king, to take thanks, you, to give.
  
  Nature and grace do all, and nothing art ;
  May never age or error overthwart
  With any west these radiant eyes, with any north
  this heart.
  
  VIII.
  
  FEASTS AND REVELS.
  
  But you are over-blest.
  
  Plenty this day
  Injures ;  it causeth time to stay ;
  The tables groan, as though this feast
  Would, as the flood, destroy all fowl and beast.
  
  And were the doctrine new
  That the earth moved, this day would make it true ;
  For every part to dance and revel goes,
  They tread the air, and fall not where they rose.
  
  Though six hours since the sun to bed did part,
  The masks and banquets will  not yet impart
  A sunset to these weary eyes, a centre to this heart.
  
  IX.
  
  THE BRIDE'S GOING TO BED.
  
  What mean'st thou, bride, this company to keep ?
  
  To sit up, till thou fain wouldst sleep ?
  
  Thou mayst not, when thou'rt laid, do so ;
  Thyself must to him a new banquet grow ;
  And you must entertain
  And do all this day's dances o'er again.
  
  Know that if sun and moon together do
  Rise in one point, they do not set so too.
  
  Therefore thou mayst, fair bride, to bed depart ;
  Thou art not gone, being gone ; where'er thou art,
  Thou leavest in him thy watchful eyes, in him thy
  loving heart.
  
  X.
  
  THE BRIDEGROOM'S COMING.
  
  As he that sees a star fall, runs apace,
  And finds a jelly in the place,
  So doth the bridegroom haste as much,
  Being told this star is fallen, and finds her such.
  
  And as friends may look strange,
  By a new fashion, or apparel's change,
  Their souls, though long acquainted they had been,
  These clothes, their bodies, never yet had seen.
  
  Therefore at first she modestly might start,
  But must forthwith surrender every part,
  As freely as each to each before gave either eye or
  heart.
  
  XI.
  
  THE GOOD-NIGHT.
  
  Now, as in Tullia's tomb, one lamp burnt clear,
  Unchanged for fifteen hundred year,
  May these love-lamps we here enshrine,
  In warmth, light, lasting, equal the divine.
  
  Fire ever doth aspire,
  And makes all like itself, turns all to fire,
  But ends in ashes ; which these cannot do,
  For none of these is fuel, but fire too.
  
  This is joy's bonfire, then, where love's strong arts
  Make of so noble individual parts
  One fire of four inflaming eyes, and of two loving hearts.
  
  IDIOS.
  
  As I have brought this song, that I may do
  A perfect sacrifice, I'll burn it too.
  
  ALLOPHANES.
  
  No, sir.
  
  This paper I have justly got,
  For, in burnt incense, the perfume is not
  His only that presents it, but of all ;
  Whatever celebrates this festival
  Is common, since the joy thereof is so.
  
  Nor may yourself be priest ; but let me go
  Back to the court, and I will lay it upon
  Such altars, as prize your devotion.

• Elegy I: Jealousy Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Fond woman, which wouldst have thy husband die,
  And yet complain'st of his great jealousy;
  If swoll'n with poison, he lay in his last bed,
  His body with a sere-bark covered,
  Drawing his breath, as thick and short, as can
  The nimblest crocheting musician,
  Ready with loathsome vomiting to spew
  His soul out of one hell, into a new,
  Made deaf with his poor kindred's howling cries,
  Begging with few feigned tears, great legacies,
  Thou wouldst not weep, but jolly and frolic be,
  As a slave, which tomorrow should be free;
  Yet weep'st thou, when thou seest him hungerly
  Swallow his own death, heart's-bane jealousy.
  
  O give him many thanks, he is courteous,
  That in suspecting kindly warneth us.
  
  We must not, as we used, flout openly,
  In scoffing riddles, his deformity;
  Nor at his board together being sat,
  With words, nor touch, scarce looks adulterate.
  
  Nor when he swoll'n, and pampered with great fare,
  Sits down, and snorts, caged in his basket chair,
  Must we usurp his own bed any more,
  Nor kiss and play in his house, as before.
  
  Now I see many dangers; for that is
  His realm, his castle, and his diocese.
  
  But if, as envious men, which would revile
  Their prince, or coin his gold, themselves exile
  Into another country, and do it there,
  We play in another house, what should we fear?
  
  There we will scorn his houshold policies,
  His silly plots, and pensionary spies,
  As the inhabitants of Thames' right side
  Do London's Mayor; or Germans, the Pope's pride.

• Elegy II: The Anagram Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Marry, and love thy Flavia, for she
  Hath all things whereby others beautious be,
  For, though her eyes be small, her mouth is great,
  Though they be ivory, yet her teeth be jet,
  Though they be dim, yet she is light enough,
  And though her harsh hair fall, her skin is rough;
  What though her cheeks be yellow, her hair's red;
  Give her thine, and she hath a maidenhead.
  
  These things are beauty's elements, where these
  Meet in one, that one must, as perfect, please.
  
  If red and white and each good quality
  Be in thy wench, ne'er ask where it doth lie.
  
  In buying things perfumed, we ask if there
  Be musk and amber in it, but not where.
  
  Though all her parts be not in th' usual place,
  She hath yet an anagram of a good face.
  
  If we might put the letters but one way,
  In the lean dearth of words, what could we say?
  
  When by the Gamut some Musicians make
  A perfect song, others will undertake,
  By the same Gamut changed, to equal it.
  
  Things simply good can never be unfit.
  
  She's fair as any, if all be like her,
  And if none be, then she is singular.
  
  All love is wonder; if we justly do
  Account her wonderful, why not lovely too?
  
  Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies;
  Choose this face, changed by no deformities.
  
  Women are all like angels; the fair be
  Like those which fell to worse; but such as thee,
  Like to good angels, nothing can impair:
  'Tis less grief to be foul than t' have been fair.
  
  For one night's revels, silk and gold we choose,
  But, in long journeys, cloth and leather use.
  
  Beauty is barren oft; best husbands say,
  There is best land where there is foulest way.
  
  Oh what a sovereign plaster will she be,
  If thy past sins have taught thee jealousy!
  Here needs no spies, nor eunuchs; her commit
  Safe to thy foes; yea, to a Marmosit.
  
  When Belgia's cities the round countries drown,
  That dirty foulness guards, and arms the town:
  So doth her face guard her; and so, for thee,
  Which, forced by business, absent oft must be,
  She, whose face, like clouds, turns the day to night;
  Who, mightier than the sea, makes Moors seem white;
  Who, though seven years she in the stews had laid,
  A Nunnery durst receive, and think a maid;
  And though in childbed's labour she did lie,
  Midwives would swear 'twere but a tympany;
  Whom, if she accuse herself, I credit less
  Than witches, which impossibles confess;
  Whom dildoes, bedstaves, and her velvet glass
  Would be as loath to touch as Joseph was:
  One like none, and liked of none, fittest were,
  For, things in fashion every man will wear.

• Elegy III: Change Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Although thy hand and faith, and good works too,
  Have seal'd thy love which nothing should undo,
  Yea though thou fall back, that apostasy
  Confirm thy love; yet much, much I fear thee.
  
  Women are like the Arts, forc'd unto none,
  Open to'all searchers, unpriz'd, if unknown.
  
  If I have caught a bird, and let him fly,
  Another fouler using these means, as I,
  May catch the same bird; and, as these things be,
  Women are made for men, not him, nor me.
  
  Foxes and goats; all beasts change when they please,
  Shall women, more hot, wily, wild then these,
  Be bound to one man, and did Nature then
  Idly make them apter to endure than men?
  
  They are our clogges, not their own; if a man be
  Chain'd to a galley, yet the galley is free;
  Who hath a plow-land, casts all his seed corn there,
  And yet allows his ground more corn should bear;
  Though Danuby into the sea must flow,
  The sea receives the Rhene, Volga, and Po.
  
  By nature, which gave it, this liberty
  Thou lov'st, but Oh! canst thou love it and me?
  
  Likeness glues love: Then if so thou do,
  To make us like and love, must I change too?
  
  More than thy hate, I hate it, rather let me
  Allow her change, then change as oft as she,
  And so not teach, but force my opinion
  To love not any one, nor every one.
  
  To live in one land is captivity,
  To run all countries, a wild roguery;
  Waters stink soon, if in one place they bide,
  And in the vast sea are worse putrified:
  But when they kiss one bank, and leaving this
  Never look back, but the next bank do kiss,
  Then are they purest; Change is the nursery
  Of music, joy, life, and eternity.

• Elegy IV: The Perfume Read Poem Log in to favourite

  ONCE, and but once, found in thy company,
  All thy supposed escapes are laid on me ;
  And as a thief at bar is question'd there
  By all the men that have been robb'd that year,
  So am I—by this traiterous means surprized—
  By thy hydroptic father catechized.
  
  Though he had wont to search with glazèd eyes,
  As though he came to kill a cockatrice ;
  Though he hath oft sworn that he would remove
  Thy beauty's beauty, and food of our love,
  Hope of his goods, if I with thee were seen,
  Yet close and secret, as our souls, we've been.
  
  Though thy immortal mother, which doth lie
  Still buried in her bed, yet will not die,
  Takes this advantage to sleep out daylight,
  And watch thy entries and returns all night ;
  And, when she takes thy hand, and would seem kind,
  Doth search what rings and armlets she can find ;
  And kissing notes the colour of thy face ;
  And fearing lest thou'rt swollen, doth thee embrace ;
  To try if thou long, doth name strange meats ;
  And notes thy paleness, blushing, sighs, and sweats ;
  And politicly will to thee confess
  The sins of her own youth's rank lustiness ;
  Yet love these sorceries did remove, and move
  Thee to gull thine own mother for my love.
  
  Thy little brethren, which like fairy sprites
  Oft skipp'd into our chamber, those sweet nights,
  And kiss'd, and ingled on thy father's knee,
  Were bribed next day to tell what they did see ;
  The grim-eight-foot-high-iron-bound serving-man,
  That oft names God in oaths, and only then,
  He that, to bar the first gate, doth as wide
  As the great Rhodian Colossus stride
  —Which, if in hell no other pains there were,
  Makes me fear hell, because he must be there—
  Though by thy father he were hired to this,
  Could never witness any touch or kiss.
  
  But O ! too common ill, I brought with me
  That, which betray'd me to mine enemy,
  A loud perfume, which at my entrance cried
  Even at thy father's nose ; so were we spied.
  
  When, like a tyrant King, that in his bed
  Smelt gunpowder, the pale wretch shivered,
  Had it been some bad smell, he would have thought
  That his own feet, or breath, that smell had wrought ;
  But as we in our isle imprisoned,
  Where cattle only and diverse dogs are bred,
  The precious unicorns strange monsters call,
  So thought he good strange, that had none at all.
  
  I taught my silks their whistling to forbear ;
  Even my oppress'd shoes dumb and speechless were ;
  Only thou bitter sweet, whom I had laid
  Next me, me traiterously hast betray'd,
  And unsuspected hast invisibly
  At once fled unto him, and stay'd with me.
  
  Base excrement of earth, which dost confound
  Sense from distinguishing the sick from sound !
  By thee the silly amorous sucks his death
  By drawing in a leprous harlot's breath ;
  By thee the greatest stain to man's estate
  Falls on us, to be call'd effeminate ;
  Though you be much loved in the prince's hall,
  There things that seem exceed substantial ;
  Gods, when ye fumed on altars, were pleased well,
  Because you were burnt, not that they liked your smell ;
  You're loathsome all, being taken simply alone ;
  Shall we love ill things join'd, and hate each one?
  
  If you were good, your good doth soon decay ;
  And you are rare ; that takes the good away :
  All my perfumes I give most willingly
  To embalm thy father's corpse ; what?
  
  will he die?

• Elegy IX: The Autumnal Read Poem Log in to favourite

  No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace
  As I have seen in one autumnal face.
  
  Young beauties force our love, and that's a rape,
  This doth but counsel, yet you cannot scape.
  
  If 'twere a shame to love, here 'twere no shame;
  Affection here takes reverence's name.
  
  Were her first years the golden age?
  
  That's true,
  But now she's gold oft tried and ever new.
  
  That was her torrid and inflaming time,
  This is her tolerable tropic clime.
  
  Fair eyes, who asks more heat than comes from hence,
  He in a fever wishes pestilence.
  
  Call not these wrinkles, graves; if graves they were,
  They were Love's graves, for else he is no where.
  
  Yet lies not Love dead here, but here doth sit
  Vow'd to this trench, like an anachorit;
  And here till hers, which must be his death, come,
  He doth not dig a grave, but build a tomb.
  
  Here dwells he; though he sojourn ev'rywhere
  In progress, yet his standing house is here:
  Here where still evening is, not noon nor night,
  Where no voluptuousness, yet all delight.
  
  In all her words, unto all hearers fit,
  You may at revels, you at council, sit.
  
  This is Love's timber, youth his underwood;
  There he, as wine in June, enrages blood,
  Which then comes seasonabliest when our taste
  And appetite to other things is past.
  
  Xerxes' strange Lydian love, the platan tree,
  Was lov'd for age, none being so large as she,
  Or else because, being young, nature did bless
  Her youth with age's glory, barrenness.
  
  If we love things long sought, age is a thing
  Which we are fifty years in compassing;
  If transitory things, which soon decay,
  Age must be loveliest at the latest day.
  
  But name not winter faces, whose skin's slack,
  Lank as an unthrift's purse, but a soul's sack;
  Whose eyes seek light within, for all here's shade;
  Whose mouths are holes, rather worn out than made;
  Whose every tooth to a several place is gone,
  To vex their souls at resurrection:
  Name not these living death's-heads unto me,
  For these, not ancient, but antique be.
  
  I hate extremes, yet I had rather stay
  With tombs than cradles, to wear out a day.
  
  Since such love's natural lation is, may still
  My love descend, and journey down the hill,
  Not panting after growing beauties.
  
  So,
  I shall ebb on with them who homeward go.

• Elegy V: His Picture Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Here take my picture; though I bid farewell
  Thine, in my heart, where my soul dwells, shall dwell.
  
  'Tis like me now, but I dead, 'twill be more
  When we are shadows both, than 'twas before.
  
  When weather-beaten I come back, my hand
  Perhaps with rude oars torn, or sun beams tann'd,
  My face and breast of haircloth, and my head
  With care's rash sudden storms being o'erspread,
  My body'a sack of bones, broken within,
  And powder's blue stains scatter'd on my skin;
  If rival fools tax thee to'have lov'd a man
  So foul and coarse as, oh, I may seem then,
  This shall say what I was, and thou shalt say,
  "Do his hurts reach me?
  
  doth my worth decay?
  
  Or do they reach his judging mind, that he
  Should now love less, what he did love to see?
  
  That which in him was fair and delicate,
  Was but the milk which in love's childish state
  Did nurse it; who now is grown strong enough
  To feed on that, which to disus'd tastes seems tough.
  
  "

• Elegy VI Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Oh, let me not serve so, as those men serve
  Whom honour's smokes at once fatten and starve;
  Poorly enrich't with great men's words or looks;
  Nor so write my name in thy loving books
  As those idolatrous flatterers, which still
  Their Prince's styles, with many realms fulfil
  Whence they no tribute have, and where no sway.
  
  Such services I offer as shall pay
  Themselves, I hate dead names: Oh then let me
  Favourite in Ordinary, or no favourite be.
  
  When my soul was in her own body sheathed,
  Nor yet by oaths betrothed, nor kisses breathed
  Into my Purgatory, faithless thee,
  Thy heart seemed wax, and steel thy constancy:
  So, careless flowers strowed on the waters face
  The curled whirlpools suck, smack, and embrace,
  Yet drown them; so, the taper's beamy eye
  Amorously twinkling beckons the giddy fly,
  Yet burns his wings; and such the devil is,
  Scarce visiting them who are entirely his.
  
  When I behold a stream which, from the spring,
  Doth with doubtful melodious murmuring,
  Or in a speechless slumber, calmly ride
  Her wedded channels' bosom, and then chide
  And bend her brows, and swell if any bough
  Do but stoop down, or kiss her upmost brow:
  Yet, if her often gnawing kisses win
  The traiterous bank to gape, and let her in,
  She rusheth violently, and doth divorce
  Her from her native, and her long-kept course,
  And roars, and braves it, and in gallant scorn,
  In flattering eddies promising retorn,
  She flouts the channel, who thenceforth is dry;
  Then say I, That is she, and this am I.
  
  Yet let not thy deep bitterness beget
  Careless despair in me, for that will whet
  My mind to scorn; and Oh, love dulled with pain
  Was ne'er so wise, nor well armed as disdain.
  
  Then with new eyes I shall survey thee, and spy
  Death in thy cheeks, and darkness in thine eye.
  
  Though hope bred faith and love: thus taught, I shall,
  As nations do from Rome, from thy love fall.
  
  My hate shall outgrow thine, and utterly
  I will renounce thy dalliance: and when I
  Am the recusant, in that resolute state,
  What hurts it me to be excommunicate?

• Elegy VII Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Nature's lay idiot, I taught thee to love,
  And in that sophistry, Oh, thou dost prove
  Too subtle: Fool, thou didst not understand
  The mystic language of the eye nor hand:
  Nor couldst thou judge the difference of the air
  Of sighs, and say, This lies, this sounds despair:
  Nor by th' eyes water call a malady
  Desperately hot, or changing feverously.
  
  I had not taught thee, then, the Alphabet
  Of flowers, how they devisefully being set
  And bound up might with speechless secrecy
  Deliver errands mutely, and mutually.
  
  Remember since all thy words used to be
  To every suitor, Ay, if my friends agree;
  Since, household charms, thy husband's name to teach,
  Were all the love tricks that thy wit could reach;
  And since, an hour's discourse could scarce have made
  One answer in thee, and that ill arrayed
  In broken proverbs and torn sentences.
  
  Thou art not by so many duties his,
  That from the world's Common having severed thee,
  Inlaid thee, neither to be seen, nor see,
  As mine: who have with amorous delicacies
  Refined thee into a blissful Paradise.
  
  Thy graces and good words my creatures be;
  I planted knowledge and life's tree in thee,
  Which Oh, shall strangers taste?
  
  Must I alas
  Frame and enamel plate, and drink in glass?
  
  Chafe wax for others' seals?
  
  break a colt's force
  And leave him then, being made a ready horse?

• Elegy VIII: The Comparison Read Poem Log in to favourite

  AS the sweet sweat of roses in a still,
  As that which from chafed musk cat's pores doth trill,
  As the almighty balm of th' early east,
  Such are the sweat drops of my mistress' breast ;
  And on her neck her skin such lustre sets,
  They seem no sweat drops, but pearl carcanets.
  
  Rank sweaty froth thy mistress' brow defiles,
  Like spermatic issue of ripe menstruous boils,
  Or like the scum, which, by need's lawless law
  Enforced, Sanserra's starvèd men did draw
  From parboil'd shoes and boots, and all the rest
  Which were with any sovereign fatness blest ;
  And like vile lying stones in saffron'd tin,
  Or warts, or wheals, it hangs upon her skin.
  
  Round as the world's her head, on every side,
  Like to the fatal ball which fell on Ide ;
  Or that whereof God had such jealousy,
  As for the ravishing thereof we die.
  
  Thy head is like a rough-hewn statue of jet,
  Where marks for eyes, nose, mouth, are yet scarce set ;
  Like the first chaos, or flat seeming face
  Of Cynthia, when th' earth's shadows her embrace.
  
  Like Proserpine's white beauty-keeping chest,
  Or Jove's best fortune's urn, is her fair breast.
  
  Thine's like worm-eaten trunks, clothed in seal's skin,
  Or grave, that's dust without, and stink within.
  
  And like that slender stalk, at whose end stands
  The woodbine quivering, are her arms and hands.
  
  Like rough-bark'd elm-boughs, or the russet skin
  Of men late scourged for madness, or for sin,
  Like sun-parch'd quarters on the city gate,
  Such is thy tann'd skin's lamentable state ;
  And like a bunch of ragged carrots stand
  The short swollen fingers of thy gouty hand.
  
  Then like the chemic's masculine equal fire,
  Which in the limbec's warm womb doth inspire
  Into th' earth's worthless dirt a soul of gold,
  Such cherishing heat her best loved part doth hold.
  
  Thine's like the dread mouth of a fired gun,
  Or like hot liquid metals newly run
  Into clay moulds, or like to that Ætna,
  Where round about the grass is burnt away.
  
  Are not your kisses then as filthy, and more,
  As a worm sucking an envenom'd sore?
  
  Doth not thy fearful hand in feeling quake,
  As one which gathering flowers still fears a snake?
  
  Is not your last act harsh and violent,
  As when a plough a stony ground doth rent?
  
  So kiss good turtles, so devoutly nice
  Are priests in handling reverent sacrifice,
  And such in searching wounds the surgeon is,
  As we, when we embrace, or touch, or kiss.
  
  Leave her, and I will leave comparing thus,
  She and comparisons are odious.

• Elegy X: The Dream Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Image of her whom I love, more than she,
  Whose fair impression in my faithful heart
  Makes me her medal, and makes her love me,
  As Kings do coins, to which their stamps impart
  The value: go, and take my heart from hence,
  Which now is grown too great and good for me:
  Honours oppress weak spirits, and our sense
  Strong objects dull; the more, the less we see.
  
  When you are gone, and Reason gone with you,
  Then Fantasy is queen and soul, and all;
  She can present joys meaner than you do;
  Convenient, and more proportional.
  
  So, if I dream I have you, I have you,
  For, all our joys are but fantastical.
  
  And so I 'scape the pain, for pain is true;
  And sleep which locks up sense, doth lock out all.
  
  After a such fruition I shall wake,
  And, but the waking, nothing shall repent;
  And shall to love more thankful sonnets make
  Than if more honour, tears, and pains were spent.
  
  But dearest heart, and dearer image, stay;
  Alas, true joys at best are dream enough;
  Though you stay here you pass too fast away:
  For even at first life's taper is a snuff.
  
  Filled with her love, may I be rather grown
  Mad with much heart, than idiot with none.

• Elegy XII Read Poem Log in to favourite

  COME Fates ; I fear you not ! All whom I owe
  Are paid, but you ; then 'rest me ere I go.
  
  But Chance from you all sovereignty hath got ;
  Love woundeth none but those whom Death dares not ;
  True if you were, and just in equity,
  I should have vanquish'd her, as you did me ;
  Else lovers should not brave Death's pains, and live ;
  But 'tis a rule, “ Death comes not to relieve.
  
  ”
  Or, pale and wan Death's terrors, are they laid
  So deep in lovers, they make Death afraid ?
  
  Or—the least comfort—have I company ?
  
  O'ercame she Fates, Love, Death, as well as me ?
  
  Yes, Fates do silk unto her distaff pay,
  For ransom, which tax they on us do lay.
  
  Love gives her youth—which is the reason why
  Youths, for her sake, some wither and some die.
  
  Poor Death can nothing give ; yet, for her sake,
  Still in her turn, he doth a lover take.
  
  And if Death should prove false, she fears him not ;
  Our Muses, to redeem her, she hath got.
  
  That fatal night we last kiss'd, I thus pray'd,
  —Or rather, thus despair'd, I should have said—
  Kisses, and yet despair ! The forbid tree
  Did promise (and deceive) no more than she.
  
  Like lambs, that see their teats, and must eat hay,
  A food, whose taste hath made me pine away.
  
  Dives, when thou saw'st bliss, and craved'st to touch
  A drop of water, thy great pains were such.
  
  Here grief wants a fresh wit, for mine being spent,
  And my sighs weary, groans are all my rent.
  
  Unable longer to endure the pain,
  They break like thunder, and do bring down rain.
  
  Thus till dry tear solder my eye, I weep ;
  And then, I dream, how you securely sleep,
  And in your dreams do laugh at me.
  
  I hate,
  And pray Love all may ; he pities my state,
  But says, I therein no revenge shall find ;
  The sun would shine, though all the world were blind.
  
  Yet, to try my hate, Love show'd me your tear ;
  And I had died, had not your smile been there.
  
  Your frown undoes me ; your smile is my wealth ;
  And as you please to look, I have my health.
  
  Methought, Love pitying me, when he saw this,
  Gave me your hands, the backs and palms to kiss.
  
  That cured me not, but to bear pain gave strength ;
  And what is lost in force, is took in length.
  
  I call'd on Love again, who fear'd you so,
  That his compassion still proved greater woe ;
  For, then I dream'd I was in bed with you,
  But durst not feel, for fear it should not be true.
  
  This merits not your anger, had it been ;
  The queen of chastity was naked seen ;
  And in bed not to feel, the pain I took,
  Was more than for Actæon not to look ;
  And that breast which lay ope, I did not know,
  But for the clearness, from a lump of snow ;
  Nor that sweet teat which on the top it bore
  From the rose-bud which for my sake you wore.
  
  These griefs to issue forth, by verse I prove ;
  Or turn their course by travel and new love.
  
  All would not do ; the best at last I tried ;
  Unable longer to hold out, I died.
  
  And then I found I lost life, death by flying ;
  Who hundreds live, are but so long in dying.
  
  Charon did let me pass ; I'll him requite.
  
  To mark the groves or shades wrongs my delight ;
  I'll speak but of those ghosts I found alone,
  Those thousand ghosts, whereof myself made one,
  All images of thee ; I asked them why ?
  
  The judge told me, all they for thee did die,
  And therefore had for their Elysian bliss,
  In one another their own loves to kiss.
  
  O here I miss'd not blissh, but being dead ;
  For lo ! I dreamt, I dreamt, and waking said,
  “ Heaven, if who are in thee there must dwell,
  How is't I now was there, and now I fell ?
  
  ”

• Elegy XIII: His Parting From Her Read Poem Log in to favourite

  SINCE she must go, and I must mourn, come night,
  Environ me with darkness, whilst I write ;
  Shadow that hell unto me, which alone
  I am to suffer when my love is gone.
  
  Alas ! the darkest magic cannot do it,
  Thou and great hell, to boot, are shadows to it.
  
  Should Cynthia quit thee, Venus, and each star,
  It would not form one thought dark as mine are.
  
  I could lend them obscureness now, and say
  Out of my self, there should be no more day.
  
  Such is already my self-want of sight,
  Did not the fire within me force a light.
  
  O Love, that fire and darkness should be mix'd,
  Or to thy triumphs such strange torments fix'd !
  Is it because thou thyself art blind, that we,
  Thy martyrs, must no more each other see ?
  
  Or takest thou pride to break us on the wheel,
  And view old Chaos in the pains we feel ?
  
  Or have we left undone some mutual rite,
  That thus with parting thou seek'st us to spite ?
  
  No, no.
  
  The fault is mine, impute it to me,
  Or rather to conspiring destiny,
  Which, since I loved in jest before, decreed
  That I should suffer, when I loved indeed ;
  And therefore, sooner now than I can say,
  I saw the golden fruit, 'tis rapt away ;
  Or as I'd watch'd one drop in the vast stream,
  And I left wealthy only in a dream.
  
  Yet, Love, thou'rt blinder than myself in this,
  To vex my dove-like friend for my amiss ;
  And where one sad truth may expiate
  Thy wrath, to make her fortune run my fate.
  
  So blinded justice doth, when favourites fall,
  Strike them, their house, their friends, their favourites all.
  
  Was't not enough that thou didst dart thy fires
  Into our bloods, inflaming our desires,
  And madest us sigh, and blow, and pant, and burn,
  And then thyself into our flames didst turn ?
  
  Was't not enough that thou didst hazard us
  To paths in love so dark and dangerous,
  And those so ambush'd round with household spies,
  And over all thy husband's towering eyes,
  Inflamed with th' ugly sweat of jealousy ;
  Yet went we not still on in constancy ?
  
  Have we for this kept guards, like spy on spy ?
  
  Had correspondence whilst the foe stood by ?
  
  Stolen, more to sweeten them, our many blisses
  Of meetings, conference, embracements, kisses ?
  
  Shadow'd with negligence our best respects ?
  
  Varied our language through all dialects
  Of becks, winks, looks, and often under boards
  Spoke dialogues with our feet far from our words ?
  
  Have we proved all the secrets of our art,
  Yea, thy pale inwards, and thy panting heart ?
  
  And, after all this passed purgatory,
  Must sad divorce make us the vulgar story ?
  
  First let our eyes be riveted quite through
  Our turning brain, and both our lips grow to ;
  Let our arms clasp like ivy, and our fear
  Freeze us together, that we may stick here,
  Till Fortune, that would ruin us with the deed,
  Strain his eyes open, and yet make them bleed.
  
  For Love it cannot be, whom hitherto
  I have accused, should such a mischief do.
  
  O Fortune, thou'rt not worth my least exclaim,
  And plague enough thou hast in thy own name.
  
  Do thy great worst ; my friend and I have charms,
  Though not against thy strokes, against thy harms.
  
  Rend us in sunder ; thou canst not divide
  Our bodies so, but that our souls are tied,
  And we can love by letters still and gifts,
  And thoughts and dreams ; love never wanteth shifts.
  
  I will not look upon the quickening sun,
  But straight her beauty to my sense shall run ;
  The air shall note her soft, the fire, most pure ;
  Waters suggest her clear, and the earth sure.
  
  Time shall not lose our passages ; the spring,
  How fresh our love was in the beginning ;
  The summer, how it ripen'd in the year ;
  And autumn, what our golden harvests were ;
  The winter I'll not think on to spite thee,
  But count it a lost season ; so shall she.
  
  And dearest friend, since we must part, drown night
  With hope of day—burdens well borne are light— ;
  The cold and darkness longer hang somewhere,
  Yet Phoebus equally lights all the sphere ;
  And what we cannot in like portion pay
  The world enjoys in mass, and so we may.
  
  Be then ever yourself, and let no woe
  Win on your health, your youth, your beauty ; so
  Declare yourself base Fortune's enemy,
  No less be your contempt than her inconstancy ;
  That I may grow enamour'd on your mind,
  When mine own thoughts I here neglected find.
  
  And this to the comfort of my dear I vow,
  My deeds shall still be what my deeds are now ;
  The poles shall move to teach me ere I start ;
  And when I change my love, I'll change my heart.
  
  Nay, if I wax but cold in my desire,
  Think, heaven hath motion lost, and the world, fire.
  
  Much more I could, but many words have made
  That oft suspected which men most persuade.
  
  Take therefore all in this ; I love so true,
  As I will never look for less in you.

• Elegy XIV: Julia Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Hark, news, O envy ; thou shalt hear descried
  My Julia ; who as yet was ne'er envied.
  
  To vomit gall in slander, swell her veins
  With calumny, that hell itself disdains,
  Is her continual practice ; does her best,
  To tear opinion e'en out of the breast
  Of dearest friends, and—which is worse than vile—
  Sticks jealousy in wedlock ; her own child
  Scapes not the showers of envy.
  
  To repeat
  The monstrous fashions how, were alive to eat
  Deare reputation ; would to God she were
  But half so loth to act vice, as to hear
  My mild reproof.
  
  Lived Mantuan now again
  That female Mastix to limn with his pen,
  This she Chimera that hath eyes of fire,
  Burning with anger—anger feeds desire—
  Tongued like the night crow, whose ill boding cries
  Give out for nothing but new injuries ;
  Her breath like to the juice in Tænarus,
  That blasts the springs, though ne'er so prosperous ;
  Her hands, I know not how, used more to spill
  The food of others than herself to fill ;
  But O ! her mind, that Orcus, which includes
  Legions of mischiefs, countless multitudes
  Of formless curses, projects unmade up,
  Abuses yet unfashion'd, thoughts corrupt,
  Misshapen cavils, palpable untroths,
  Inevitable errors, self-accusing loaths.
  
  These, like those atoms swarming in the sun,
  Throng in her bosom for creation.
  
  I blush to give her halfe her due ; yet say,
  No poison's half so bad as Julia.

• Elegy XIX Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Whoever loves, if he do not propose
  The right true end of love, he's one that goes
  To sea for nothing but to make him sick.
  
  Love is a bear-whelp born : if we o'er-lick
  Our love, and force it new strange shapes to take,
  We err, and of a lump a monster make.
  
  Were not a calf a monster, that were grown
  Faced like a man, though better than his own ?
  
  Perfection is in unity ; prefer
  One woman first, and then one thing in her.
  
  I, when I value gold, may think upon
  The ductileness, the application,
  The wholesomeness, the ingenuity,
  From rust, from soil, from fire ever free ;
  But if I love it, 'tis because 'tis made
  By our new nature, use, the soul of trade.
  
  All this in women we might think upon,
  —If women had them—and yet love but one.
  
  Can men more injure women than to say
  They love them for that, by which they're not they ?
  
  Makes virtue woman ?
  
  must I cool my blood
  Till I both be, and find one wise and good ?
  
  May barren angels love so.
  
  But if we
  Make love to woman, virtue is not she,
  As beauty is not, nor wealth.
  
  He that strays thus
  From her to hers is more adulterous
  Than if he took her maid.
  
  Search every sphere
  And firmament, our Cupid is not there.
  
  He's an infernal God, and underground
  With Pluto dwells, where gold and fire abound.
  
  Men to such gods their sacrificing coals
  Did not on altars lay, but pits and holes.
  
  Although we see celestial bodies move
  Above the earth, the earth we till and love.
  
  So we her airs contemplate, words and heart,
  And virtues, but we love the centric part.
  
  Nor is the soul more worthy, or more fit
  For love, than this, as infinite as it.
  
  But in attaining this desired place
  How much they err, that set out at the face ?
  
  The hair a forest is of ambushes,
  Of springes, snares, fetters, and manacles ;
  The brow becalms us when 'tis smooth and plain,
  And when 'tis wrinkled, shipwrecks us again ;
  Smooth, 'tis a paradise, where we would have
  Immortal stay, but wrinkled 'tis a grave.
  
  The nose, like to the first meridian, runs
  Not 'twixt an east and west, but 'twixt two suns ;
  It leaves a cheek, a rosy hemisphere,
  On either side, and then directs us where
  Upon the islands fortunate we fall,
  Not faint Canaries, but ambrosial,
  Her swelling lips, to which when we are come,
  We anchor there, and think ourselves at home,
  For they seem all ; there Sirens' songs and there
  Wise Delphic oracles do fill the ear.
  
  There, in a creek where chosen pearls do swell,
  The remora, her cleaving tongue, doth dwell.
  
  These and the glorious promontory, her chin,
  O'erpast, and the straight Hellespont between
  The Sestos and Abydos of her breasts,
  Not of two lovers, but two loves, the nests,
  Succeeds a boundless sea, but yet thine eye
  Some island moles may scattered there descry ;
  And sailing towards her India, in that way
  Shall at her fair Atlantic navel stay.
  
  Though there the current be the pilot made,
  Yet, ere thou be where thou shouldst be embay'd,
  Thou shalt upon another forest set,
  Where many shipwreck, and no further get.
  
  When thou art there, consider what this chase
  Misspent by thy beginning at the face.
  
  Rather set out below ; practise thy art ;
  Some symmetry the foot hath with that part
  Which thou dost seek, and is thy map for that,
  Lovely enough to stop, but not stay at.
  
  Least subject to disguise and change it is ;
  Men say the devil never can change his ;
  It is the emblem that hath figured
  Firmness ; 'tis the first part that comes to bed.
  
  Civility we see refined ; the kiss,
  Which at the face began, transplanted is,
  Since to the hand, since to the imperial knee,
  Now at the papal foot delights to be.
  
  If kings think that the nearer way, and do
  Rise from the foot, lovers may do so too ;
  For, as free spheres move faster far than can
  Birds, whom the air resists, so may that man
  Which goes this empty and ethereal way,
  Than if at beauty's elements he stay.
  
  Rich Nature in women wisely made
  Two purses, and their mouths aversely laid.
  
  They then which to the lower tribute owe,
  That way which that exchequer looks must go ;
  He which doth not, his error is as great,
  As who by clyster gives the stomach meat.

• Elegy XV: A Tale of a Citizen and his Wife Read Poem Log in to favourite

  I SING no harm, good sooth, to any wight,
  To lord or fool, cuckold, beggar, or knight,
  To peace-teaching lawyer, proctor, or brave
  Reformed or reducèd captain, knave,
  Officer, juggler, or justice of peace,
  Juror or judge ; I touch no fat sow's grease ;
  I am no libeller, nor will be any,
  But—like a true man—say there are too many.
  
  I fear not ore tenus ; for my tale
  Nor count nor counsellor will look red or pale.
  
  A citizen and his wife the other day
  Both riding on one horse, upon the way
  I overtook ; the wench a pretty peat,
  And—by her eye—well fitting for the feat.
  
  I saw the lecherous citizen turn back
  His head, and on his wife's lip steal a smack ;
  Whence apprehending that the man was kind,
  Riding before to kiss his wife behind,
  To get acquaintance with him I began
  To sort discourse fit for so fine a man ;
  I ask'd the number of the plaguing bill ;
  Ask'd if the custom farmers held out still ;
  Of the Virginian plot, and whether Ward
  The traffic of the island seas had marr'd ;
  Whether the Britain Burse did fill apace,
  And likely were to give th' Exchange disgrace.
  
  Of new-built Aldgate, and the Moor-field crosses,
  Of store of bankrupts, and poor merchants' losses
  I urgèd him to speak ; but he—as mute
  As an old courtier worn to his last suit—
  Replies with only yeas and nays ; at last
  —To fit his element—my theme I cast
  On tradesmen's gains ; that set his tongue a-going.
  
  “ Alas ! good sir,” quoth he, “ There is no doing
  In court or city now” ; she smiled, and I,
  And, in my conscience, both gave him the lie
  In one met thought ; but he went on apace,
  And at the present time with such a face
  He rail'd, as fray'd me ; for he gave no praise
  To any but my Lord of Essex' days ;
  Call'd that the age of action—“ True ! ” quoth I—
  “ There's now as great an itch of bravery,
  And heat of taking up, but cold lay down,
  For, put to push of pay, away they run ;
  Our only city trades of hope now are
  Bawd, tavern-keepers, whores, and scriveners.
  
  The much of privileged kinsmen and store
  Of fresh protections make the rest all poor.
  
  In the first state of their creation
  Though many stoutly stand, yet proves not one
  A righteous pay-master.
  
  ” Thus ran he on
  In a continued rage ; so void of reason
  Seem'd his harsh talk, I sweat for fear of treason.
  
  And—troth—how could I less ?
  
  when in the prayer
  For the protection of the wise Lord Mayor,
  And his wise brethren's worships, when one prayeth,
  He swore that none could say amen with faith.
  
  To get off him from what I glow'd to hear,
  In happy time an angel did appear,
  The bright sign of a loved and well-tried inn,
  Where many citizens with their wives had been
  Well used and often ; here I pray'd him stay,
  To take some due refreshment by the way.
  
  Look, how he look'd that hid the gold, his hope,
  And at return found nothing but a rope,
  So he at me ; refused and made away,
  Though willing she pleaded a weary stay.
  
  I found my miss, struck hands, and pray'd him tell—
  To hold acquaintance still—where he did dwell.
  
  He barely named the street, promised the wine,
  But his kind wife gave me the very sign.

• Elegy XVI: The Expostulation Read Poem Log in to favourite

  TO make the doubt clear, that no woman's true,
  Was it my fate to prove it strong in you?
  
  Thought I, but one had breathèd purest air ;
  And must she needs be false, because she's fair?
  
  Is it your beauty's mark, or of your youth,
  Or your perfection, not to study truth?
  
  Or think you heaven is deaf, or hath no eyes?
  
  Or those it hath smile at your perjuries?
  
  Are vows so cheap with women, or the matter
  Whereof they're made, that they are writ in water,
  And blown away with wind?
  
  Or doth their breath
  Both hot and cold, at once make life and death?
  
  Who could have thought so many accents sweet
  Form'd into words, so may sighs should meet
  As from our hearts, so many oaths, and tears
  Sprinkled among, all sweeten'd by our fears,
  And the divine impression of stolen kisses,
  That seal'd the rest, should now prove empty blisses?
  
  Did you draw bonds to forfeit?
  
  sign to break?
  
  Or must we read you quite from what you speak,
  And find the truth out the wrong way?
  
  or must
  He first desire you false, would wish you just?
  
  O ! I profane ! though most of women be
  This kind of beast, my thoughts shall except thee,
  My dearest love ; though froward jealousy
  With circumstance might urge thy inconstancy,
  Sooner I'll think the sun will cease to cheer
  The teeming earth, and that forget to bear ;
  Sooner that rivers will run back, or Thames
  With ribs of ice in June will bind his streams ;
  Or nature, by whose strength the world endures,
  Would change her course, before you alter yours.
  
  But O ! that treacherous breast, to whom weak you
  Did drift our counsels, and we both may rue,
  Having his falsehood found too late ; 'twas he
  That made me cast you guilty, and you me ;
  Whilst he, black wretch, betray'd each simple word
  We spake, unto the cunning of a third.
  
  Cursed may he be, that so our love hath slain,
  And wander on the earth, wretched as Cain,
  Wretched as he, and not deserve least pity.
  
  In plaguing him, let misery be witty ;
  Let all eyes shun him, and he shun each eye,
  Till he be noisome as his infamy ;
  May he without remorse deny God thrice,
  And not be trusted more on his soul's price ;
  And, after all self-torment, when he dies,
  May wolves tear out his heart, vultures his eyes,
  Swine eat his bowels, and his falser tongue
  That utter'd all, be to some raven flung ;
  And let his carrion corse be a longer feast
  To the king's dogs, than any other beast.
  
  Now have I cursed, let us our love revive ;
  In me the flame was never more alive.
  
  I could begin again to court and praise,
  And in that pleasure lengthen the short days
  Of my life's lease ; like painters that do take
  Delight, not in made work, but whiles they make.
  
  I could renew those times, when first I saw
  Love in your eyes, that gave my tongue the law
  To like what you liked ; and at masks and plays
  Commend the self-same actors, the same ways ;
  Ask how you did, and often with intent
  Of being officious, be impertinent ;
  All which were such soft pastimes, as in these
  Love was as subtly catch'd as a disease.
  
  But being got, it is a treasure sweet,
  Which to defend is harder than to get ;
  And ought not be profaned, on either part,
  For though 'tis got by chance, 'tis kept by art.

• Elegy XVII: On His Mistress Read Poem Log in to favourite

  By our first strange and fatal interview,
  By all desires which thereof did ensue,
  By our long starving hopes, by that remorse
  Which my words masculine persuasive force
  Begot in thee, and by the memory
  Of hurts, which spies and rivals threaten'd me,
  I calmly beg.
  
  But by thy father's wrath,
  By all pains, which want and divorcement hath,
  I conjure thee, and all the oaths which I
  And thou have sworn to seal joint constancy,
  Here I unswear, and overswear them thus ;
  Thou shalt not love by ways so dangerous.
  
  Temper, O fair love, love's impetuous rage ;
  Be my true mistress still, not my feign'd page.
  
  I'll go, and, by thy kind leave, leave behind
  Thee, only worthy to nurse in my mind
  Thirst to come back ; O ! if thou die before,
  My soul from other lands to thee shall soar.
  
  Thy else almighty beauty cannot move
  Rage from the seas, nor thy love teach them love,
  Nor tame wild Boreas' harshness ; thou hast read
  How roughly he in pieces shivered
  Fair Orithea, whom he swore he loved.
  
  Fall ill or good, 'tis madness to have proved
  Dangers unurged ; feed on this flattery,
  That absent lovers one in th' other be.
  
  Dissemble nothing, not a boy, nor change
  Thy body's habit, nor mind ; be not strange
  To thyself only.
  
  All will spy in thy face
  A blushing womanly discovering grace.
  
  Richly clothed apes are call'd apes, and as soon
  Eclipsed as bright, we call the moon the moon.
  
  Men of France, changeable chameleons,
  Spitals of diseases, shops of fashions,
  Love's fuellers, and the rightest company
  Of players, which upon the world's stage be,
  Will quickly know thee, and no less, alas !
  Th' indifferent Italian, as we pass
  His warm land, well content to think thee page,
  Will hunt thee with such lust, and hideous rage,
  As Lot's fair guests were vex'd.
  
  But none of these
  Nor spongy hydroptic Dutch shall thee displease,
  If thou stay here.
  
  O stay here, for for thee
  England is only a worthy gallery,
  To walk in expectation, till from thence
  Our greatest king call thee to his presence.
  
  When I am gone, dream me some happiness ;
  Nor let thy looks our long-hid love confess ;
  Nor praise, nor dispraise me, nor bless nor curse
  Openly love's force, nor in bed fright thy nurse
  With midnight's startings, crying out, O ! O !
  Nurse, O ! my love is slain ; I saw him go
  O'er the white Alps alone ; I saw him, I,
  Assail'd, fight, taken, stabb'd, bleed, fall, and die.
  
  Augur me better chance, except dread Jove
  Think it enough for me to have had thy love.

• Elegy XVIII Read Poem Log in to favourite

  THE heavens rejoice in motion ; why should I
  Abjure my so much loved variety,
  And not with many youth and love divide ?
  
  Pleasure is none, if not diversified.
  
  The sun that, sitting in the chair of light,
  Sheds flame into what else so ever doth seem bright,
  Is not contented at one sign to inn,
  But ends his year, and with a new begin.
  
  All things do willingly in change delight,
  The fruitful mother of our appetite ;
  Rivers the clearer and more pleasing are,
  Where their fair-spreading streams run wide and clear ;
  And a dead lake, that no strange bark doth greet,
  Corrupts itself, and what doth live in it.
  
  Let no man tell me such a one is fair,
  And worthy all alone my love to share.
  
  Nature in her hath done the liberal part
  Of a kind mistress, and employed her art,
  To make her loveable, and I aver
  Him not humane, that would turn back from her.
  
  I love her well, and would, if need were, die,
  To do her service.
  
  But follows it that I
  Must serve her only, when I may have choice ?
  
  The law is hard, and shall not have my voice.
  
  The last I saw in all extremes is fair,
  And holds me in the sunbeams of her hair ;
  Her nymph-like features such agreements have,
  That I could venture with her to the grave.
  
  Another's brown ; I like her not the worse ;
  Her tongue is soft and takes me with discourse.
  
  Others, for that they well descended were,
  Do in my love obtain as large a share ;
  And though they be not fair, 'tis much with me
  To win their love only for their degree.
  
  And though I fail of my required ends,
  The attempt is glorious and itself commends.
  
  How happy were our sires in ancient time,
  Who held plurality of loves no crime.
  
  With them it was accounted charity
  To stir up race of all indifferently ;
  Kindred were not exempted from the bands,
  Which with the Persian still in usage stands.
  
  Women were then no sooner ask'd than won,
  And what they did was honest and well done.
  
  But since this little Honour hath been used,
  Our weak credulity hath been abused ;
  The golden laws of nature are repeal'd,
  Which our first fathers in such reverence held ;
  Our liberty reversed and charters gone ;
  And we made servants to Opinion ;
  A monster in no certain shape attired,
  And whose original is much desired,
  Formless at first, but growing on its fashions,
  And doth prescribe manners and laws to nations.
  
  Here love received immedicable harms,
  And was despoiled of his daring arms ;
  A greater want than is his daring eyes,
  He lost those awful wings with which he flies,
  His sinewy bow and those immortal darts,
  With which he is wont to bruise resisting hearts.
  
  Only some few, strong in themselves and free,
  Retain the seeds of ancient liberty,
  Following that part of love although depress'd,
  Yet make a throne for him within their breast,
  In spite of modern censures him avowing
  Their sovereign, all service him allowing.
  
  Amongst which troop although I am the least,
  Yet equal in perfection with the best,
  I glory in subjection of his hand,
  Nor ever did decline his least command ;
  For in whatever form the message came
  My heart did open and receive the same,
  But time will in his course a point descry
  When I this lovèd service must deny ;
  For our allegiance temporary is ;
  With firmer age returns our liberties.
  
  What time in years and judgment we reposed,
  Shall not so easily be to change disposed,
  Nor to the art of several eyes obeying,
  But beauty with true worth securely weighing ;
  Which being found assembled in some one
  We'll leave her ever, and love her alone.

• Elegy XX (Alternate) Love's War Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Till I have peace with thee, warr other Men,
  And when I have peace, can I leave thee then?
  
  All other Warrs are scrupulous; Only thou
  0 fayr free Citty, maist thyselfe allow
  To any one: In Flanders, who can tell
  Whether the Master presse; or men rebell?
  
  Only we know, that which all Ideots say,
  They beare most blows which come to part the fray.
  
  France in her lunatique giddines did hate
  Ever our men, yea and our God of late;
  Yet she relyes upon our Angels well,
  Which nere returne; no more than they which fell.
  
  Sick Ireland is with a strange warr possest
  Like to an Ague; now raging, now at rest;
  Which time will cure: yet it must doe her good
  If she were purg'd, and her head vayne let blood.
  
  And Midas joyes our Spanish journeys give,
  We touch all gold, but find no food to live.
  
  And I should be in the hott parching clime,
  To dust and ashes turn'd before my time.
  
  To mew me in a Ship, is to inthrall
  Mee in a prison, that weare like to fall;
  Or in a Cloyster; save that there men dwell
  In a calme heaven, here in a swaggering hell.
  
  Long voyages are long consumptions,
  And ships are carts for executions.
  
  Yea they are Deaths; Is't not all one to flye
  Into an other World, as t'is to dye?
  
  Here lett mee warr; in these armes lett mee lye;
  Here lett mee parle, batter, bleede, and dye.
  
  Thyne armes imprison me, and myne armes thee,
  Thy hart thy ransome is, take myne for mee.
  
  Other men war that they their rest may gayne;
  But wee will rest that wee may fight agayne.
  
  Those warrs the ignorant, these th'experienc'd love,
  There wee are alwayes under, here above.
  
  There Engins farr off breed a just true feare,
  Neere thrusts, pikes, stabs, yea bullets hurt not here.
  
  There lyes are wrongs; here safe uprightly ly;
  Tltere men kill men, we'will make one by and by,
  Thou nothing; I not halfe so much shall do
  In these Warrs, as they may which from us two
  Shall spring.
  
  Thousands wee see which travaile not
  To warrs; But stay swords, armes, and shott
  To make at home; And shall not I do then
  More glorious service, staying to make men?

• Elegy XX: To His Mistress Going to Bed Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Come, madam, come, all rest my powers defy,
  Until I labor, I in labor lie.
  
  The foe oft-times having the foe in sight,
  Is tired with standing though he never fight.
  
  Off with that girdle, like heaven's zone glistering,
  But a far fairer world encompassing.
  
  Unpin that spangled breastplate which you wear,
  That th' eyes of busy fools may be stopped there.
  
  Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime
  Tells me from you that now it is bed time.
  
  Off with that happy busk, which I envy,
  That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
  
  Your gown, going off, such beauteous state reveals,
  As when from flowery meads th' hill's shadow steals.
  
  Off with that wiry coronet and show
  The hairy diadem which on you doth grow:
  Now off with those shoes, and then safely tread
  In this love's hallowed temple, this soft bed.
  
  In such white robes, heaven's angels used to be
  Received by men; thou, Angel, bring'st with thee
  A heaven like Mahomet's Paradise; and though
  Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know
  By this these angels from an evil sprite:
  Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.
  
  License my roving hands, and let them go
  Before, behind, between, above, below.
  
  O my America! my new-found-land,
  My kingdom, safest when with one man manned,
  My mine of precious stones, my empery,
  How blest am I in this discovering of thee!
  To enter in these bonds is to be free;
  Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be.
  
  Full nakedness! All joys are due to thee,
  As souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be
  To taste whole joys.
  
  Gems which you women use
  Are like Atlanta's balls, cast in men's views,
  That when a fools' eye lighteth on a gem,
  His earthly soul may covet theirs, not them.
  
  Like pictures, or like books' gay coverings made
  For lay-men, are all women thus arrayed;
  Themselves are mystic books, which only we
  (Whom their imputed grace will dignify)
  Must see revealed.
  
  Then, since that I may know,
  As liberally as to a midwife, show
  Thyself: cast all, yea, this white linen hence,
  There is no penance due to innocence.
  
  To teach thee, I am naked first; why than,
  What needst thou have more covering than a man?

• Elegy:The End of Funeral Elegies Read Poem Log in to favourite

  MADAM—
  That I might make your cabinet my tomb,
  And for my fame, which I love next my soul,
  Next to my soul provide the happiest room,
  Admit to that place this last funeral scroll.
  
  Others by wills give legacies, but I
  Dying, of you do beg a legacy.
  
  My fortune and my will this custom break,
  When we are senseless grown to make stones speak,
  Though no stone tell thee what I was, yet thou
  In my grave's inside seest what thou art now,
  Yet thou 'rt not yet so good ;  till death us lay
  To ripe and mellow there, we're stubborn clay.
  
  Parents make us earth, and souls dignify
  Us to be glass ;  here to grow gold we lie.
  
  Whilst in our souls sin bred and pamper'd is,
  Our souls become worm-eaten carcases.

• ElegyXI: The Bracelet Read Poem Log in to favourite

  NOT that in colour it was like thy hair,
  For armlets of that thou mayst let me wear ;
  Nor that thy hand it oft embraced and kiss'd,
  For so it had that good, which oft I miss'd ;
  Nor for that silly old morality,
  That, as these links were knit, our love should be,
  Mourn I that I thy sevenfold chain have lost ;
  Nor for the luck sake ; but the bitter cost.
  
  O, shall twelve righteous angels, which as yet
  No leaven of vile solder did admit ;
  Nor yet by any way have stray'd or gone
  From the first state of their creation ;
  Angels, which heaven commanded to provide
  All things to me, and be my faithful guide ;
  To gain new friends, to appease great enemies ;
  To comfort my soul, when I lie or rise ;
  Shall these twelve innocents, by thy severe
  Sentence, dread judge, my sin's great burden bear?
  
  Shall they be damn'd, and in the furnace thrown,
  And punish'd for offenses not their own?
  
  They save not me, they do not ease my pains,
  When in that hell they're burnt and tied in chains.
  
  Were they but crowns of France, I carèd not,
  For most of these their country's natural rot,
  I think, possesseth ; they come here to us
  So pale, so lame, so lean, so ruinous.
  
  And howsoe'er French kings most Christian be,
  Their crowns are circumcised most Jewishly.
  
  Or were they Spanish stamps, still travelling,
  That are become as Catholic as their king ;
  These unlick'd bear-whelps, unfiled pistolets,
  That—more than cannon shot—avails or lets ;
  Which, negligently left unrounded, look
  Like many-angled figures in the book
  Of some great conjurer that would enforce
  Nature, so these do justice, from her course ;
  Which, as the soul quickens head, feet and heart,
  As streams, like veins, run through th' earth's every part,
  Visit all countries, and have slily made
  Gorgeous France, ruin'd, ragged and decay'd,
  Scotland, which knew no state, proud in one day,
  And mangled seventeen-headed Belgia.
  
  Or were it such gold as that wherewithal
  Almighty chemics, from each mineral
  Having by subtle fire a soul out-pull'd,
  Are dirtily and desperately gull'd ;
  I would not spit to quench the fire they're in,
  For they are guilty of much heinous sin.
  
  But shall my harmless angels perish?
  
  Shall
  I lose my guard, my ease, my food, my all?
  
  Much hope which they would nourish will be dead.
  
  Much of my able youth, and lustihead
  Will vanish ; if thou love, let them alone,
  For thou wilt love me less when they are gone ;
  And be content that some loud squeaking crier,
  Well-pleas'd with one lean threadbare groat, for hire,
  May like a devil roar through every street,
  And gall the finder's conscience, if he meet.
  
  Or let me creep to some dread conjurer,
  That with fantastic schemes fills full much paper ;
  Which hath divided heaven in tenements,
  And with whores, thieves, and murderers stuff'd his rents
  So full, that though he pass them all in sin,
  He leaves himself no room to enter in.
  
  But if, when all his art and time is spent,
  He say 'twill ne'er be found ; yet be content ;
  Receive from him that doom ungrudgingly,
  Because he is the mouth of destiny.
  
  Thou say'st, alas ! the gold doth still remain,
  Though it be changed, and put into a chain.
  
  So in the first fallen angels resteth still
  Wisdom and knowledge, but 'tis turn'd to ill ;
  As these should do good works, and should provide
  Necessities ; but now must nurse thy pride.
  
  And they are still bad angels ; mine are none ;
  For form gives being, and their form is gone.
  
  Pity these angels yet ; their dignities
  Pass Virtues, Powers, and Principalities.
  
  But thou art resolute ; thy will be done ;
  Yet with such anguish, as her only son
  The mother in the hungry grave doth lay,
  Unto the fire these martyrs I betray.
  
  Good souls—for you give life to everything—
  Good angels—for good messages you bring—
  Destined you might have been to such an one,
  As would have loved and worshipp'd you alone ;
  One that would suffer hunger, nakedness,
  Yea death, ere he would make your number less ;
  But, I am guilty of your sad decay ;
  May your few fellows longer with me stay.
  
  But O ! thou wretched finder whom I hate
  So, that I almost pity thy estate,
  Gold being the heaviest metal amongst all,
  May my most heavy curse upon thee fall.
  
  Here fetter'd, manacled, and hang'd in chains,
  First mayst thou be ; then chain'd to hellish pains ;
  Or be with foreign gold bribed to betray
  Thy country, and fail both of it and thy pay.
  
  May the next thing thou stoop'st to reach, contain
  Poison, whose nimble fume rot thy moist brain ;
  Or libels, or some interdicted thing,
  Which negligently kept thy ruin bring.
  
  Lust-bred diseases rot thee ; and dwell with thee
  Itching desire, and no ability.
  
  May all the evils that gold ever wrought ;
  All mischief that all devils ever thought ;
  Want after plenty, poor and gouty age,
  The plagues of travellers, love, marriage
  Afflict thee, and at thy life's last moment,
  May thy swollen sins themselves to thee present.
  
  But, I forgive ; repent thee, honest man !
  Gold is restorative ; restore it then :
  But if from it thou be'st loth to depart,
  Because 'tis cordial, would 'twere at thy heart.

• Epithalamion Made At Lincoln's Inn Read Poem Log in to favourite

  I
  HAIL sun-beams in the east are spread ;
  Leave, leave, fair bride, your solitary bed ;
  No more shall you return to it alone ;
  It nurseth sadness, and your body's print,
  Like to a grave, the yielding down doth dint ;
  You, and your other you, meet there anon.
  
  Put forth, put forth, that warm balm-breathing thigh,
  Which when next time you in these sheets will smother,
  There it must meet another,
  Which never was, but must be, oft, more nigh.
  
  Come glad from thence, go gladder than you came ;
  To-day put on perfection, and a woman's name.
  
  Daughters of London, you which be
  Our golden mines, and furnish'd treasury ;
  You which are angels, yet still bring with you
  Thousands of angels on your marriage days ;
  Help with your presence, and devise to praise
  These rites, which also unto you grow due ;
  Conceitedly dress her, and be assign'd,
  By you fit place for every flower and jewel ;
  Make her for love fit fuel,
  As gay as Flora and as rich as Ind ;
  So may she, fair and rich in nothing lame,
  To-day put on perfection, and a woman's name.
  
  And you frolic patricians,
  Sons of those senators, wealth's deep oceans ;
  Ye painted courtiers, barrels of other's wits ;
  Ye countrymen, who but your beasts love none ;
  Ye of those fellowships, whereof he's one,
  Of study and play made strange hermaphrodites,
  Here shine ; this bridegroom to the temple bring.
  
  Lo, in yon path which store of strew'd flowers graceth,
  The sober virgin paceth ;
  Except my sight fail, 'tis no other thing.
  
  Weep not, nor blush, here is no grief nor shame,
  To-day put on perfection, and a woman's name.
  
  Thy two-leaved gates, fair temple, unfold,
  And these two in thy sacred bosom hold,
  Till mystically join'd but one they be ;
  Then may thy lean and hunger-starvèd womb
  Long time expect their bodies, and their tomb,
  Long after their own parents fatten thee.
  
  All elder claims, and all cold barrenness,
  All yielding to new loves, be far for ever,
  Which might these two dissever ;
  Always, all th'other may each one possess ;
  For the best bride, best worthy of praise and fame,
  To-day puts on perfection, and a woman's name.
  
  Winter days bring much delight,
  Not for themselves, but for they soon bring night ;
  Other sweets wait thee than these diverse meats,
  Other disports than dancing jollities,
  Other love-tricks than glancing with the eyes,
  But that the sun still in our half sphere sweats ;
  He flies in winter, but he now stands still.
  
  Yet shadows turn ; noon point he hath attain'd ;
  His steeds will be restrain'd,
  But gallop lively down the western hill.
  
  Thou shalt, when he hath run the heaven's half frame,
  To-night put on perfection, and a woman's name.
  
  The amorous evening star is rose,
  Why then should not our amorous star inclose
  Herself in her wish'd bed ?
  
  Release your strings,
  Musicians ; and dancers take some truce
  With these your pleasing labours, for great use
  As much weariness as perfection brings.
  
  You, and not only you, but all toil'd beasts
  Rest duly ; at night all their toils are dispensed ;
  But in their beds commenced
  Are other labours, and more dainty feasts.
  
  She goes a maid, who, lest she turn the same,
  To-night puts on perfection, and a woman's name.
  
  Thy virgin's girdle now untie,
  And in thy nuptial bed, love's altar, lie
  A pleasing sacrifice ; now dispossess
  Thee of these chains and robes, which were put on
  To adorn the day, not thee ; for thou, alone,
  Like virtue and truth, art best in nakedness.
  
  This bed is only to virginity
  A grave, but to a better state, a cradle.
  
  Till now thou wast but able
  To be, what now thou art ; then, that by thee
  No more be said, “ I may be,” but, “ I am,”
  To-night put on perfection, and a woman's name.
  
  Even like a faithful man content,
  That this life for a better should be spent,
  So she a mother's rich stile doth prefer,
  And at the bridegroom's wish'd approach doth lie,
  Like an appointed lamb, when tenderly
  The priest comes on his knees to embowel her.
  
  Now sleep or watch with more joy ; and, O light
  Of heaven, to-morrow rise thou hot, and early ;
  This sun will love so dearly
  Her rest, that long, long we shall want her sight.
  
  Wonders are wrought, for she, which had no maim,
  To-night puts on perfection, and a woman's name.

• Fall of a Wall Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Under an undermined and shot-bruised wall
  A too-bold captain perish'd by the fall,
  Whose brave misfortune happiest men envied,
  That had a town for tomb, his bones to hide.

• Farewell to Love Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Whilst yet to prove,
  I thought there was some deity in love
  So did I reverence, and gave
  Worship, as atheists at their dying hour
  Call, what they cannot name, an unknown power,
  As ignorantly did I crave:
  Thus when
  Things not yet known are coveted by men,
  Our desires give them fashion, and so
  As they wax lesser, fall, as they size, grow.
  
  But, from late fair
  His highness sitting in a golden chair,
  Is not less cared for after three days
  By children, than the thing which lovers so
  Blindly admire, and with such worship woo;
  Being had, enjoying it decays:
  And thence,
  What before pleased them all, takes but one sense,
  And that so lamely, as it leaves behind
  A kind of sorrowing dullness to the mind.
  
  Ah cannot we,
  As well as cocks and lions jocund be,
  After such pleasures ?
  
  Unless wise
  Nature decreed (since each such act, they say
  Diminish the length of life a day)
  This; as she would man should despise
  The sport,
  Because that other curse of being short,
  And only for a minute made to be
  Eager, desires to raise posterity.
  
  Since so, my mind
  Shall not desire what no man else can find,
  I`ll no more dote and run
  To pursue things which had, endamaged me.
  
  And when I come where moving beauties be,
  As men do when the summer’s sun
  Grows great,
  Though I admire their greatness, shun their heat;
  Each place can afford shadow.
  
  If all fail,
  ’Tis but applying worm-seed to the tail.

• For whom the Bell Tolls Read Poem Log in to favourite

  No man is an island,
  Entire of itself.
  
  Each is a piece of the continent,
  A part of the main.
  
  If a clod be washed away by the sea,
  Europe is the less.
  
  As well as if a promontory were.
  
  As well as if a manor of thine own
  Or of thine friend's were.
  
  Each man's death diminishes me,
  For I am involved in mankind.
  
  Therefore, send not to know
  For whom the bell tolls,
  It tolls for thee.

• From ‘The Cross’ Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Who can blot out the Cross, which th’instrument
  Of God, dew’d on me in the Sacrament?
  
  Who can deny me power, and liberty
  To stretch mine arms, and mine own Cross to be?
  
  Swim, and at every stroke, thou art thy Cross;
  The Mast and yard make one, where seas do toss;
  Look down, thou spiest out Crosses in small things;
  Look up, thou seest birds rais’d on crossed wings;
  All the Globes frame, and spheres, is nothing else
  But the Meridians crossing Parallels.
  
  Material Crosses then, good physic bee,
  But yet spiritual have chief dignity.
  
  These for extracted chemic medicine serve,
  And cure much better, and as well preserve;
  Then are you your own physic, or need none,
  When Still’d, or purg’d by tribulation.
  
  For when that Cross ungrudg’d, unto you sticks,
  Then are you to your self, a Crucifix.
  
  As perchance, Carvers do not faces make,
  But that away, which hid them there, do take;
  Let Crosses, so, take what hid Christ in thee,
  And be his image, or not his, but he.

• Go and Catch a Falling Star Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Go and catch a falling star,
  Get with child a mandrake root,
  Tell me where all past years are,
  Or who cleft the devil's foot,
  Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
  Or to keep off envy's stinging,
  And find
  What wind
  Serves to advance an honest mind.
  
  If thou be'st born to strange sights,
  Things invisible to see,
  Ride ten thousand days and nights,
  Till age snow white hairs on thee,
  Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me,
  All strange wonders that befell thee,
  And swear,
  No where
  Lives a woman true, and fair.
  
  If thou find'st one, let me know,
  Such a pilgrimage were sweet;
  Yet do not, I would not go,
  Though at next door we might meet;
  Though she were true, when you met her,
  And last, till you write your letter,
  Yet she
  Will be
  False, ere I come, to two, or three.
  
  Alternate title: "Song"

• Good Friday, 1613. Riding Westward Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Let mans Soule be a Spheare, and then, in this,
  The intelligence that moves, devotion is,
  And as the other Spheares, by being growne
  Subject to forraigne motion, lose their owne,
  And being by others hurried every day,
  Scarce in a yeare their naturall forme obey:
  Pleasure or businesse, so, our Soules admit
  For their first mover, and are whirld by it.
  
  Hence is't, that I am carryed towards the West
  This day, when my Soules forme bends toward the East.
  
  There I should see a Sunne, by rising set,
  And by that setting endlesse day beget;
  But that Christ on this Crosse, did rise and fall,
  Sinne had eternally benighted all.
  
  Yet dare I'almost be glad, I do not see
  That spectacle of too much weight for mee.
  
  Who sees Gods face, that is selfe life, must dye;
  What a death were it then to see God dye?
  
  It made his owne Lieutenant Nature shrinke,
  It made his footstoole crack, and the Sunne winke.
  
  Could I behold those hands which span the Poles,
  And tune all spheares at once peirc'd with those holes?
  
  Could I behold that endlesse height which is
  Zenith to us, and our Antipodes,
  Humbled below us?
  
  or that blood which is
  The seat of all our Soules, if not of his,
  Made durt of dust, or that flesh which was worne
  By God, for his apparell, rag'd, and torne?
  
  If on these things I durst not looke, durst I
  Upon his miserable mother cast mine eye,
  Who was Gods partner here, and furnish'd thus
  Halfe of that Sacrifice, which ransom'd us?
  
  Though these things, as I ride, be from mine eye,
  They'are present yet unto my memory,
  For that looks towards them; and thou look'st towards mee,
  O Saviour, as thou hang'st upon the tree;
  I turne my backe to thee, but to receive
  Corrections, till thy mercies bid thee leave.
  
  O thinke mee worth thine anger, punish mee,
  Burne off my rusts, and my deformity,
  Restore thine Image, so much, by thy grace,
  That thou may'st know mee, and I'll turne my face.

• Hero and Leander Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Both robb'd of air, we both lie in one ground ;
  Both whom one fire had burnt, one water drown'd

• Holy Sonnet I: Thou Hast Made Me Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay?
  
  Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste;
  I run to death, and death meets me as fast,
  And all my pleasures are like yesterday.
  
  I dare not move my dim eyes any way,
  Despair behind, and death before doth cast
  Such terror, and my feeble flesh doth waste
  By sin in it, which it towards hell doth weigh.
  
  Only thou art above, and when towards thee
  By thy leave I can look, I rise again;
  But our old subtle foe so tempteth me
  That not one hour myself I can sustain.
  
  Thy grace may wing me to prevent his art,
  And thou like adamant draw mine iron heart.

• Holy Sonnet II: As Due By Many Titles I Resign Read Poem Log in to favourite

  As due by many titles I resign
  My self to Thee, O God; first I was made
  By Thee, and for Thee, and when I was decayed
  Thy blood bought that, the which before was Thine;
  I am Thy son, made with Thy Self to shine,
  Thy servant, whose pains Thou hast still repaid,
  Thy sheep, thine image, and, till I betrayed
  My self, a temple of Thy Spirit divine;
  Why doth the devil then usurp on me?
  
  Why doth he steal, nay ravish that's thy right?
  
  Except thou rise and for thine own work fight,
  Oh I shall soon despair, when I do see
  That thou lov'st mankind well, yet wilt not choose me,
  And Satan hates me, yet is loth to lose me.

• Holy Sonnet III: O Might Those Sighs And Tears Return Again Read Poem Log in to favourite

  O might those sighs and tears return again
  Into my breast and eyes, which I have spent,
  That I might in this holy discontent
  Mourn with some fruit, as I have mourned in vain;
  In mine Idolatry what showers of rain
  Mine eyes did waste! what griefs my heart did rent!
  That sufferance was my sin; now I repent;
  'Cause I did suffer I must suffer pain.
  
  Th' hydropic drunkard, and night-scouting thief,
  The itchy lecher, and self-tickling proud
  Have the remembrance of past joys for relief
  Of coming ills.
  
  To (poor) me is allowed
  No ease; for long, yet vehement grief hath been
  Th' effect and cause, the punishment and sin.

• Holy Sonnet IV: Oh my black soul! Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Oh my black soul! now art thou summoned
  By sickness, death's herald, and champion;
  Thou art like a pilgrim, which abroad hath done
  Treason, and durst not turn to whence he is fled;
  Or like a thief, which till death's doom be read,
  Wisheth himself delivered from prison,
  But damned and haled to execution,
  Wisheth that still he might be imprisoned.
  
  Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lack;
  But who shall give thee that grace to begin?
  
  Oh make thy self with holy mourning black,
  And red with blushing, as thou art with sin;
  Or wash thee in Christ's blood, which hath this might
  That being red, it dyes red souls to white.

• Holy Sonnet IX: If Poisonous Minerals, And If That Tree Read Poem Log in to favourite

  If poisonous minerals, and if that tree
  Whose fruit threw death on else immortal us,
  If lecherous goats, if serpents envious
  Cannot be damned, alas, why should I be?
  
  Why should intent or reason, born in me,
  Make sins, else equal, in me more heinous?
  
  And Mercy being easy, and glorious
  To God; in his stern wrath, why threatens he?
  
  But who am I, that dare dispute with thee
  O God?
  
  Oh! of thine only worthy blood,
  And my tears, make a heavenly Lethean flood,
  And drown in it my sin's black memory;
  That thou remember them, some claim as debt,
  I think it mercy, if thou wilt forget.

• Holy Sonnet V: I Am A Little World Made Cunningly Read Poem Log in to favourite

  I am a little world made cunningly
  Of elements, and an angelic sprite;
  But black sin hath betrayed to endless night
  My worlds both parts, and (oh!) both parts must die.
  
  You which beyond that heaven which was most high
  Have found new spheres, and of new lands can write,
  Pour new seas in mine eyes, that so I might
  Drown my world with my weeping earnestly,
  Or wash it if it must be drowned no more:
  But oh it must be burnt! alas the fire
  Of lust and envy have burnt it heretofore,
  And made it fouler: Let their flames retire,
  And burn me, O Lord, with a fiery zeal
  Of Thee and Thy house, which doth in eating heal.

• Holy Sonnet VI: This Is My Playes Last Scene Read Poem Log in to favourite

  This is my play's last scene, here heavens appoint
  My pilgrimages last mile; and my race
  Idly, yet quickly run, hath this last pace,
  My spans last inch, my minutes latest point,
  And gluttonous death, will instantly unjoint
  My body, and soul, and I shall sleep a space,
  But my'ever-waking part shall see that face,
  Whose fear already shakes my every joint;
  Then, as my soul, to'heaven her first seat, takes flight,
  And earth-borne body, in the earth shall dwell,
  So, fall my sins, that all may have their right,
  To where they're bred, and would press me, to hell.
  
  Impute me righteous, thus purg'd of evil,
  For thus I leave the world, the flesh, the devil.

• Holy Sonnet VII: At The Round Earth's Imagined Corners Read Poem Log in to favourite

  At the round earth's imagined corners blow
  Your trumpets, angels, and arise, arise
  From death, you numberless infinities
  Of souls, and to your scattered bodies go,
  All whom the flood did, and fire shall, overthrow,
  All whom war, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies,
  Despair, law, chance, hath slain, and you whose eyes
  Shall behold God, and never taste death's woe.
  
  But let them sleep, Lord, and me mourn a space,
  For, if above all these my sins abound,
  'Tis late to ask abundance of Thy grace,
  When we are there.
  
  Here on this lowly ground
  Teach me how to repent; for that's as good
  As if Thou'dst sealed my pardon, with Thy blood.

• Holy Sonnet VIII: If Faithful Souls Be Alike Glorified Read Poem Log in to favourite

  If faithful souls be alike glorified
  As angels, then my fathers soul doth see,
  And adds this even to full felicity,
  That valiantly I hells wide mouth o'erstride:
  But if our minds to these souls be descried
  By circumstances, and by signs that be
  Apparent in us, not immediately,
  How shall my mind's white truth by them be tried?
  
  They see idolatrous lovers weep and mourn,
  And vile blasphemous conjurers to call
  On Jesus name, and Pharisaical
  Dissemblers feign devotion.
  
  Then turn,
  O pensive soul, to God, for he knows best
  Thy true grief, for he put it in my breast.

• Holy Sonnet X:Death be not proud Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
  Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
  For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
  Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
  
  From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
  Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
  And soonest our best men with thee do go,
  Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
  
  Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
  And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
  And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
  And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
  
  One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
  And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

• Holy Sonnet XI: Spit In My Face You Jews, And Pierce My Side Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Spit in my face you Jews, and pierce my side,
  Buffet, and scoff, scourge, and crucify me,
  For I have sinned, and sinned, and only he
  Who could do no iniquity hath died:
  But by my death can not be satisfied
  My sins, which pass the Jews' impiety:
  They killed once an inglorious man, but I
  Crucify him daily, being now glorified.
  
  Oh let me, then, his strange love still admire:
  Kings pardon, but he bore our punishment.
  
  And Jacob came clothed in vile harsh attire
  But to supplant, and with gainful intent:
  God clothed himself in vile man's flesh, that so
  He might be weak enough to suffer woe.

• Holy Sonnet XII: Why Are We By All Creatures Waited On? Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Why are we by all creatures waited on?
  
  Why do the prodigal elements supply
  Life and food to me, being more pure than I,
  Simple, and further from corruption?
  
  Why brook'st thou, ignorant horse, subjection?
  
  Why dost thou, bull, and bore so seelily,
  Dissemble weakness, and by one man's stroke die,
  Whose whole kind you might swallow and feed upon?
  
  Weaker I am, woe is me, and worse than you,
  You have not sinned, nor need be timorous.
  
  But wonder at a greater wonder, for to us
  Created nature doth these things subdue,
  But their Creator, whom sin nor nature tied,
  For us, His creatures, and His foes, hath died.

• Holy Sonnet XIII: What If This Present Were The World's Last Night? Read Poem Log in to favourite

  What if this present were the world's last night?
  
  Mark in my heart, O soul, where thou dost dwell,
  The picture of Christ crucified, and tell
  Whether that countenance can thee affright,
  Tears in his eyes quench the amazing light,
  Blood fills his frowns, which from his pierced head fell.
  
  And can that tongue adjudge thee unto hell,
  Which prayed forgiveness for his foes' fierce spite?
  
  No, no; but as in my idolatry
  I said to all my profane mistresses,
  Beauty, of pity, foulness only is
  A sign of rigour: so I say to thee,
  To wicked spirits are horrid shapes assigned,
  This beauteous form assures a piteous mind.

• Holy Sonnet XIV: Batter my heart, three-personed God Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Batter my heart, three-personed God; for You
  As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
  That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me,'and bend
  Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
  
  I, like an usurped town, to another due,
  Labor to admit You, but O, to no end;
  Reason, Your viceroy in me, me should defend,
  But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
  
  Yet dearly I love You, and would be loved fain,
  But am betrothed unto Your enemy.
  
  Divorce me, untie or break that knot again;
  Take me to You, imprison me, for I
  Except You enthrall me, never shall be free,
  Nor ever chaste, except You ravish me.

• Holy Sonnet XIX: Oh, To Vex Me, Contraries Meet In One Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Oh, to vex me, contraries meet in one:
  Inconstancy unnaturally hath begot
  A constant habit; that when I would not
  I change in vows, and in devotion.
  
  As humorous is my contrition
  As my profane love, and as soon forgot:
  As riddlingly distempered, cold and hot,
  As praying, as mute; as infinite, as none.
  
  I durst not view heaven yesterday; and today
  In prayers and flattering speeches I court God:
  Tomorrow I quake with true fear of his rod.
  
  So my devout fits come and go away
  Like a fantastic ague; save that here
  Those are my best days, when I shake with fear.

• Holy Sonnet XV: Wilt Thou Love God Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Wilt thou love God, as he thee?
  
  then digest,
  My Soul, this wholesome meditation,
  How God the Spirit, by Angels waited on
  In heaven, doth make his Temple in thy breast.
  
  The Father having begot a Son most blest,
  And still begetting, (for he ne'r begone)
  Hath deigned to choose thee by adoption,
  Co heir to his glory, and Sabbaths endless rest;
  And as a robbed man, which by search doth find
  His stol'n stuff sold, must lose or buy it again;
  The Son of glory came down, and was slain,
  Us whom he had made, and Satan stolne, to unbind.
  
  'Twas much, that man was made like God before,
  But, that God should be made like man, much more.

• Holy Sonnet XVI: Father Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Father, part of his double interest
  Unto thy kingdom, thy Son gives to me,
  His jointure in the knotty Trinity
  He keeps, and gives to me his deaths conquest.
  
  This Lamb, whose death, with life the world hath blest,
  Was from the worlds beginning slain, and he
  Hath made two Wills, which with the Legacy
  Of his and thy kingdom, doe thy Sons invest.
  
  Yet such are thy laws, that men argue yet
  Whether a man those statutes can fulfill;
  None doth; but all-healing grace and spirit
  Revive again what law and letter kill.
  
  Thy laws abridgement, and thy last command
  Is all but love; Oh let this last Will stand!

• Holy Sonnet XVII: Since She Whom I Loved Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Since she whom I loved hath paid her last debt
  To Nature, and to hers, and my good is dead,
  And her soul early into heaven ravished,
  Wholly on heavenly things my mind is set.
  
  here the admiring her my mind did whet
  To seek thee, God; so streams do show the head;
  But though I have found thee, and thou my thirst hast fed,
  a holy thirsty dropsy melts me yet.
  
  But why should I beg more love, whenas thou
  Dost woo my soul, for hers offering all thine:
  And dost not only fear lest I allow
  My love to saints and angels, things divine,
  but in they tender jealousy dost doubt
  lest the world, flesh, yea, devil put thee out.

• Holy Sonnet XVIII: Show me, dear Christ, thy Spouse, so bright and clear Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Show me, dear Christ, thy Spouse, so bright and clear.
  
  What! is it She, which on the other shore
  Goes richly painted?
  
  or which, robbed and tore,
  Laments and mourns in Germany and here?
  
  Sleeps she a thousand, then peeps up one year?
  
  Is she self-truth and errs?
  
  now new, now outwore?
  
  Doth she, and did she, and shall she evermore
  On one, on seven, or on no hill appear?
  
  Dwells she with us, or like adventuring knights
  First travail we to seek and then make love?
  
  Betray, kind husband, thy spouse to our sights,
  And let mine amorous soul court thy mild dove,
  Who is most true and pleasing to thee then
  When she's embraced and open to most men.

• Hymn to God, My God, in my Sickness Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Since I am coming to that holy room,
  Where, with thy choir of saints for evermore,
  I shall be made thy music; as I come
  I tune the instrument here at the door,
  And what I must do then, think here before.
  
  Whilst my physicians by their love are grown
  Cosmographers, and I their map, who lie
  Flat on this bed, that by them may be shown
  That this is my south-west discovery,
  Per fretum febris, by these straits to die,
  I joy, that in these straits I see my west;
  For, though their currents yield return to none,
  What shall my west hurt me?
  
  As west and east
  In all flat maps (and I am one) are one,
  So death doth touch the resurrection.
  
  Is the Pacific Sea my home?
  
  Or are
  The eastern riches?
  
  Is Jerusalem?
  
  Anyan, and Magellan, and Gibraltar,
  All straits, and none but straits, are ways to them,
  Whether where Japhet dwelt, or Cham, or Shem.
  
  We think that Paradise and Calvary,
  Christ's cross, and Adam's tree, stood in one place;
  Look, Lord, and find both Adams met in me;
  As the first Adam's sweat surrounds my face,
  May the last Adam's blood my soul embrace.
  
  So, in his purple wrapp'd, receive me, Lord;
  By these his thorns, give me his other crown;
  And as to others' souls I preach'd thy word,
  Be this my text, my sermon to mine own:
  "Therefore that he may raise, the Lord throws down.
  
  "
  NOTES
  Composition Date:
  1593-97
  Form:
  ababb
  1.
  
  Walton says this poem was written in March 1631,
  a few days before Donne's death, but this has been
  questioned in favour of 1623.
  
  3.
  
  thy music: part of God's orchestra or company of musicians.
  
  10.
  
  Per fretum febris: through the straits of fever,
  with a pun on straits.
  
  13-15.
  
  In one of his sermons Donne writes: "In a flat Map there
  goes no more to make West East, though they be distant in an
  extremity but to paste that flat map upon a round body, and then
  West and East are all one .
  
  .
  
  .
  
  conforme thee to him [Christ] and
  thy West is East .
  
  .
  
  .
  
  the name of Christ is Oriens, the East.
  
  .
  
  .
  
  .
  
  ''
  18.
  
  Anyan: Bering Straits.
  
  20.
  
  the three sons of Noah, to whom were traditionally
  given Europe, Africa, and Asia.
  
  21-22.
  
  There is no authority for any precise identity, but
  appropriate correspondences of this kind are common in
  early biblical commentaries\; place may mean `region.
  
  '

• Klockius Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Klockius so deeply hath sworn ne'er more to come
  In bawdy house, that he dares not go home.

• La Corona Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Deign at my hands this crown of prayer and praise,
  Weaved in my lone devout melancholy,
  Thou which of good hast, yea, art treasury,
  All changing unchanged Ancient of days.
  
  But do not with a vile crown of frail bays
  Reward my Muse's white sincerity ;
  But what Thy thorny crown gain'd, that give me,
  A crown of glory, which doth flower always.
  
  The ends crown our works, but Thou crown'st our ends,
  For at our ends begins our endless rest.
  
  The first last end, now zealously possess'd,
  With a strong sober thirst my soul attends.
  
  'Tis time that heart and voice be lifted high ;
  Salvation to all that will is nigh.

• Love's Alchemy Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Some that have deeper digg'd love's mine than I,
  Say, where his centric happiness doth lie;
  I have lov'd, and got, and told,
  But should I love, get, tell, till I were old,
  I should not find that hidden mystery.
  
  Oh, 'tis imposture all!
  And as no chemic yet th'elixir got,
  But glorifies his pregnant pot
  If by the way to him befall
  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,
  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, possess'd.

• Love's Deity Read Poem Log in to favourite

  I long to talk with some old lover's ghost,
  Who died before the god of love was born.
  
  I cannot think that he, who then lov'd most,
  Sunk so low as to love one which did scorn.
  
  But since this god produc'd a destiny,
  And that vice-nature, custom, lets it be,
  I must love her, that loves not me.
  
  Sure, they which made him god, meant not so much,
  Nor he in his young godhead practis'd it.
  
  But when an even flame two hearts did touch,
  His office was indulgently to fit
  Actives to passives.
  
  Correspondency
  Only his subject was; it cannot be
  Love, till I love her, that loves me.
  
  But every modern god will now extend
  His vast prerogative as far as Jove.
  
  To rage, to lust, to write to, to commend,
  All is the purlieu of the god of love.
  
  O! were we waken'd by this tyranny
  To ungod this child again, it could not be
  I should love her, who loves not me.
  
  Rebel and atheist too, why murmur I,
  As though I felt the worst that love could do?
  
  Love might make me leave loving, or might try
  A deeper plague, to make her love me too;
  Which, since she loves before, I'am loth to see.
  
  Falsehood is worse than hate; and that must be,
  If she whom I love, should love me.

• Love's Diet Read Poem Log in to favourite

  To what a cumbersome unwieldiness
  And burdenous corpulence my love had grown,
  But that I did, to make it less,
  And keep it in proportion,
  Give it a diet, made it feed upon
  That which love worst endures, discretion
  Above one sigh a day I allow'd him not,
  Of which my fortune, and my faults had part ;
  And if sometimes by stealth he got
  A she sigh from my mistress' heart,
  And thought to feast upon that, I let him see
  'Twas neither very sound, nor meant to me.
  
  If he wrung from me a tear, I brined it so
  With scorn and shame, that him it nourish'd not ;
  If he suck'd hers, I let him know
  'Twas not a tear which he had got ;
  His drink was counterfeit, as was his meat ;
  For eyes, which roll towards all, weep not, but sweat.
  
  Whatever he would dictate I writ that,
  But burnt her letters when she writ to me ;
  And if that favour made him fat,
  I said, "If any title be
  Convey'd by this, ah ! what doth it avail,
  To be the fortieth name in an entail?
  
  "
  Thus I reclaim'd my buzzard love, to fly
  At what, and when, and how, and where I choose.
  
  Now negligent of sports I lie,
  And now, as other falconers use,
  I spring a mistress, swear, write, sigh, and weep ;
  And the game kill'd, or lost, go talk or sleep.

• Love's Exchange Read Poem Log in to favourite

  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, or play,
  For them which 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 ;
  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
  That she knows my paines, lest that so
  A tender shame make me mine own new woe.
  
  If thou give nothing, yet thou 'rt 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
  And change th' idolatry of any land,
  This face, which, wheresoe'er it comes,
  Can call vow'd 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,
  Kill, and dissect me, Love ; for this
  Torture against thine own end is ;
  Rack'd carcasses make ill anatomies.

• Love's Growth Read Poem Log in to favourite

  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 medicine, love, which cures all sorrow
  With more, not only be no quintessence,
  But mixed of all stuffs paining soul or sense,
  And of the sun his working vigor 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,
  From love’s awakened root do bud out now.
  
  If, as 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 time of action get
  New taxes, and remit them not in peace,
  No winter shall abate the spring’s increase.

• Love's Infiniteness Read Poem Log in to favourite

  If yet I have not all thy love,
  Dear, I shall never have it all,
  I cannot breathe one other sigh, to move,
  Nor can entreat one other tear to fall,
  And all my treasure, which should purchase thee,
  Sighs, tears, and oaths, and letters I have spent.
  
  Yet no more can be due to me,
  Than at the bargain made was meant;
  If then thy gift of love were partial,
  That some to me, some should to others fall,
  Dear, I shall never have thee all.
  
  Or if then thou gavest me all,
  All was but all, which thou hadst then;
  But if in thy heart, since, there be or shall
  New love created be, by other men,
  Which have their stocks entire, and can in tears,
  In sighs, in oaths, and letters outbid me,
  This new love may beget new fears,
  For, this love was not vowed by thee.
  
  And yet it was, thy gift being general;
  The ground, thy heart, is mine, whatever shall
  Grow there, dear, I should have it all.
  
  Yet I would not have all yet;
  He that hath all can have no more,
  And since my love doth every day admit
  New growth, thou shouldst have new rewards in store;
  Thou canst not every day give me thy heart,
  If thou canst give it, then thou never gavest it:
  Love's riddles are, that though thy heart depart,
  It stays at home, and thou with losing savest it:
  But we will have a way more liberal,
  Than changing hearts, to join them, so we shall
  Be one, and one another's all.

• Love's Usury Read Poem Log in to favourite

  For every hour that thou wilt spare me now
  I will allow,
  Usurious God of Love, twenty to thee,
  When with my brown my gray hairs equal be;
  Till then, Love, let my body reign, and let
  Me travel, sojourn, snatch, plot, have, forget,
  Resume my last year's relic: think that yet
  We had never met.
  
  Let me think any rival's letter mine,
  And at next nine
  Keep midnight's promise; mistake by the way
  The maid, and tell the Lady of that delay;
  Only let me love none, no, not the sport;
  From country grass, to comfitures of Court,
  Or cities quelque choses, let report
  My mind transport.
  
  This bargain's good; if when I'm old, I be
  Inflamed by thee,
  If thine own honour, or my shame, or pain,
  Thou covet most, at that age thou shalt gain.
  
  Do thy will then, then subject and degree,
  And fruit of love, Love I submit to thee;
  Spare me till then, I'll bear it, though she be
  One that loves me.

• Mercurius Gallo-Belgicus Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Like Esop's fellow-slaves, O Mercury,
  Which could do all things, thy faith is ; and I
  Like Esop's self, which nothing.
  
  I confess
  I should have had more faith, if thou hadst less.
  
  Thy credit lost thy credit.
  
  'Tis sin to do,
  In this case, as thou wouldst be done unto,
  To believe all.
  
  Change thy name ; thou art like
  Mercury in stealing, but liest like a Greek.

• Metempsycosis Read Poem Log in to favourite

  THE
  PROGRESSE
  OF THE SOULE.
  
  First Song.
  
  I.
  
  sing of the progresse of a deathlesse soule,
  Whom Fate, which God made, but doth not controule,
  Plac’d in most shapes; all times before the law
  Yoak’d us, and when, and since, in this I sing.
  
  And the great world to his aged evening;
  From infant morne, through manly noone I draw.
  
  What the gold Chaldee, or silver Persian saw,
  Greeke brasse, or Roman iron,  is in this one;
  A worke t’outweare Seths pillars, bricke and stone,
  And (holy writt excepted) made to yeeld to none.
  
  II.
  
  Thee, eye of heaven, this greate Soule envies not,
  By thy male force, is all wee have, begot,
  In the first East, thou now beginst to shine,
  Suck’st early balme, and Iland spices there,
  And wilt anon in thy loose-rein’d careere
  At Tagus, Po, Sene, Thames, and Danow dine.
  
  And see at night thy Westerne land of Myne,
  Yet hast thou not more nations seene then shee,
  That before thee, one day beganne to bee,
  And thy fraile light being quench’d, shall long, long out live thee.
  
  III.
  
  Nor, holy Janus,  in whose soveraigne boate
  The Church, and all the Monarchies did floate:
  That swimming Colledge, and free Hospitall
  Of all mankinde, that cage and vivarie
  Of fowles, and beastes, in whose wombe, Destinie
  us, and our latest nephewes did install
  (From thence are all deriv’d, that fills this All,)
  Did’st thou in that great stewardship embarke
  So diverse shapes into that floating parke,
  As have beene moved, and inform’d by this heavenly sparke.
  
  IV.
  
  Great Destiny the Commissary of God,
  That hast mark’d out a path and period
  For every thing; who, where wee of-spring tooke,
  Our wayes and ends seest at one instant; Thou
  Knot of all causes, thou whose changelesse brow
  Ne’r smiles nor frownes, O vouch thou safe to looke
  And shew my story, in thy eternall booke:
  That (if my prayer be fit) I may’understand
  So much my selfe, as to know with what hand,
  How scant, or liberall this my lifes race is spand.
  
  V.
  
  To my sixe lustres almost now outwore,
  Except thy booke owe me so many more,
  Except my legend be free from the letts
  Of steepe ambition, sleepie povertie,
  Spirit-quenching sicknesse, dull captivitie,
  Distracting businesse, and from beauties nets,
  And all that calls from this, and to others whets,
  O let me not launch out, but let me save
  Th’expense of braine and spirit; that my grave
  His right and due, a whole unwasted man may have.
  
  VI.
  
  But if my dayes be long, and good enough,
  In vaine this sea shall enlarge, or enrough
  It selfe; for I will through the wave, and fome,
  And shall, in sad lone wayes a lively spright,
  Make my darke heavy Poëm light, and light.
  
  For though through many streights, and lands I roame,
  I launch at paradise, and I saile towards home;
  The course I there began, shall here be staid,
  Sailes hoised there, stroke here, and anchors laid
  In Thames, which were at Tygrys, and Euphrates waide.
  
  VII.
  
  For the great soule which here amongst us now
  Doth dwell, and moves that hand, and tongue, and brow,
  Which, as the Moone the sea, moves us; to heare
  Whose story, with long patience you will long;
  (For ‘tis the crowne, and last straine of my song)
  This soule to whom Luther and Mahomet  were
  Prisons of flesh; this soule which oft did teare,
  And mend the wracks  of th’Empire, and late Rome,
  And liv’d when every great change did come,
  Had first in paradise, a low, but fatall roome.
  
  VIII.
  
  Yet no low roome, nor then the greatest, lesse,
  If (as devout and sharpe men fitly guesse)
  That Crosse, our joy, and griefe, where nailes did tye
  That All, which alwayes was all, every where,
  Which could not sinne, and yet all sinnes did beare;
  Which could not die, yet could not chuse but die;
  Stood in the selfe same roome in Calvarie,
  Where first grew the forbidden learned tree,
  For on that tree hung in security
  This Soule, made by the Makers will from pulling free.
  
  IX.
  
  Prince of the orchard, faire as dawning morne,
  Fenc’d with the law, and ripe as soone as borne
  That apple grew, which this Soule did enlive
  Till the then climing serpent, that now creeps
  For that offence, for which all mankinde weepes,
  Tooke it, and t’her whom the first man did wive
  (Whom and her race, only forbiddings drive)
  He gave it, she, t’her husband, both did eate;
  So perished the eaters, and the meate:
  And wee (for treason taints the blood) thence die and sweat.
  
  X.
  
  Man all at once was there by woman slaine,
  And one by one we’are here slaine o’er againe
  By them.
  
  The mother poison’d the well-head,
  The daughters here corrupt us, Rivolets,
  No smalnesse scapes, no greatnesse breaks their nets,
  She thrust us out, and by them we are led
  Astray, from turning, to whence we are fled.
  
  Were prisoners Judges, ‘twould seeme rigorous,
  Shee sinn’d, we beare; part of our paine is, thus
  To love them, whose fault to this painfull love yoak’d us.
  
  XI.
  
  So fast in us doth this corruption grow,
  That now wee dare aske why wee should be so.
  
  Would God (disputes the curious Rebell) make
  A law, and would not have it kept?
  
  Or can
  His creatures will, crosse his?
  
  Of every man
  For one, will God (and be just) vengeance take?
  
  Who sinn’d?
  
  t’was not forbidden to the snake
  Nor her, who was not then made; nor is’t writ
  That Adam cropt, or knew the apple; yet
  The worme and she, and he, and wee endure for it.
  
  XII.
  
  But snatch mee heavenly Spirit from this vaine
  Reckoning their vanities, lesse is their gaine
  Then hazard still, to meditate on ill,
  Though with good minde, their reasons, like those toyes
  Of glassie bubbles, which the gamesome boyes
  Stretch to so nice a thinnes  through a quill
  That they themselves breake, doe themselves spill,
  Arguing is heretiques game, and Exercise
  As wrastlers, perfects them; Not liberties
  Of speech, but silence; hands, not tongues, end heresies.
  
  XIII.
  
  Just in that instant when the serpents gripe,
  Broke the slight veines, and tender the conduit-pipe,
  Through which this soule from the trees root did draw
  Life, and growth to this apple, fled away
  This loose soule, old, one and another day.
  
  As lightning, which one scarce dares say, he saw,
  ‘Tis so soone gone, (and better proofe the law
  Of sense, then faith requires) swiftly she flew
  To a darke and foggie Plot; Her, her fates threw
  There through th’earths pores, and in a Plant hous’d her anew.
  
  XIV.
  
  The plant thus abled, to it selfe did force
  A place, where no place was; by natures course
  As aire from water, water fleets away
  From thicker bodies, by this root thronged  so
  His spungie confines gave him place to grow,
  Just as in our streets, when the people stay
  To see the Prince, and so fill up the way
  That weesels scarce could passe, when she comes nere
  They throng and cleave up, and a passage cleare,
  As if, for that time, their round bodies flatned were.
  
  XV.
  
  His right arme he thrust out towards the East,
  West-ward his left; th’ends did themselves digest
  Into ten lesser strings, these fingers were:
  And as a slumberer stretching on his bed,
  This way he this, and that way scattered
  His other legge, which feet with toes upbeare;
  Grew on his middle parts, the first day, haire,
  To show, that in loves businesse hee should still
  A dealer bee, and be us’d well, or ill:
  His apples kindle, his leaves, force of conception kill.
  
  XVI.
  
  A mouth, but dumbe, he hath; blinde eyes, deafe eares,
  And to his shoulders dangle subtile haires;
  A young Colussus there hee stands upright,
  And as that ground by him were conquered
  A leafe garland weares he on his head
  Enchas’d with little fruits, so red and bright
  That for them you would call your Loves lips white;
  So, of a lone unhaunted place possest,
  Did this soules second Inne, built by the guest
  This living buried man, this quiet mandrake, rest.
  
  XVII.
  
  No lustfull woman came this plant to grieve,
  But ‘twas because there was none yet but Eve:
  And she (with other purpose) kill’d it quite;
  Her sinne had now brought in infirmities,
  And so her cradled child, the moist red eyes
  Had never shut, nor slept since it saw light,
  Poppie she knew, she knew the mandrakes might;
  And tore up both, and so coold her childs blood;
  Unvirtuous weeds might long unvex’d have stood;
  But hee’s short liv’d, that with his death can doe most good.
  
  XVIII.
  
  To an unfettered soules quick nimble haste
  Are falling stars, and hearts thoughts, but slow pac’d:
  Thinner than burnt aire flies this soule, and she
  Whom foure new coming, and foure parting Suns
  Had found, and left the Mandrakes tenant, runnes
  Thoughtlesse of change, when her firme destiny
  Confin’d, and enjayld her, that seem’d so free,
  Into a smallblew shell, the which a poore
  Warme bird orespread, and sat still evermore,
  Till her inclos’d child kickt, and pick’t it selfe a dore.
  
  XIX.
  
  Outcrept a sparrow, this soules moving Inne,
  On whose raw armes stiffe feathers now begin,
  As childrens teeth through gummes, to breake with paine,
  His flesh is jelly yet, and his bones threds,
  All a new downy mantle overspreads,
  A mouth he opes, which would as much containe
  As his late house, and the first houre speaks plaine,
  And chirps alowd for meat.
  
  Meat fit for men
  His father steales for him, and so feeds then
  One, that within a moneth, will beate him from his hen.
  
  XX.
  
  In this worlds youth wise nature did make haste,
  Things ripened sooner, and did longer last;
  Already this hot cocke, in bush and tree
  In field and tent oreflutters his next hen,
  He asks her not, who did so last, nor when,
  Nor if his sister, or his neece shee be;
  Nor doth she pule for his inconstancie
  If in her sight he change, nor doth refuse
  The next that calls; both liberty doe use,
  Where store is of both kindes, both kindes may freely chuse.
  
  XXI.
  
  Men, till they tooke laws which made freedome lesse,
  Their daughters, and their sisters did ingress;
  Till now unlawfull, therefore ill, ‘twas not.
  
  So jolly, that it can move, this soule is,
  The body so free of his kindnesses,
  That selfe preserving it hath now forgot,
  And slackneth so the soules, and bodies knot,
  Which temperance streightens;  freely on his she friends
  He blood, and spirit, pith, and marrow spends,
  Ill steward of himself, himselfe in three years ends.
  
  XXII.
  
  Else might he long have liv’d; man did not know
  Of gummie blood, which doth in holly grow,
  How to make bird-lime, nor how to deceive
  With faind calls, hid nets, or enwrapping snare
  The free inhabitants of the Plyant aire.
  
  Man to beget, and woman to conceive
  Askt not of rootes, nor of cock-sparrowes, leave:
  Yet chuseth hee, though none of these he feares,
  Pleasantly three, than streightned twenty yeares
  To live, and to encrease his race, himselfe outweares.
  
  XXIII.
  
  This cole with overblowing quench’d and dead,
  The Soule from her too active organs fled
  T’a brooke.
  
  A female fishes sandie Roe
  With the males jelly, newly lev’ned was,
  For they had intertouch’d as they did passe,
  And one of those small bodies, fitted so,
  This soule inform’d, and abled it to rowe
  It selfe with finnie oares, which she did fit:
  Her scales seem’d yet of parchment, and as yet
  Perchance a fish, but by no name you could call it.
  
  XXIV.
  
  When goodly, like a ship in her full trim,
  A swan, so white that you may unto him
  Compare all whitenesse, but himselfe to none,
  Glided along, and as he glided watch’d,
  And with his arched necke this poore fish catch’d.
  
  It mov’d with state, as if to looke upon
  Low things it scorn’d, and yet before that one
  Could thinke he sought it, he had swallowed cleare
  This, and much such, and unblam’d devour’d there
  All, but who too swift, too great, or well arm’d were.
  
  XXV.
  
  Now swome a prison in a prison put,
  And now this Soule in double walls was shut,
  Till melted with the Swans digestive fire,
  She left her house the fish, and vapour’d forth;
  Fate not affording bodies of more worth
  For her as yet, bids her againe retire
  T’another fish, to any new desire
  Made a new prey; For, he that can to none
  Resistance make, nor complaint, sure is gone.
  
  Weaknesse invites, but silence feasts oppression.
  
  XXVI.
  
  Pace with her native streame, this fish doth keepe,
  And journeyes with her, towards the glassie deepe,
  But oft retarded, once with a hidden net
  Though with greate windowes, for when Need first taught
  These tricks to catch food, then they were not wrought
  As now, with curious greedinesse to let
  None scape, but few, and fit for use, to get,
  As, in this trap a ravenous pike was tane,
  Who, though himselfe distrest, would faine have slain
  This wretch; So hardly are ill habits left again.
  
  XXVII.
  
  Here by her smallnesse shee two deaths orepast,
  Once innocence scap’d, and left the oppressor fast.
  
  The net through-swome, she keepes the liquid path,
  And whether she leape up sometimes to breath
  And suck in aire, or find it underneath,
  Or working parts like mills or limbecks hath
  To make the water thinne and airelike, faith
  Cares not; but safe the Place she’s come unto
  Where fresh, with salt waves meet, and what to doe
  She knowes not, but betweene both makes a boord or two.
  
  XXVIII.
  
  So farre from hiding her guests, water is,
  That she showes them in bigger quantities
  Then they are.
  
  Thus doubtfull of her way,
  For game and not for hunger a sea Pie
  Spied through this traitorous spectacle, from high,
  The seely fish where it disputing lay,
  And t’end her doubts and her, beares her away,
  Exhalted she’is, but to the exhalters good,
  As are by great ones, men which lowly stood.
  
  It’s rais’d, to be the Raisers instrument and food.
  
  XXIX.
  
  Is any kinde subject to rape like fish?
  
  Ill unto man, they neither doe, nor wish:
  Fishers they kill not, nor with noise awake,
  They doe not hunt, nor strive to make a prey
  Of beasts, nor their yong sonnes to beare away;
  Foules they pursue not, nor do undertake
  To spoile the nests industrious birds do make;
  Yet them all these unkinde kinds feed upon,
  To kill them is an occupation,
  And lawes make fasts, and lents for their destruction.
  
  XXX.
  
  A sudden stiffe land-winde in that selfe houre
  To sea-ward forc’d this bird, that did devour
  The fish; he cares not, for with ease he flies,
  Fat gluttonies best orator: at last
  So long hee hath flowen, and hath flowen so fast
  That leagues o’er-past at sea, now tir’d hee lyes,
  And with his prey, that till then languisht, dies,
  The soules no longer foes, two wayes did erre,
  The fish I follow, and keepe no calender
  Of the other; he lives yet in some great officer.
  
  XXXI.
  
  Into an embrion fish, our Soule is throwne,
  And in due time throwne out againe, and growne
  To such vastnesse, as if unmanacled
  From Greece, Morea were, and that by some
  Earthquake unrooted, loose Morea swome,
  Or seas from Africks body had severed
  And torne the hopefull Promontories head,
  This fish would seeme these, and, when all hopes faile,
  A great ship overset, or without saile
  Hulling, might (when this was a whelp) be like this whale.
  
  XXXII.
  
  At every stroake his brazen finnes do take,
  More circles in the broken sea they make
  Then cannons voices, when the aire they teare:
  His ribs are pillars, and his high arch’d roofe
  Of barke that blunts best steele, is thunder-proofe:
  Swimme in him swallowed Dolphins, without feare,
  And feele no sides, as if his vast wombe were
  Some inland sea, and ever as hee went
  He spouted rivers up, as if he ment
  To joyne our seas, with seas above the firmament.
  
  XXXIII.
  
  He hunts not fish, but as an officer,
  Stayes in his court, at his owne net, and there
  All suitors of all sorts themselves enthrall;
  So on his backe lyes this whale wantoning,
  And in his gulfe-like throat, sucks every thing
  That passeth neare.
  
  Fish chaseth fish, and all,
  Flyer and follower, in this whirlepoole fall;
  O might not states of more equality
  Consist?
  
  and is it of necessity
  That thousand guiltlesse smals, to make one great, must die?
  
  XXXIV.
  
  Now drinkes he up seas, and he eates up flocks,
  He justles Ilands, and he shakes firme rockes.
  
  Now in a roomefull house this Soule doth float,
  And like a Prince she sends her faculties
  To all her limbes, distant as Provinces.
  
  The Sunne hath twenty times both crab and goate
  Parched, since first lanch’d forth this living boate,
  ‘Tis greatest now, and to destruction
  Nearest; There’s no pause at perfection,
  Greatenesse a period hath, but hath no station.
  
  XXXV.
  
  Two little fishes whom hee never harm’d,
  Nor fed on their kinde, two not thoroughly arm’d
  With hope that they could kill him, nor could doe
  Good to themselves by his death (they did not eate
  His flesh, nor suck those oyles, which thence outstreat)
  Conspir’d against him, and it might undoe
  The plot of all, that the plotters were two,
  But that they fishes were, and could not speake.
  
  How shall a Tyran wise strong projects breake,
  If wreches can on them the common anger wreake?
  
  XXXVI.
  
  The flaile-finn’d Thresher, and steel-beak’d Sword-fish
  Onely attempt to doe, what all doe wish.
  
  The Thresher backs him, and to beate begins;
  The sluggard Whale yeelds to oppression,
  And t’hide himselfe from shame and danger, downe
  Begins to sinke; the Swordfish upward spins,
  And gores him with his beake; his staffe-like finnes,
  So well the one, his sword the other plyes,
  That now a scoffe, and prey, this tyran dyes,
  And (his owne dole) feeds with himselfe all companies.
  
  XXXVII.
  
  Who will revenge his death?
  
  or who will call
  Those to account, that thought, and wrought his fall?
  
  The heires of slaine kings, wee see are often so
  Transported with the joy of what they get,
  That they, revenge and obsequies forget,
  Nor will against such men the people goe,
  Because h’is now dead, to whom they should show
  Love in that act.
  
  Some kings by vice being growne
  So needy of subjects love, that of their own
  They thinke they lose, if love be to the dead Prince showne.
  
  XXXVIII.
  
  This Soule, now free from prison, and passion,
  Hath yet a little indignation
  That so small hammers should so soone downe beat
  So great a castle.
  
  And having for her house
  Got the streight cloyster of a wreched mouse
  (As basest men that have not what to eate,
  Nor enjoy ought, doe farre more hate the great
  Then they, who good repos’d estates possesse)
  This Soule, late taught that great things might by lesse
  Be slaine, to gallant mischiefe doth herself addresse.
  
  XXXIX.
  
  Natures great master-peece, an Elephant,
  The onely harmlesse great thing; the giant
  Of beasts; who thought, no more had gone, to make one wise
  But to be just, and thankfull, loth to offend,
  (Yet nature hath given him no knees to bend)
  Himselfe he up-props, on himselfe relies,
  And foe to none, suspects no enemies,
  Still sleeping stood; vex’t not his fantasie
  Blacke dreames, like and unbent bow, carelessly
  His sinewy Proboscis did remisly lie.
  
  XL.
  
  In which as in a gallery this mouse
  Walk’d, and surveid the roomes of this vast house,
  And to the braine, the soules bedchamber, went,
  And gnaw’d the life cords there; Like a whole towne
  Cleane undermin’d, the slaine beast tumbled downe,
  With him the murtherer dies whom envy sent
  To kill, not scape, (for, only hee that ment
  To die, did ever kill a man of better roome,)
  And thus he made his foe, his prey, and tombe:
  Who cares not to turn back, may any whither come.
  
  XLI.
  
  Next, hous’d this Soule a Wolves yet unborne whelp,
  Till the best midwife, Nature, gave it helpe,
  To issue.
  
  It could kill, as soon as goe:
  Abel, as white, and milde as his sheepe were,
  (Who in that trade, of Church, and kingdomes, there
  Was the first type) was still infested soe,
  With this wolfe, that it bred his losse and woe;
  And yet his bitch, his sentinell attends
  The flocke so neere, so well warnes and defends,
  That the wolfe, (hopelesse else) to corrupt her, intends.
  
  XLII.
  
  Hee tooke a course, which since, successfully,
  Great men have often taken, to espie
  The counsels, or to breake the plots of foes,
  To Abels tent he stealeth in the darke,
  On whose skirts the bitch slept; ere she could barke,
  Attach’d her with streight gripes, yet hee call’d those,
  Embracements of love; to loves work he goes,
  Where deeds move more than words; nor doth she show,
  Nor much resist, nor needs hee streighten so
  His prey, for, were shee loose, she would nor barke, nor goe.
  
  XLIII.
  
  Hee hath engag’d her; his, she wholy bides;
  Who not her owne, none others secrets hides,
  If to the flocke he come, and Abell there,
  She faines hoarse barkings, but she biteth not,
  Her faith is quite, but not her love forgot.
  
  At last a trap, of which some every where
  Abell had plac’d, ends all his losse, and feare,
  By the Wolves death; and now just time it was
  That a quick soule should give life to that masse
  Of blood in Abels bitch, and thither this did passe.
  
  XLIV.
  
  Some have their wives, their sisters some begot,
  But in the lives of Emperours you shall not
  Reade of a lust the which may equall this;
  This wolfe begot himselfe, and finished
  What he began alive, when hee was dead,
  Sonne to himselfe, and father too, hee is
  A ridling lust, for which Schoolemen would misse
  A proper name.
  
  The whelpe of both these lay
  In Abels tent, and with soft Moaba,
  His sister, being yong, it us’d to sport and play.
  
  XLV.
  
  Hee soone for her too harsh, and churlish grew,
  And Abell (the dam dead) would use this new
  For the field, being of two kindes thus made,
  He, as his dam, from sheepe drove wolves away,
  And as his Sire, he made them his ownes prey.
  
  Five years he liv’d, and cosened with his trade,
  Then hopeless that his faults were hid, betraid
  Himselfe by flight, and by all followed,
  From dogges, a wolfe; from wolves, a dogge he fled;
  And, like a spie to both sides false, he perished.
  
  XLVI.
  
  It quickened next a toyfull Ape, and so
  Gamesome it was, that it might freely goe
  From tent to tent, and with the children play,
  His organs now so like theirs hee doth finde,
  That why he cannot laugh, and speake his minde,
  He wonders.
  
  Much with all, most he doth stay
  With Adams fift daughter Siphatecia
  Doth gaze on her, and, where she passeth, passe,
  Gathers her fruits, and tumbles on the grasse,
  And wisest of that kinde, the first true lover was.
  
  XLVII.
  
  He was the first that more desir’d to have
  One then another; first that ere did crave
  Love by mute signes, and had no power to speake;
  First that could make love faces, or could doe
  The valters sombersalts, or us’d to wooe
  With hoiting gambolls, his owne bones to breake
  To make his mistresse merry; or to wreake
  Her anger on himselfe.
  
  Sinnes against kinde
  They easily doe, that can let feed their minde
  With outward beauty, beauty they in boyes and beasts do find.
  
  XLVIII.
  
  By this misled, too low things men have prov’d,
  And too high; beasts and angels have beene lov’d;
  This Ape, though else through-vaine, in this was wise,
  He reach’d at things too high, but open way
  There was, and he knew not she would say nay;
  His toyes prevaile not, likelier meanes he tries,
  He gazeth on her face with teare-shot eyes,
  And up lifts subtly with his russet pawe
  Her kidskinne apron without feare or awe
  Of Nature; Nature hath no gaole, though she hath law.
  
  XLIX.
  
  First she was silly and knew not what he ment,
  That vertue, by his touches, chaft and spent,
  Succeeds an itchie warmth, that melts her quite,
  She knew not first, now cares not what he doth,
  And willing halfe and more, more then halfe loth,
  She neither puls nor pushes, but outright
  Now cries, and now repents; when Tethlemite
  Her brother, enterd, and a great stone threw
  After the Ape, who thus prevented, flew,
  This house thus batter’d downe, the Soule possest a new.
  
  L.
  
  And whether by this change she lose or win,
  She comes out next, where the Ape would have gone in,
  Adam and
  Eve
  had mingled bloods, and now
  Like Chimiques equall fires, her temperate wombe
  Had stew’d and form’d it: and part did become
  A spungie liver, that did richly allow,
  Like a free conduit, on a high hils brow,
  Life keeping moisture unto every part;
  Part hardned it selfe to a thicker heart,
  Whose busie furnaces lifes spirits do impart.
  
  LI.
  
  Another part became the well of sense,
  The tender well-arm’d feeling braine, from whence,
  Those sinowie strings which do our bodies tie,
  Are raveld out; and fast there by one end,
  Did this Soule limbes, these limbes a soule attend;
  And now they joyn’d; keeping some quality
  Of every past shape, she knew treachery,
  Rapine, deceit, and lust, and ills enow
  To be a woman.
  
  Themech she is now,
  Sister and wife to Caine, Caine that first did plow.
  
  LII.
  
  Who ere thou beest that read’st this sullen Writ,
  Which just so much courts thee, as thou dost it,
  Let me arrest thy thoughts; wonder with mee,
  Why plowing, building, ruling and the rest,
  Or most of those arts, whence our lives are blest,
  By cursed Cains race invented be,
  And blest Seth vext us with Astronomie,
  Ther’s nothing simply good, nor ill alone,
  Of every quality comparison,
  The onely measure is, and judge, opinion.

• Nativity Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Immensity cloistered in thy dear womb,
  Now leaves His well-belov'd imprisonment,
  There He hath made Himself to His intent
  Weak enough, now into the world to come;
  But O, for thee, for Him, hath the inn no room?
  
  Yet lay Him in this stall, and from the Orient,
  Stars and wise men will travel to prevent
  The effect of Herod's jealous general doom.
  
  Seest thou, my soul, with thy faith's eyes, how He
  Which fills all place, yet none holds Him, doth lie?
  
  Was not His pity towards thee wondrous high,
  That would have need to be pitied by thee?
  
  Kiss Him, and with Him into Egypt go,
  With His kind mother, who partakes thy woe.

• Negative Love Read Poem Log in to favourite

  I never stoop'd so low, as they
  Which on an eye, cheek, lip, can prey,
  Seldom to them, which soar no higher
  Than virtue or the mind to admire,
  For sense, and understanding may
  Know, what gives fuel to their fire:
  My love, though silly, is more brave,
  For may I miss, when ere I crave,
  If I know yet, what I would have.
  
  If that be simply perfectest
  Which can by no way be exprest
  But Negatives, my love is so.
  
  To All, which all love, I say no.
  
  If any who deciphers best,
  What we know not, our selves, can know,
  Let him teach me that nothing; This
  As yet my ease, and comfort is,
  Though I speed not, I cannot miss.

• Niobe Read Poem Log in to favourite

  By children's births, and death, I am become
  So dry, that I am now mine own sad tomb.

• No Man Is an Island Read Poem Log in to favourite

  No man is an island,
  Entire of itself;
  Every man is a piece of the continent,
  A part of the main.
  
  If a clod be washed away by the sea,
  Europe is the less,
  As well as if a promontory were:
  As well as if a manor of thy friend's
  Or of thine own were.
  
  Any man's death diminishes me,
  Because I am involved in mankind.
  
  And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
  It tolls for thee.

• Ode Read Poem Log in to favourite

  I.
  
  VENGEANCE will sit above our faults ; but till
  She there do sit,
  We see her not, nor them.
  
  Thus blind, yet still
  We lead her way ; and thus, whilst we do ill,
  We suffer it.
  
  2.
  
  Unhappy he whom youth makes not beware
  Of doing ill.
  
  Enough we labour under age, and care ;
  In number, th' errors of the last place are
  The greatest still.
  
  3.
  
  Yet we, that should the ill we now begin
  As soon repent,
  Strange thing !  perceive not ; our faults are not seen,
  But past us ; neither felt, but only in
  The punishment.
  
  4.
  
  But we know ourselves least ; mere outward shows
  Our minds so store,
  That our souls no more than our eyes disclose
  But form and colour.
  
  Only he who knows
  Himself, knows more.

• Oh my blacke Soule! now thou art summoned Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Oh my black Soule! Now thou art summoned
  By sicknesse, deaths herald, and champion;
  Thou art like a pilgrim, which abroad hath done
  Treason, and durst not turne to whence hee is fled,
  Or like a thiefe, which till deaths doome be read,
  Wisheth himselfe deliverd from prison;
  But damn'd and hal'd to execution,
  Wisheth that sill he might be imprisioned;
  Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lacke;
  But who shall give thee that grace to beginne?
  
  Oh make thy selfe with holy mourning blacke;
  And red with blushing, as thou art with sinne;
  Or wash thee in Christ's blood, which hath this might
  That being red, it dyes red soules to white.
  
  Glossary
  Champion - In Donne's time, a champion was one who fought battles for another.
  
  IE, sickness both announces the coming of death (herald) and helps bring it about (champion).
  
  Overall Explanation
  It is reasonable to assume that this poem was written during a time of sickness for Donne, because it explores the idea of Donne's death with some anguish.
  
  Donne looks into his soul and finds it full of evil ("black").
  
  He compares it first to someone who has committed a terrible wrong in some country and doesn't dare return.
  
  In this comparison, the country which has suffered this horrible wrong represents God.
  
  In his second comparison, his soul is a thief, who wants to get out of prison until he is sentenced to death, at which time life in prison looks quite appealing!
  Donne builds up the intensity of the poem with circular reasoning - he needs the grace to repent, but will not have grace until he repents.
  
  The ending is a poweful one, partially because Donne employs the paradox of red blood dying something white to create a strong image in the mind.
  
  What he means here of course is that the reality of Christ dying for to save humans' souls - the tangible red blood, is enough to make us pure in the eyes of God (white souls).

• On Himself Read Poem Log in to favourite

  My fortune and my choice this custom break,
  When we are speechless grown to make stones speak.
  
  Though no stone tell thee what I was, yet thou
  In my grave's inside seest what thou art now,
  Yet thou 'rt not yet so good ;  till death us lay
  To ripe and mellow here, we're stubborn clay.
  
  Parents make us earth, and souls dignify
  Us to be glass ;  here to grow gold we lie.
  
  Whilst in our souls sin bred and pamper'd is,
  Our souls become worm-eaten carcases,
  So we ourselves miraculously destroy.
  
  Here bodies with less miracle enjoy
  Such privileges, enabled here to scale
  Heaven, when the trumpet's air shall them exhale.
  
  Hear this, and mend thyself, and thou mend'st me,
  By making me, being dead, do good for thee ;
  And think me well composed, that I could now
  A last sick hour to syllables allow.

• On the Lady Elizabeth, and Count Palatine Being Married on St. Valentine's Day Read Poem Log in to favourite

  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 marryest 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 black bird 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 thy self, old Valentine.
  
  Till now, thou warmd'st with mutiplying loves
  Two larks, two sparrows, or two doves,
  All that is nothing unto this,
  For thou this day couplest two Phoenixes;
  Thou mak'st a Taper see
  What the sun never saw, and what the Ark
  (Which was of fowls, 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 love.
  
  Whose love and courage never shall decline,
  But make the whole year through, thy day, O Valentine.
  
  Up then fair Phoenix bride, frustrate the Sun,
  Thy self 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
  Thy self 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 thy Valentine.
  
  .
  
  .

• On The Progress Of The Soul... Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Forget this rotten world, and unto thee
  Let thine own times as an old story be.
  
  Be not concern'd; study not why, nor when;
  Do not so much as not believe a man.
  
  For though to err, be worst, to try truths forth
  Is far more business than this world is worth.
  
  I'he world is but a carcass; thou art fed
  By it, but as a worm, that carcass bred;
  And why shouldst thou, poor worm, consider more,
  When this world will grow better than before,
  Than those thy fellow-worms do think upon
  That carcass's last resurrection?
  
  Forget this world, and scarce think of it so,
  As of old clothes, cast off a year ago.
  
  To be thus stupid is alacrity;
  Men thus lethargic have best memory.
  
  Look upward; that's towards her, whose happy state
  We now lament not, but congratulate.
  
  She, to whom all this world was but a stage,
  Where all sat heark'ning how her youthful age
  Should be employ'd, because in all she did
  Some figure of the golden times was hid.
  
  Who could not lack, what'er this world could give,
  Because she was the form, that made it live;
  Nor could complain that this world was unfit
  To be stay'd in, then when she was in it;
  She, that first tried indifferent desires
  By virtue, and virtue by religious fires;
  She, to whose person paradise adher'd,
  As courts to princes; she, whose eyes enspher'd
  Star-light enough t' have made the South control,
  (Had she been there) the star-full Northern Pole;
  She, she is gone; she is gone; when thou knowest this,
  What fragmentary rubbish this world is
  Thou knowest, and that it is not worth a thought;
  He honours it too much that thinks it nought.
  
  Think then, my soul, that death is but a groom,
  Which brings a taper to the outward room,
  Whence thou spiest first a little glimmering light,
  And after brings it nearer to thy sight;
  For such approaches doth heaven make in death.
  
  Think thyself labouring now with broken breath,
  And think those broken and soft notes to be
  Division, and thy happiest harmony.
  
  Think thee laid on thy death-bed, loose and slack,
  And think that but unbinding of a pack,
  To take one precious thing, thy soul, from thence.
  
  Think thyself parch'd with fever's violence;
  Anger thine ague more, by calling it
  Thy physic; chide the slackness of the fit.
  
  Think that thou hear'st thy knell, and think no more,
  But that, as bells call'd thee to church before,
  So this to the Triumphant Church calls thee.
  
  Think Satan's sergeants round about thee be,
  And think that but for legacies they thrust;
  Give one thy pride, to'another give thy lust;
  Give them those sins which they gave thee before,
  And trust th' immaculate blood to wash thy score.
  
  Think thy friends weeping round, and think that they
  Weep but because they go not yet thy way.
  
  Think that they close thine eyes, and think in this,
  That they confess much in the world amiss,
  Who dare not trust a dead man's eye with that
  Which they from God and angels cover not.
  
  Think that they shroud thee up, and think from thence
  They reinvest thee in white innocence.
  
  Think that thy body rots, and (if so low,
  Thy soul exalted so, thy thoughts can go)
  Think thee a prince, who of themselves create
  Worms, which insensibly devour their state.
  
  Think that they bury thee, and think that rite
  Lays thee to sleep but a Saint Lucy's night.
  
  ….
  
  OF THE PROGRESS OF THE SOUL Wherein, by occasion of the religious death of
  Mistress Elizabeth Drury, the incommodities of the soul in this her life,
  and her exaltation in the next, are contemplated THE SECOND ANNIVERSARY
  …

• Phryne Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Thy flattering picture, Phryne, is like thee,
  Only in this, that you both painted be.

• Psalme Cxxxvii. Read Poem Log in to favourite

  By Euphrates' flowry side
  We did bide,
  From deare Juda faire absented,
  Tearing the aire with our cryes ;
  And our eyes
  With their streames his streame augmented.
  
  When, poore Syon's dolefull state,
  Desolate ;
  Sacked, burned, and inthrall'd,
  And the temple spoil'd, which wee
  IS e'er should see,
  To our mirthlesse mindes wee call'd :
  Our mute harpes, untun'd, unstrung,
  Up wee hung
  On 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,
  And your groanes
  Under Syon's ruines bury;
  Tune your harps, and sing us layes
  In the praise
  Of your God, and let's be merry.
  
  Can, ah ! can we leave our moanes,
  And our groanes
  Under Syon's ruines bury ?
  
  Can we in this land sing layes
  In the praise
  Of our God, and here be merry ?
  
  No; deare Syon, if I yet
  Do forget
  Thine affliction miserable,
  Let my nimble joynts become
  Stiffe and numme,
  To touch warbling harpe unable.
  
  Let my tongue lose singing skill,
  Let it still
  To my parched roofe be glewed,
  If in either harpe or voice
  I rejoice
  Till thy joyes shall be renewed.
  
  Lord, curse Edom's traiterous kinde
  Beare in minde
  In our ruines how they revell'd
  Sack, kill, burne ! they cryed out still,
  Sack, burne, kill!
  Downe with all, let all be levell'd.
  
  And thou Babel, when the tide
  Of thy pride,
  Now a flowing, growe to turning;
  Victor now, shall then be thrall,
  And shall fall
  To as low an ebbe of mourning.
  
  Happy he who shall thee waste,
  As thou hast
  Us, without all mercy, wasted,
  And shall make thee taste and see
  What poore wee
  By 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,
  Ruthlesse stones
  With their braines and blood besmearing.

• Pyramus and Thisbe Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Two, by themselves, each other, love and fear,
  Slain, cruel friends, by parting have join'd here.

• Raderus Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Why this man gelded Martial I muse,
  Except himself alone his tricks would use,
  As Katherine, for the court's sake, put down stews.

• Ralphius Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Compassion in the world again is bred ;
  Ralphius is sick, the broker keeps his bed.
  
  Poem form:- Epigram

• Ressurection Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Moist with one drop of Thy blood, my dry soul
  Shall—though she now be in extreme degree
  Too stony hard, and yet too fleshly—be
  Freed by that drop, from being starved, hard or foul,
  And life by this death abled shall control
  Death, whom Thy death slew ; nor shall to me
  Fear of first or last death bring misery,
  If in thy life-book my name thou enroll.
  
  Flesh in that long sleep is not putrified,
  But made that there, of which, and for which it was ;
  Nor can by other means be glorified.
  
  May then sin's sleep and death soon from me pass,
  That waked from both, I again risen may
  Salute the last and everlasting day.

• Resurrection, imperfect Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Sleep sleep old Sun, thou canst not have repast
  As yet, the wound thou took’st on friday last;
  Sleep then, and rest; The world may bearer thy stay,
  A better Sun rose before thee to day,
  Who, not content to’englighten all that dwell
  On the earths face, as thou, enlightned hell,
  And made the darker fires languish in that vale,
  As, at thy presence here, our fires grow pale.
  
  Whose body having walk’d on earth, and now
  Hasting to Heaven, would, that he might allow
  Himself unto all stations, and fill all,
  For these three days become a mineral;
  He was all gold when he lay down, but rose
  All tincture, and doth not alone dispose
  Leaden and iron wills to good, but is
  Of power to make even sinful flesh like his.
  
  Had one of those, whose credulous piety
  Thought, that a Soul one might discern and see
  Go from a body,’at this sepulcher been,
  And, issuing from the sheet, this body seen,
  He would have justly thought this body a soul,
  If not of any man, yet of the whole.
  
  Desunt cætera

• Satire I Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Away thou fondling motley humorist,
  Leave mee, and in this standing woodden chest,
  Consorted with these few bookes, let me lye
  In prison, and here be coffin'd, when I dye;
  Here are Gods conduits, grave Divines; and here
  Natures Secretary, the Philosopher;
  And jolly Statesmen, which teach how to tie
  The sinewes of a cities mistique bodie;
  Here gathering Chroniclers, and by them stand
  Giddie fantastique Poets of each land.
  
  Shall I leave all this constant company,
  And follow headlong, wild uncertaine thee?
  
  First sweare by thy best love in earnest
  (If thou which lov'st all, canst love any best)
  Thou wilt not leave mee in the middle street
  Though some more spruce companion thou dost meet,
  Not though a Captaine do come in thy way
  Bright parcell gilt, with forty dead mens pay,
  Nor though a briske perfum'd piert Courtier
  Deigne with a nod, thy courtesie to answer,
  Nor come a velvet Justice with a long
  Great traine of blew coats, twelve, or fourteen strong,
  Wilt thou grin or fawne on him, or prepare
  A speech to court his beautious sonne and heire.
  
  For better or worse take mee, or leave mee:
  To take, and leave mee is adultery.
  
  Oh monstrous, superstitious puritan,
  Of refin'd manners, yet ceremoniall man,
  That when thou meet'st one, with enquiring eyes
  Dost search, and like a needy broker prize
  The silke, and gold he weares, and to that rate
  So high or low, dost raise thy formall hat:
  That wilt consort none, untill thou have knowne
  What lands hee hath in hope, or of his owne,
  As though all thy companions should make thee
  Jointures, and marry thy deare company.
  
  Why should'st thou (that dost not onely approve,
  But in ranke itchie lust, desire, and love
  The nakednesse and barenesse to enjoy,
  Of thy plumpe muddy whore, or prostitute boy)
  Hate vertue, though shee be naked, and bare?
  
  At birth, and death, our bodies naked are;
  And till our Soules be unapparrelled
  Of bodies, they from blisse are banished.
  
  Mans first blest state was naked, when by sinne
  Hee lost that, yet hee'was cloath'd but in beasts skin,
  And in this course attire, which I now weare,
  With God, and with the Muses I conferre.
  
  But since thou like a contrite penitent,
  Charitably warn'd of thy sinnes, dost repent
  These vanities, and giddinesses, loe
  I shut my chamber doore, and 'Come, lets goe.
  
  '
  But sooner may a cheape whore, that hath beene
  Worne by as many severall men in sinne,
  As are black feathers, or musk-colour hose,
  Name her childs right true father, 'mongst all those:
  Sooner may one guesse, who shall beare away
  Th'Infant of London, Heire to'an India:
  And sooner may a gulling weather-Spie
  By drawing forth heavens Scheame tell certainly
  What fashion'd hats, or ruffles, or suits next yeare
  Our subtile-witted antique youths will weare;
  Then thou, when thou depart'st from mee, canst show
  Whither, why, when, or with whom thou wouldst go.
  
  But how shall I be pardon'd my offence
  That thus have sinn'd against my conscience?
  
  Now we are in the street; He first of all
  Improvidently proud, creepes to the wall,
  And so imprison'd, and hem'd in by mee
  Sells for a little state his libertie;
  Yet though he cannot skip forth now to greet
  Every fine silken painted foole we meet,
  He them to him with amorous smiles allures,
  And grins, smacks, shrugs, and such an itch endures,
  As prentises, or schoole-boyes which doe know
  Of some gay sport abroad, yet dare not goe.
  
  And as fidlers stop low'st, at highest sound,
  So to the most brave, stoops hee nigh'st the ground.
  
  But to a grave man, he doth move no more
  Then the wise politique horse would heretofore,
  Or thou O Elephant or Ape wilt doe,
  When any names the King of Spaine to you.
  
  Now leaps he upright, joggs me,'and cryes, 'Do'you see
  Yonder well favour'd youth?
  
  ' 'Which?
  
  ' 'Oh, 'tis hee
  That dances so divinely.
  
  ' 'Oh,' said I,
  'Stand still, must you dance here for company?
  
  '
  Hee droopt, wee went, till one (which did excell
  Th'Indians, in drinking his Tobacco well)
  Met us; they talk'd; I whisper'd, 'Let us goe,
  'T may be you smell him not, truely I doe.
  
  '
  He heares not mee, but, on the other side
  A many-colour'd Peacock having spide,
  Leaves him and mee; I for my lost sheep stay;
  He followes, overtakes, goes on the way,
  Saying, 'Him whom I last left, all repute
  For his device, in hansoming a sute,
  To judge of lace, pinke, panes, print, cut and plight,
  Of all the Court, to have the best conceit.
  
  '
  'Our dull Comedians want him, let him goe;
  But Oh, God strengthen thee, why stoop'st thou so?
  
  '
  'Why?
  
  he hath travail'd.
  
  ' 'Long?
  
  ' 'No, but to me'
  (Which understand none,) 'he doth seeme to be
  Perfect French, and Italian.
  
  ' I reply'd,
  'So is the Poxe.
  
  ' He answer'd not, but spy'd
  More men of sort, of parts, and qualities;
  At last his Love he in a windowe spies,
  And like light dew exhal'd, he flings from mee
  Violently ravish'd to his lechery.
  
  Many were there, he could command no more;
  He quarrell'd, fought, bled; and turn'd out of dore
  Directly came to mee hanging the head,
  And constantly a while must keepe his bed.

• Satire II Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Sir; though (I thanke God for it) I do hate
  Perfectly all this towne, yet there's one state
  In all ill things so excellently best,
  That hate, towards them, breeds pitty towards the rest.
  
  Though Poetry indeed be such a sinne
  As I thinke that brings dearths, and Spaniards in,
  Though like the Pestilence and old fashion'd love,
  Ridlingly it catch men; and doth remove
  Never, till it be sterv'd out; yet their state
  Is poore, disarm'd, like Papists, not worth hate.
  
  One,(like a wretch, which at Barre judg'd as dead,
  Yet prompts him which stands next, and cannot reade,
  And saves his life)gives ideot actors meanes
  (Starving himselfe)to live by'his labor'd sceanes;
  As in some Organ, Puppits dance above
  And bellows pant below, which them do move.
  
  One would move Love by rimes; but witchcrafts charms
  Bring not now their old feares, nor their old harmes:
  Rammes, and slings now are seely battery,
  Pistolets are the best Artillerie.
  
  And they who write to Lords, rewards to get,
  Are they not like singers at doores for meat?
  
  And they who write, because all write, have still
  That excuse for writing, and for writing ill.
  
  But hee is worst, who (beggarly) doth chaw
  Others wits fruits, and in his ravenous maw
  Rankly digested, doth those things out-spue,
  As his owne things; 'and they are his owne, 'tis true,
  For if one eate my meate, though it be knowne
  The meate was mine, th'excrement is his owne.
  
  But these do mee no harme, nor they which use
  To out-doe Dildoes, and out-usure Jewes;
  To'out-drinke the sea, to'out-sweare the Letanie;
  Who with sinnes all kindes as familiar bee
  As Confessors; and for whose sinfull sake
  Schoolemen new tenements in hell must make:
  Whose strange sinnes, Canonists could hardly tell
  In which Commandements large receit they dwell.
  
  But these punish themselves; the insolence
  Of Coscus onely breeds my just offence,
  Whom time (which rots all, and makes botches poxe,
  And plodding on, must make a calfe an oxe)
  Hath made a Lawyer, which was (alas) of late
  But a scarce Poet; jollier of this state,
  Then are new benefic'd ministers, he throwes
  Like nets, or lime-twigs, wheresoere he goes,
  His title'of Barrister, on every wench,
  And wooes in language of the Pleas, and Bench:
  'A motion, Lady.
  
  ' 'Speake Coscus.
  
  ' 'I'have beene
  In love, ever since tricesimo' of the Queene,
  Continuall claimes I'have made, injunctions got
  To stay my rivals suit, that hee should not
  Proceed.
  
  ' 'Spare mee.
  
  ' 'In Hillary terme I went,
  You said, If I returne next size in Lent,
  I should be in remitter of your grace;
  In th'interim my letters should take place
  Of affidavits--': words, words, which would teare
  The tender labyrinth of a soft maids eare,
  More, more, then ten Sclavonians scolding, more
  Then when winds in our ruin'd Abbeyes rore.
  
  When sicke with Poetrie,'and possest with muse
  Thou wast, and mad, I hop'd; but men which chuse
  Law practise for meere gaine, bold soule, repute
  Worse then imbrothel'd strumpets prostitute.
  
  Now like an owlelike watchman, hee must walke
  His hand still at a bill, now he must talke
  Idly, like prisoners, which whole months will sweare
  That onely suretiship hath brought them there,
  And to'every suitor lye in every thing,
  Like a Kings favorite, yea like a King;
  Like a wedge in a blocke, wring to the barre,
  Bearing like Asses, and more shameless farre
  Then carted whores, lye, to the grave Judge; for
  Bastardy'abounds not in Kings titles, nor
  Symonie'and Sodomy in Churchmens lives,
  As these things do in him; by these he thrives.
  
  Shortly ('as the sea) hee'will compasse all our land;
  From Scots, to Wight; from Mount, to Dover strand.
  
  And spying heires melting with luxurie,
  Satan will not joy at their sinnes, as hee.
  
  For as a thrifty wench scrapes kitching-stuffe,
  And barrelling the droppings, and the snuffe,
  Of wasting candles, which in thirty yeare
  (Relique-like kept) perchance buyes wedding geare;
  Peecemeale he gets lands, and spends as much time
  Wringing each Acre, as men pulling prime.
  
  In parchments then, large as his fields, hee drawes
  Assurances, bigge, as gloss'd civill lawes,
  So huge, that men (in our times forwardnesse)
  Are Fathers of the Church for writing lesse.
  
  These hee writes not; nor for these written payes,
  Therefore spares no length; as in those first dayes
  When Luther was profest, he did desire
  Short Pater nosters, saying as a Fryer
  Each day his beads, but having left those lawes,
  Addes to Christs prayer, the Power and glory clause.
  
  But when he sells or changes land, he'impaires
  His writings, and (unwatch'd) leaves out, ses heires,
  As slily'as any Commenter goes by
  Hard words, or sense; or in Divinity
  As controverters, in vouch'd texts, leave out
  Shrewd words, which might against them cleare the doubt.
  
  Where are those spred woods which cloth'd heretofore
  Those bought lands?
  
  not built, not burnt within dore.
  
  Where's th'old landlords troops, and almes?
  
  In great hals
  Carthusian fasts, and fulsome Bachanalls
  Equally'I hate; meanes blesse; in rich mens homes
  I bid kill some beasts, but no Hecatombs,
  None starve, none surfet so; But (Oh) we'allow
  Good workes as good, but out of fashion now,
  Like old rich wardrops; but my words none drawes
  Within the vast reach of th'huge statute lawes.

• Satire III Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Kind pity chokes my spleen; brave scorn forbids
  Those tears to issue which swell my eyelids;
  I must not laugh, nor weep sins and be wise;
  Can railing, then, cure these worn maladies?
  
  Is not our mistress, fair Religion,
  As worthy of all our souls' devotion
  As virtue was in the first blinded age?
  
  Are not heaven's joys as valiant to assuage
  Lusts, as earth's honour was to them?
  
  Alas,
  As we do them in means, shall they surpass
  Us in the end?
  
  and shall thy father's spirit
  Meet blind philosophers in heaven, whose merit
  Of strict life may be imputed faith, and hear
  Thee, whom he taught so easy ways and near
  To follow, damn'd?
  
  Oh, if thou dar'st, fear this;
  This fear great courage and high valour is.
  
  Dar'st thou aid mutinous Dutch, and dar'st thou lay
  Thee in ships' wooden sepulchres, a prey
  To leaders' rage, to storms, to shot, to dearth?
  
  Dar'st thou dive seas, and dungeons of the earth?
  
  Hast thou courageous fire to thaw the ice
  Of frozen North discoveries?
  
  and thrice
  Colder than salamanders, like divine
  Children in th' oven, fires of Spain and the Line,
  Whose countries limbecs to our bodies be,
  Canst thou for gain bear?
  
  and must every he
  Which cries not, "Goddess," to thy mistress, draw
  Or eat thy poisonous words?
  
  Courage of straw!
  O desperate coward, wilt thou seem bold, and
  To thy foes and his, who made thee to stand
  Sentinel in his world's garrison, thus yield,
  And for forbidden wars leave th' appointed field?
  
  Know thy foes: the foul devil, whom thou
  Strivest to please, for hate, not love, would allow
  Thee fain his whole realm to be quit; and as
  The world's all parts wither away and pass,
  So the world's self, thy other lov'd foe, is
  In her decrepit wane, and thou loving this,
  Dost love a wither'd and worn strumpet; last,
  Flesh (itself's death) and joys which flesh can taste,
  Thou lovest, and thy fair goodly soul, which doth
  Give this flesh power to taste joy, thou dost loathe.
  
  Seek true religion.
  
  O where?
  
  Mirreus,
  Thinking her unhous'd here, and fled from us,
  Seeks her at Rome; there, because he doth know
  That she was there a thousand years ago,
  He loves her rags so, as we here obey
  The statecloth where the prince sate yesterday.
  
  Crantz to such brave loves will not be enthrall'd,
  But loves her only, who at Geneva is call'd
  Religion, plain, simple, sullen, young,
  Contemptuous, yet unhandsome; as among
  Lecherous humours, there is one that judges
  No wenches wholesome, but coarse country drudges.
  
  Graius stays still at home here, and because
  Some preachers, vile ambitious bawds, and laws,
  Still new like fashions, bid him think that she
  Which dwells with us is only perfect, he
  Embraceth her whom his godfathers will
  Tender to him, being tender, as wards still
  Take such wives as their guardians offer, or
  Pay values.
  
  Careless Phrygius doth abhor
  All, because all cannot be good, as one
  Knowing some women whores, dares marry none.
  
  Graccus loves all as one, and thinks that so
  As women do in divers countries go
  In divers habits, yet are still one kind,
  So doth, so is Religion; and this blind-
  ness too much light breeds; but unmoved, thou
  Of force must one, and forc'd, but one allow,
  And the right; ask thy father which is she,
  Let him ask his; though truth and falsehood be
  Near twins, yet truth a little elder is;
  Be busy to seek her; believe me this,
  He's not of none, nor worst, that seeks the best.
  
  To adore, or scorn an image, or protest,
  May all be bad; doubt wisely; in strange way
  To stand inquiring right, is not to stray;
  To sleep, or run wrong, is.
  
  On a huge hill,
  Cragged and steep, Truth stands, and he that will
  Reach her, about must and about must go,
  And what the hill's suddenness resists, win so.
  
  Yet strive so that before age, death's twilight,
  Thy soul rest, for none can work in that night.
  
  To will implies delay, therefore now do;
  Hard deeds, the body's pains; hard knowledge too
  The mind's endeavours reach, and mysteries
  Are like the sun, dazzling, yet plain to all eyes.
  
  Keep the truth which thou hast found; men do not stand
  In so ill case, that God hath with his hand
  Sign'd kings' blank charters to kill whom they hate;
  Nor are they vicars, but hangmen to fate.
  
  Fool and wretch, wilt thou let thy soul be tied
  To man's laws, by which she shall not be tried
  At the last day?
  
  Oh, will it then boot thee
  To say a Philip, or a Gregory,
  A Harry, or a Martin, taught thee this?
  
  Is not this excuse for mere contraries
  Equally strong?
  
  Cannot both sides say so?
  
  That thou mayest rightly obey power, her bounds know;
  Those past, her nature and name is chang'd; to be
  Then humble to her is idolatry.
  
  As streams are, power is; those blest flowers that dwell
  At the rough stream's calm head, thrive and do well,
  But having left their roots, and themselves given
  To the stream's tyrannous rage, alas, are driven
  Through mills, and rocks, and woods, and at last, almost
  Consum'd in going, in the sea are lost.
  
  So perish souls, which more choose men's unjust
  Power from God claim'd, than God himself to trust.

• Satire IV Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Well; I may now receive, and die.
  
  My sin
  Indeed is great, but yet I have been in
  A purgatory, such as fear'd hell is
  A recreation and scant map of this.
  
  My mind, neither with pride's itch, nor yet hath been
  Poison'd with love to see, or to be seen.
  
  I had no suit there, nor new suit to show,
  Yet went to court; but as Glaze which did go
  To'a mass in jest, catch'd, was fain to disburse
  The hundred marks, which is the statute's curse,
  Before he 'scap'd; so'it pleas'd my destiny
  (Guilty of my sin of going) to think me
  As prone to all ill, and of good as forget{-}
  Full, as proud, as lustful, and as much in debt,
  As vain, as witless, and as false as they
  Which dwell in court, for once going that way.
  
  Therefore I suffered this; towards me did run
  A thing more strange, than on Nile's slime the sun
  E'er bred, or all which into Noah's ark came;
  A thing which would have pos'd Adam to name;
  Stranger than seven antiquaries' studies,
  Than Afric's monsters, Guiana's rarities;
  Stranger than strangers; one, who for a Dane,
  In the Danes' massacre had sure been slain,
  If he had liv'd then; and without help dies,
  When next the 'prentices 'gainst strangers rise;
  One, whom the watch, at noon, lets scarce go by;
  One, to whom the examining justice sure would cry,
  "Sir, by your priesthood, tell me what you are.
  
  "
  His clothes were strange, though coarse; and black, though bare;
  Sleeveless his jerkin was, and it had been
  Velvet, but 'twas now (so much ground was seen)
  Become tufftaffaty; and our children shall
  See it plain rash awhile, then nought at all.
  
  This thing hath travell'd, and, saith, speaks all tongues,
  And only knoweth what to all states belongs.
  
  Made of th' accents and best phrase of all these,
  He speaks one language.
  
  If strange meats displease,
  Art can deceive, or hunger force my taste,
  But pedants' motley tongue, soldiers' bombast,
  Mountebanks' drug-tongue, nor the terms of law
  Are strong enough preparatives, to draw
  Me to bear this; yet I must be content
  With his tongue, in his tongue, call'd compliment;
  In which he can win widows, and pay scores,
  Make men speak treason, cozen subtlest whores,
  Out-flatter favourites, or outlie either
  Jovius, or Surius, or both together.
  
  He names me, and comes to me; I whisper, "God!
  How have I sinn'd, that Thy wrath's furious rod,
  This fellow, chooseth me?
  
  " He saith, "Sir,
  I love your judgment; whom do you prefer,
  For the best linguist?
  
  " And I seelily
  Said, that I thought Calepine's dictionary.
  
  "Nay, but of men, most sweet Sir?
  
  " Beza then,
  Some Jesuits, and two reverend men
  Of our two Academies, I named.
  
  There
  He stopp'd me, and said; "Nay, your apostles were
  Good pretty linguists, and so Panurge was;
  Yet a poor gentleman all these may pass
  By travel.
  
  " Then, as if he would have sold
  His tongue, he prais'd it, and such wonders told,
  That I was fain to say, "If you'had liv'd, sir,
  Time enough to have been interpreter
  To Babel's bricklayers, sure the tower had stood.
  
  "
  He adds, "If of court life you knew the good,
  You would leave loneness.
  
  " I said, "Not alone
  My loneness is; but Spartan's fashion,
  To teach by painting drunkards, doth not last
  Now; Aretine's pictures have made few chaste;
  No more can princes' courts, though there be few
  Better pictures of vice, teach me virtue.
  
  "
  He, like to a high-stretch'd lute-string, squeak'd, "O sir,
  'Tis sweet to talk of kings.
  
  " "At Westminster,"
  Said I, "the man that keeps the abbey tombs,
  And for his price doth with whoever comes
  Of all our Harrys and our Edwards talk,
  From king to king, and all their kin can walk.
  
  Your ears shall hear nought, but kings; your eyes meet
  Kings only; the way to it is King street.
  
  "
  He smack'd and cried, "He's base, mechanic, coarse,
  So are all your Englishmen in their discourse.
  
  Are not your Frenchmen neat?
  
  " "Mine?
  
  As you see,
  I have but one Frenchman, look—he follows me.
  
  "
  "Certes they are neatly cloth'd.
  
  I of this mind am,
  Your only wearing is your grogaram.
  
  "
  "Not so, sir, I have more.
  
  " Under this pitch
  He would not fly; I chaff'd him; but as itch
  Scratch'd into smart, and as blunt iron ground
  Into an edge, hurts worse; so I (fool) found
  Crossing hurt me.
  
  To fit my sullenness,
  He to another key his style doth dress,
  And asks, "What news?
  
  " I tell him of new plays.
  
  He takes my hand, and as a still which stays
  A sembrief, 'twixt each drop, he niggardly,
  As loth to enrich me, so tells many a lie,
  More than ten Holinsheds, or Halls, or Stows,
  Of trivial household trash, he knows.
  
  He knows
  When the Queen frown'd, or smil'd, and he knows what
  A subtle statesman may gather of that;
  He knows who loves; whom; and who by poison
  Hastes to an office's reversion;
  He knows who'hath sold his land, and now doth beg
  A licence, old iron, boots, shoes, and egg{-}
  Shells to transport; shortly boys shall not play
  At span-counter, or blow-point, but shall pay
  Toll to some courtier; and wiser than all us,
  He knows what lady is not painted.
  
  Thus
  He with home meats tries me.
  
  I belch, spew, spit,
  Look pale and sickly, like a patient, yet
  He thrusts on more; and as if he'd undertook
  To say Gallo-Belgicus without book,
  Speaks of all states, and deeds, that have been since
  The Spaniards came, to the loss of Amiens.
  
  Like a big wife, at sight of loathed meat,
  Ready to travail, so I sigh and sweat
  To hear this Macaron talk.
  
  In vain; for yet,
  Either my humour, or his own to fit,
  He, like a privileg'd spy, whom nothing can
  Discredit, libels now 'gainst each great man.
  
  He names a price for every office paid;
  He saith, our wars thrive ill, because delay'd;
  That offices are entail'd, and that there are
  Perpetuities of them, lasting as far
  As the last day; and that great officers
  Do with the pirates share, and Dunkirkers.
  
  …
  Toughly and stubbornly I bear this cross; but the' hour
  Of mercy now was come; he tries to bring
  Me to pay a fine to 'scape his torturing,
  And says, "Sir, can you spare me"—I said, "Willingly";
  "Nay, sir, can you spare me a crown"?
  
  Thankfully I
  Gave it, as ransom; but as fiddlers, still,
  Though they be paid to be gone, yet needs will
  Thrust one more jig upon you; so did he
  With his long complimental thanks vex me.
  
  But he is gone, thanks to his needy want,
  And the prerogative of my crown; scant
  His thanks were ended, when I (which did see
  All the court fill'd with more strange things than he)
  Ran from thence with such, or more haste than one
  Who fears more actions doth make from prison.

• Satire V Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Thou shalt not laugh in this leafe, Muse, nor they
  Whom any pity warmes; He which did lay
  Rules to make Courtiers, (hee being understood
  May make good Courtiers, but who Courtiers good?
  
  )
  Frees from the sting of jests all who'in extreme
  Are wrech'd or wicked: of these two a theame
  Charity and liberty give me.
  
  What is hee
  Who Officers rage, and Suiters misery
  Can write, and jest?
  
  If all things be in all,
  As I thinke, since all, which were, are, and shall
  Bee, be made of the same elements:
  Each thing, each thing implyes or represents.
  
  Then man is a world; in which, Officers
  Are the vast ravishing seas; and Suiters,
  Springs; now full, now shallow, now drye; which, to
  That which drownes them, run: These selfe reasons do
  Prove the world a man, in which, officers
  Are the devouring stomacke, and Suiters
  Th'excrements, which they voyd.
  
  All men are dust;
  How much worse are Suiters, who to mens lust
  Are made preyes?
  
  O worse then dust, or wormes meat,
  For they do'eate you now, whose selves wormes shall eate.
  
  They are the mills which grinde you, yet you are
  The winde which drives them; and a wastfull warre
  Is fought against you, and you fight it; they
  Adulterate lawe, and you prepare their way
  Like wittals; th'issue your owne ruine is.
  
  Greatest and fairest Empresse, know you this?
  
  Alas, no more then Thames calme head doth know
  Whose meades her armes drowne, or whose corne o'rflow:
  You Sir, whose righteousnes she loves, whom I
  By having leave to serve, am most richly
  For service paid, authoriz'd, now beginne
  To know and weed out this enormous sinne.
  
  O Age of rusty iron! some better wit
  Call it some worse name, if ought equall it;
  Th'iron Age _that_ was, when justice was sold; now
  Injustice is sold dearer farre.
  
  Allow
  All demands, fees, and duties; gamsters, anon
  The mony which you sweat, and sweare for, is gon
  Into'other hands: So controverted lands
  Scape, like Angelica, the strivers hands.
  
  If Law be in the Judges heart, and hee
  Have no heart to resist letter, or fee,
  Where wilt thou'appeale?
  
  Powre of the Courts below
  Flow from the first maine head, and these can throw
  Thee, if they sucke thee in, to misery,
  To fetters, halters; But if th'injury
  Steele thee to dare complaine, Alas, thou go'st
  Against the stream, when upwards: when thou'art most
  Heavy'and most faint; and in these labours they,
  'Gainst whom thou should'st complaine, will in the way
  Become great seas, o'r which, when thou shalt bee
  Forc'd to make golden bridges, thou shalt see
  That all thy gold was drown'd in them before;
  All things follow their like, only who have may'have more.
  
  Judges are Gods; he who made and said them so,
  Meant not that men should be forc'd to them to goe,
  By meanes of Angels; When supplications
  We send to God, to Dominations,
  Powers, Cherubins, and all heavens Courts, if wee
  Should pay fees as here, daily bread would be
  Scarce to Kings; so 'tis.
  
  Would it not anger
  A Stoicke, a coward, yea a Martyr,
  To see a Pursivant come in, and call
  All his cloathes, Copes; Bookes, Primers; and all
  His Plate, Challices; and mistake them away,
  And aske a fee for comming?
  
  Oh, ne'r may
  Faire lawes white reverend name be strumpeted,
  To warrant thefts: she is established
  Recorder to Destiny, on earth, and shee
  Speakes Fates words, and but tells us who must bee
  Rich, who poore, who in chaires, who in jayles:
  Shee is all faire, but yet hath foule long nailes,
  With which she scracheth Suiters; In bodies
  Of men, so'in law, nailes are th'extremities,
  So Officers stretch to more then Law can doe,
  As our nailes reach what no else part comes to.
  
  Why bar'st thou to yon Officer?
  
  Foole, Hath hee
  Got those goods, for which erst men bar'd to thee?
  
  Foole, twice, thrice, thou'hast bought wrong,'and now hungerly
  Beg'st right; But that dole comes not till these dye.
  
  Thou'had'st much, and lawes Urim and Thummim trie
  Thou wouldst for more; and for all hast paper
  Enough to cloath all the great Carricks Pepper.
  
  Sell that, and by that thou much more shalt leese,
  Then Haman, when he sold his Antiquities.

• Self-Love Read Poem Log in to favourite

  He that cannot choose but love,
  And strives against it still,
  Never shall my fancy move,
  For he loves 'gainst his will;
  Nor he which is all his own,
  And can at pleasure choose,
  When I am caught he can be gone,
  And when he list refuse.
  
  Nor he that loves none but fair,
  For such by all are sought;
  Nor he that can for foul ones care,
  For his judgement then is nought;
  Nor he that hath wit, for he
  Will make me his jest or slave;
  Nor a fool, for when others…,
  He can neither….
  
  ;
  Nor he that still his Mistress pays,
  For she is thralled therefore;
  Nor he that pays not, for he says
  Within She's worth no more.
  
  Is there then no kind of men
  Whom I may freely prove?
  
  I will vent that humour then
  In mine own self-love.

• Song: Soul's Joy, now I am gone Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Soul's joy, now I am gone,
  And you alone,
  — Which cannot be,
  Since I must leave myself with thee,
  And carry thee with me —
  Yet when unto our eyes
  Absence denies
  Each other's sight,
  And makes to us a constant night,
  When others change to light;
  O give no way to grief,
  But let belief
  Of mutual love
  This wonder to the vulgar prove,
  Our bodies, not we move.
  
  Let not thy wit beweep
  Words but sense deep;
  For when we miss
  By distance our hope's joining bliss,
  Even then our souls shall kiss;
  Fools have no means to meet,
  But by their feet;
  Why should our clay
  Over our spirits so much sway,
  To tie us to that way?
  
  O give no way to grief,
  But let belief
  Of mutual love
  This wonder to the vulgar prove,
  Our bodies, not we move.

• Sonnet Cycle For Lady Magdalen Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Her of your name, whose fair inheritance
  Bethina was, and jointure Magdalo:
  An active faith so highly did advance,
  That she once knew, more than the Church did know,
  The Resurrection; so much good there is
  Deliver'd of her, that some Fathers be
  Loth to believe one Woman could do this;
  But think these Magdalens were two or three.
  
  Increase their number, Lady, and their fame:
  To their Devotion, add your Innocence;
  Take so much of th'example, as of the name;
  The latter half; and in some recompence
  That they did harbour Christ himself, a Guest,
  Harbour these Hymns, to his dear name addresst.
  
  1.
  
  La Corona
  Deigne at my hands this crown of prayer and praise,
  Weav'd in my low devout melancholie,
  Thou which of good, hast, yea art treasury,
  All changing unchang'd Antient of dayes;
  But doe not, with vile crowne of fraile bayes,
  Reward my muses white sincerity,
  But what thy thorny crowne gain'd, that give mee,
  The ends of Glory, which doth flower alwayes;
  The ends crowne our workes, but thou crown'st our ends,
  For, at our end begins our endlesse rest;
  The first last end, now zealously possest,
  With a strong sober thirst, my soule attends.
  
  'Tis time that heart and voice be lifted high,
  Salvation to all that will is nigh.
  
  2.
  
  Annunciation
  Salvation to all that will is nigh;
  That All, which alwayes is All every where,
  Which cannot die, yet cannot chuse but die,
  Loe, faithfull Virgin, yeelds himselfe to lye
  In prison in thy wombe; and though he there
  Can take no sinne, nor thou give, yet he'will weare
  Taken from thence, flesh, which deaths force may trie.
  
  Ere by the spheares time was created, thou
  Wast in his minde, who is thy Sonne, and Brother;
  Whom thou conceiv'st, conceiv'd; yea thou art now
  Thy Makers maker, and thy Fathers mother;
  Thou'hast light in darke; and shutst in little roome,
  Immensity cloystered in thy deare wombe.
  
  3.
  
  Nativitie
  Immensity cloystered in thy deare wombe,
  Now leaves his welbelov'd imprisonment,
  There he hath made himselfe to his intent
  Weake enough, now into our world to come;
  But Oh, for thee, for him, hath th'Inne no roome?
  
  Yet lay him in this stall, and from the Orient,
  Starres, and wisemen will travell to prevent
  Th'effect of Herods jealous generall doome.
  
  Seest thou, my Soule, with thy faiths eyes, how he
  Which fils all place, yet none hold him, doth lye?
  
  Was not his pity towrds thee wondrous high,
  That would have need to be pittied by thee?
  
  Kisse him, and with him into Egypt goe,
  With his kinde mother, who partakes thy woe.
  
  4.
  
  Temple
  With his kinde mother who partakes thy woe,
  Joseph turne backe; see where your child doth sit,
  Blowing, yea blowing out those sparks of wit,
  Which himselfe on the Doctors did bestow;
  The Word but lately could not speake, and loe
  It sodenly speakes wonders, whence comes it,
  That all which was, and all which should be writ,
  A shallow seeming child, should deeply know?
  
  His Godhead was not soule to his manhood,
  Nor had time mellowed him to this ripenesse,
  But as for one which hath a long taske, 'tis good,
  With the Sunne to beginne his businesse,
  He in his ages morning thus began
  By miracles exceeding power of man.
  
  5.
  
  Crucifying
  By miracles exceeding power of man,
  Hee faith in some, envie in some begat,
  For, what weake spirits admire, ambitious, hate;
  In both affections many to him ran,
  But Oh! the worst are most, they will and can,
  Alas, and do, unto the immaculate,
  Whose creature Fate is, now prescribe a Fate,
  Measuring selfe-lifes infinity to a span,
  Nay to an inch.
  
  Loe, where condemned hee
  Beares his owne crosse, with paine, yet by and by
  When it beares him, he must beare more and die.
  
  Now thou art lifted up, draw mee to thee,
  And at thy death giving such liberall dole,
  Moyst, with one drop of thy blood, my dry soule.
  
  6.
  
  Resurrection
  Moyst, with one drop of thy blood, my dry soule.
  
  Shall (though she now be in extreme degree
  Too stony hard, and yet to fleshly,) bee
  Freed by that drop, from being starv'd, hard or foule,
  And life, by this death abled, shall controule
  Death, whom thy death slue; nor shall to mee
  Feare of first or last death, bring miserie,
  If in thy little booke my name thou enroule,
  Flesh in that long sleep is not putrified,
  But made that there, of which and for which 'twas;
  Nor can by other meanes be glorified.
  
  May then sinnes sleep, and deaths soone from me passe,
  That wak't from both, I againe risen may
  Salute the last, and everlasting day.
  
  7.
  
  Ascention
  Salute the last, and everlasting day,
  Joy at the uprising of this Sunne, and Sonne,
  Yee whose just teares, or tribulation
  Have purely washt, or burnt your drossie clay;
  Behold the Highest, parting hence away,
  Lightens the darke clouds, which hee treads upon,
  Nor doth hee by ascending, show alone,
  But first hee, and hee first enters the way.
  
  O strong Ramme, which hast batter'd heaven for mee,
  Mild Lambe, which with thy blood, hast mark'd the path;
  Bright Torch, which shin'st that I the way may see
  Oh, with thy owne blood quench thy owne just wrath,
  And if thy holy Spirit, my Muse did raise,
  Deigne at my hands this crown of prayer and praise.
  
  To the Lady Magdalen Herbert: Of St.
  
  Mary Magdalen

• Sweetest love, I do not go, Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Sweetest love, I do not go,
  For weariness of thee,
  Nor in hope the world can show
  A fitter love for me;
  But since that I
  Must die at last, 'tis best
  To use myself in jest
  Thus by feign'd deaths to die.
  
  Yesternight the sun went hence,
  And yet is here today;
  He hath no desire nor sense,
  Nor half so short a way:
  Then fear not me,
  But believe that I shall make
  Speedier journeys, since I take
  More wings and spurs than he.
  
  O how feeble is man's power,
  That if good fortune fall,
  Cannot add another hour,
  Nor a lost hour recall!
  But come bad chance,
  And we join to'it our strength,
  And we teach it art and length,
  Itself o'er us to'advance.
  
  When thou sigh'st, thou sigh'st not wind,
  But sigh'st my soul away;
  When thou weep'st, unkindly kind,
  My life's blood doth decay.
  
  It cannot be
  That thou lov'st me, as thou say'st,
  If in thine my life thou waste,
  That art the best of me.
  
  Let not thy divining heart
  Forethink me any ill;
  Destiny may take thy part,
  And may thy fears fulfil;
  But think that we
  Are but turn'd aside to sleep;
  They who one another keep
  Alive, ne'er parted be.

• Temple Read Poem Log in to favourite

  With His kind mother, who partakes thy woe,
  Joseph, turn back ; see where your child doth sit,
  Blowing, yea blowing out those sparks of wit,
  Which Himself on the doctors did bestow.
  
  The Word but lately could not speak, and lo !
  It suddenly speaks wonders ; whence comes it,
  That all which was, and all which should be writ,
  A shallow seeming child should deeply know ?
  
  His Godhead was not soul to His manhood,
  Nor had time mellow'd Him to this ripeness ;
  But as for one which hath a long task, 'tis good,
  With the sun to begin His business,
  He in His age's morning thus began,
  By miracles exceeding power of man.

• That Time And Absence Proves Rather Helps Than Hurts To Loves Read Poem Log in to favourite

  ABSENCE, hear thou my protestation
  Against thy strength,
  Distance and length:
  Do what thou canst for alteration,
  For hearts of truest mettle
  Absence doth join and Time doth settle.
  
  Who loves a mistress of such quality,
  His mind hath found
  Affection's ground
  Beyond time, place, and all mortality.
  
  To hearts that cannot vary
  Absence is present, Time doth tarry.
  
  My senses want their outward motion
  Which now within
  Reason doth win,
  Redoubled by her secret notion:
  Like rich men that take pleasure
  In hiding more than handling treasure.
  
  By Absence this good means I gain,
  That I can catch her
  Where none can watch her,
  In some close corner of my brain:
  There I embrace and kiss her,
  And so enjoy her and none miss her.

• The Anniversary Read Poem Log in to favourite

  All Kings, and all their favourites,
  All glory of honours, beauties, wits,
  The sun itself, which makes times, as they pass,
  Is elder by a year now than it was
  When thou and I first one another saw:
  All other things to their destruction draw,
  Only our love hath no decay;
  This no tomorrow hath, nor yesterday,
  Running it never runs from us away,
  But truly keeps his first, last, everlasting day.
  
  Two graves must hide thine and my corse;
  If one might, death were no divorce.
  
  Alas, as well as other Princes, we
  (Who Prince enough in one another be)
  Must leave at last in death these eyes and ears,
  Oft fed with true oaths, and with sweet salt tears;
  But souls where nothing dwells but love
  (All other thoughts being inmates) then shall prove
  This, or a love increasèd there above,
  When bodies to their graves, souls from their graves remove.
  
  And then we shall be throughly blessed;
  But we no more than all the rest.
  
  Here upon earth we’re Kings, and none but we
  Can be such Kings, nor of such subjects be;
  Who is so safe as we?
  
  where none can do
  Treason to us, except one of us two.
  
  True and false fears let us refrain,
  Let us love nobly, and live, and add again
  Years and years unto years, till we attain
  To write threescore: this is the second of our reign.

• The Annunciation And Passion Read Poem Log in to favourite

  TAMELY, frail body, abstain to-day ; to-day
  My soul eats twice, Christ hither and away.
  
  She sees Him man, so like God made in this,
  That of them both a circle emblem is,
  Whose first and last concur ; this doubtful day
  Of feast or fast, Christ came, and went away ;
  She sees Him nothing, twice at once, who's all ;
  She sees a cedar plant itself, and fall ;
  Her Maker put to making, and the head
  Of life at once not yet alive, yet dead ;
  She sees at once the Virgin Mother stay
  Reclused at home, public at Golgotha ;
  Sad and rejoiced she's seen at once, and seen
  At almost fifty, and at scarce fifteen ;
  At once a son is promised her, and gone ;
  Gabriell gives Christ to her, He her to John ;
  Not fully a mother, she's in orbity ;
  At once receiver and the legacy.
  
  All this, and all between, this day hath shown,
  Th' abridgement of Christ's story, which makes one—
  As in plain maps, the furthest west is east—
  Of th' angels Ave, and Consummatum est.
  
  How well the Church, God's Court of Faculties,
  Deals, in sometimes, and seldom joining these.
  
  As by the self-fix'd Pole we never do
  Direct our course, but the next star thereto,
  Which shows where th'other is, and which we say
  —Because it strays not far—doth never stray,
  So God by His Church, nearest to him, we know,
  And stand firm, if we by her motion go.
  
  His Spirit, as His fiery pillar, doth
  Lead, and His Church, as cloud ; to one end both.
  
  This Church by letting those days join, hath shown
  Death and conception in mankind is one ;
  Or 'twas in Him the same humility,
  That He would be a man, and leave to be ;
  Or as creation He hath made, as God,
  With the last judgment but one period,
  His imitating spouse would join in one
  Manhood's extremes ; He shall come, He is gone ;
  Or as though one blood drop, which thence did fall,
  Accepted, would have served, He yet shed all,
  So though the least of His pains, deeds, or words,
  Would busy a life, she all this day affords.
  
  This treasure then, in gross, my soul, uplay,
  And in my life retail it every day.

• The Apparition Read Poem Log in to favourite

  When by thy scorn, O murd'ress, I am dead
  And that thou think'st thee free
  From all solicitation from me,
  Then shall my ghost come to thy bed,
  And thee, feign'd vestal, in worse arms shall see;
  Then thy sick taper will begin to wink,
  And he, whose thou art then, being tir'd before,
  Will, if thou stir, or pinch to wake him, think
  Thou call'st for more,
  And in false sleep will from thee shrink;
  And then, poor aspen wretch, neglected thou
  Bath'd in a cold quicksilver sweat wilt lie
  A verier ghost than I.
  
  What I will say, I will not tell thee now,
  Lest that preserve thee; and since my love is spent,
  I'had rather thou shouldst painfully repent,
  Than by my threat'nings rest still innocent.

• The Bait Read Poem Log in to favourite

  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
  Warm'd by thy eyes, more than the sun;
  And there the 'enamour'd fish will stay,
  Begging themselves they may betray.
  
  When thou wilt swim in that live bath,
  Each fish, which every channel hath,
  Will amorously to thee swim,
  Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.
  
  If thou, to be so seen, be'st loth,
  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,
  Or treacherously poor fish beset,
  With strangling snare, or windowy net.
  
  Let coarse bold hands from slimy nest
  The bedded fish in banks out-wrest;
  Or curious traitors, sleeve-silk flies,
  Bewitch poor fishes' wand'ring eyes.
  
  For thee, thou need'st no such deceit,
  For thou thyself art thine own bait:
  That fish, that is not catch'd thereby,
  Alas, is wiser far than I.

• The Blossom Read Poem Log in to favourite

  LITTLE think'st thou, poor flower,
  Whom I've watch'd six or seven days,
  And seen thy birth, and seen what every hour
  Gave to thy growth, thee to this height to raise,
  And now dost laugh and triumph on this bough,
  Little think'st thou,
  That it will freeze anon, and that I shall
  To-morrow find thee fallen, or not at all.
  
  Little think'st thou, poor heart,
  That labourest yet to nestle thee,
  And think'st by hovering here to get a part
  In a forbidden or forbidding tree,
  And hopest her stiffness by long siege to bow,
  Little think'st thou
  That thou to-morrow, ere the sun doth wake,
  Must with the sun and me a journey take.
  
  But thou, which lovest to be
  Subtle to plague thyself, wilt say,
  Alas ! if you must go, what's that to me?
  
  Here lies my business, and here I will stay
  You go to friends, whose love and means present
  Various content
  To your eyes, ears, and taste, and every part ;
  If then your body go, what need your heart?
  
  Well then, stay here ; but know,
  When thou hast stay'd and done thy most,
  A naked thinking heart, that makes no show,
  Is to a woman but a kind of ghost.
  
  How shall she know my heart ; or having none,
  Know thee for one?
  
  Practice may make her know some other part ;
  But take my word, she doth not know a heart.
  
  Meet me in London, then,
  Twenty days hence, and thou shalt see
  Me fresher and more fat, by being with men,
  Than if I had stay'd still with her and thee.
  
  For God's sake, if you can, be you so too ;
  I will give you
  There to another friend, whom we shall find
  As glad to have my body as my mind.

• The Broken Heart Read Poem Log in to favourite

  He is stark mad, who ever says,
  That he hath been in love an hour,
  Yet not that love so soon decays,
  But that it can ten in less space devour;
  Who will believe me, if I swear
  That I have had the plague a year ?
  
  Who would not laugh at me, if I should say,
  I saw a flask of powder burn a day ?
  
  Ah, what trifle is a heart,
  If once into Love’s hands it come!
  All other griefs allow a part
  To other griefs, and ask themselves but some,
  They come to us, but us Love draws,
  He swallows us, and never chaws:
  By him, as by chain-shot, whole ranks do die,
  He is the tyrant pike, our hearts the fry.
  
  If`twere not so, what did become
  Of my heart, when I first saw thee ?
  
  I brought a heart into the room,
  But from the room, I carried non with me;
  If it had gone to thee, I know
  Mine would have taught thy heart to show
  More pity unto me: but Love, alas,
  At one first blow did shiver it as glass.
  
  Yet nothing can to nothing fall,
  Nor any place be empty quite,
  Therefore I think my breast hath all
  Those pieces still, though they be not unite;
  And now as broken glasses show
  A hundred lesser faces, so
  My rags of heart can like, wish, and adore,
  But after one such love, can love no more.

• The Calm Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Our storm is past, and that storm's tyrannous rage,
  A stupid calm, but nothing it, doth 'suage.
  
  The fable is inverted, and far more
  A block afflicts, now, than a stork before.
  
  Storms chafe, and soon wear out themselves, or us;
  In calms, Heaven laughs to see us languish thus.
  
  As steady'as I can wish that my thoughts were,
  Smooth as thy mistress' glass, or what shines there,
  The sea is now; and, as the isles which we
  Seek, when we can move, our ships rooted be.
  
  As water did in storms, now pitch runs out;
  As lead, when a fir'd church becomes one spout.
  
  And all our beauty, and our trim, decays,
  Like courts removing, or like ended plays.
  
  The fighting-place now seamen's rags supply;
  And all the tackling is a frippery.
  
  No use of lanthorns; and in one place lay
  Feathers and dust, to-day and yesterday.
  
  Earth's hollownesses, which the world's lungs are,
  Have no more wind than the upper vault of air.
  
  We can nor lost friends nor sought foes recover,
  But meteor-like, save that we move not, hover.
  
  Only the calenture together draws
  Dear friends, which meet dead in great fishes' jaws;
  And on the hatches, as on altars, lies
  Each one, his own priest, and own sacrifice.
  
  Who live, that miracle do multiply,
  Where walkers in hot ovens do not die.
  
  If in despite of these we swim, that hath
  No more refreshing than our brimstone bath;
  But from the sea into the ship we turn,
  Like parboil'd wretches, on the coals to burn.
  
  Like Bajazet encag'd, the shepherds' scoff,
  Or like slack-sinew'd Samson, his hair off,
  Languish our ships.
  
  Now as a myriad
  Of ants durst th' emperor's lov'd snake invade,
  The crawling gallies, sea-gaols, finny chips,
  Might brave our pinnaces, now bed-rid ships.
  
  Whether a rotten state, and hope of gain,
  Or to disuse me from the queasy pain
  Of being belov'd and loving, or the thirst
  Of honour, or fair death, out-push'd me first,
  I lose my end; for here, as well as I,
  A desperate may live, and a coward die.
  
  Stag, dog, and all which from or towards flies,
  Is paid with life or prey, or doing dies.
  
  Fate grudges us all, and doth subtly lay
  A scourge, 'gainst which we all forget to pray.
  
  He that at sea prays for more wind, as well
  Under the poles may beg cold, heat in hell.
  
  What are we then?
  
  How little more, alas,
  Is man now, than before he was?
  
  He was
  Nothing; for us, we are for nothing fit;
  Chance, or ourselves, still disproportion it.
  
  We have no power, no will, no sense; I lie,
  I should not then thus feel this misery.

• The Canonization Read Poem Log in to favourite

  For God’s sake hold your tongue, and let me love,
  Or chide my palsy, or my gout,
  My five gray hairs, or ruined fortune flout,
  With wealth your state, your mind with arts improve,
  Take you a course, get you a place,
  Observe his honor, or his grace,
  Or the king's real, or his stampèd face
  Contemplate; what you will, approve,
  So you will let me love.
  
  Alas, alas, who’s injured by my love?
  
  What merchant’s ships have my sighs drowned?
  
  Who says my tears have overflowed his ground?
  
  When did my colds a forward spring remove?
  
  When did the heats which my veins fill
  Add one more to the plaguy bill?
  
  Soldiers find wars, and lawyers find out still
  Litigious men, which quarrels move,
  Though she and I do love.
  
  Call us what you will, we are made such by love;
  Call her one, me another fly,
  We're tapers too, and at our own cost die,
  And we in us find the eagle and the dove.
  
  The phoenix riddle hath more wit
  By us; we two being one, are it.
  
  So, to one neutral thing both sexes fit.
  
  We die and rise the same, and prove
  Mysterious by this love.
  
  We can die by it, if not live by love,
  And if unfit for tombs and hearse
  Our legend be, it will be fit for verse;
  And if no piece of chronicle we prove,
  We’ll build in sonnets pretty rooms;
  As well a well-wrought urn becomes
  The greatest ashes, as half-acre tombs,
  And by these hymns, all shall approve
  Us canonized for Love.
  
  And thus invoke us: “You, whom reverend love
  Made one another’s hermitage;
  You, to whom love was peace, that now is rage;
  Who did the whole world's soul contract, and drove
  Into the glasses of your eyes
  (So made such mirrors, and such spies,
  That they did all to you epitomize)
  Countries, towns, courts: beg from above
  A pattern of your love!”

• The Character Of The Bore Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Well; I may now receive and die.
  
  My sin
  Indeed is great, but yet I have been in
  A purgatory, such as fear'd hell is
  A recreation, and scant map of this.
  
  My mind neither with pride's itch, nor yet hath been
  Poison'd with love to see or to be seen.
  
  I had no suit there, nor new suit to shew,
  Yet went to court: but as Glare, which did go
  To mass in jest, catch'd, was fain to disburse
  The hundred marks, which is the statute's curse,
  Before he 'scap'd; so't pleas'd my Destiny
  (Guilty of my sin of going) to think me
  As prone to all ill, and of good as forget-
  Ful, as proud, lustful, and as much in debt,
  As vain, as witless, and as false as they
  Which dwell in court, for once going that way,
  Therefore I suffer'd this: Towards me did run
  A thing more strange than on Nile's slime the sun
  E'er bred, or all which into Noah's ark came;
  A thing which would have pos'd Adam to name:
  Stranger than seven antiquaries' studies,
  Than Afric's monsters, Guiana's rarities;
  Stranger than strangers; one who for a Dane
  In the Danes' massacre had sure been slain,
  If he had liv'd then, and without help dies
  When next the 'prentices 'gainst strangers rise;
  One whom the watch at noon lets scarce go by;
  One t' whom th' examining justice sure would cry,
  Sir, by your priesthood, tell me what you are.
  
  His clothes were strange, though coarse, and black, though bare;
  Sleeveless his jerkin was, and it had been
  Velvet, but 'twas now (so much ground was seen)
  Become tufftaffaty; and our children shall
  See it plain rash a while, then nought at all.
  
  The thing hath travail'd, and, faith, speaks all tongues,
  And only knoweth what t' all states belongs.
  
  Made of th' accents and best phrase of all these,
  He speaks one language.
  
  If strange meats displease,
  Art can deceive, or hunger force my taste;
  But pedant's motley tongue, soldier's bombast,
  Mountebank's drug-tongue, nor the terms of law,
  Are strong enough preparatives to draw
  Me to hear this, yet I must be content
  With his tongue, in his tongue call'd Compliment;
  In which he can win widows, and pay scores,
  Make men speak treason, cozen subtlest whores,
  Outflatter favourites, or outlie either
  Jovius or Surius, or both together.
  
  He names me, and comes to me; I whisper, God!
  How have I sinn'd, that thy wrath's furious rod,
  This fellow, chooseth me?
  
  He saith, Sir,
  I love your judgment; whom do you prefer
  For the best linguist?
  
  and I sillily
  Said, that I thought Calepine's Dictionary.
  
  Nay, but of men?
  
  Most sweet Sir! Beza, then
  Some Jesuits, and two reverend men
  Of our two academies, I nam'd.
  
  Here
  He stopt me, and said; Nay, your apostles were
  Good pretty linguists; so Panurgus was,
  Yet a poor gentleman; all these may pass
  By travel.
  
  Then, as if he would have sold
  His tongue, he prais'd it, and such wonders told,
  That I was fain to say, If you had liv'd, Sir,
  Time enough to have been interpreter
  To Babel's bricklayers, sure the tower had stood.
  
  He adds, If of court-life you knew the good,
  You would leave loneness.
  
  I said, Not alone
  My loneness is, but Spartan's fashion,
  To teach by painting drunkards, doth not last
  Now; Aretine's pictures have made few chaste;
  No more can princes' courts, though there be few
  Better pictures of vice, teach me virtue.
  
  He, like to a high-stretch'd lute-string, squeakt, O, Sir!
  'Tis sweet to talk of kings! At Westminster,
  Said I, the man that keeps the Abbey-tombs,
  And for his price doth, with who ever comes,
  Of all our Harrys and our Edwards talk,
  From king to king, and all their kin can walk:
  Your ears shall hear naught but kings; your eyes meet
  Kings only; the way to it is King's street.
  
  He smack'd, and cry'd, He's base, mechanic coarse;
  So're all our Englishmen in their discourse.
  
  Are not your Frenchmen neat?
  
  Mine, eyes you see,
  I have but one, Sir; look, he follows me.
  
  Certes, they're neatly cloth'd.
  
  I of this mind am,
  Your only wearing is your grogaram.
  
  Not so, Sir; I have more.
  
  Under this pitch
  He would not fly.
  
  I chaf'd him; but as itch
  Scratch'd into smart, and as blunt iron ground
  Into an edge, hurts worse; so I (fool!) found
  Crossing hurt me.
  
  To fit my sullenness,
  He to another key his style doth dress,
  And asks, What news?
  
  I tell him of new plays:
  He takes my hand, and, as a still which stays
  A semibrief 'twixt each drop, he niggardly
  As loth to enrich me, so tells many a lie,
  More than ten Hollensheads, or Halls, or Stows,
  Of trivial household trash he knows.
  
  He knows
  When the queen frown'd or smil'd; and he knows what
  A subtile statesman may gather of that:
  He knows who loves whom, and who by poison
  Hastes to an office's reversion;
  He knows who hath sold his land, and now doth beg
  A license old iron, boots, shoes, and egg-
  Shells to transport.
  
  Shortly boys shall not play
  At span-counter, or blow-point, but shall play
  Toll to some courtier; and, wiser than us all,
  He knows what lady is not painted.
  
  Thus
  He with home-meats cloys me.
  
  I belch, spue, spit,
  Look pale and sickly, like a patient, yet
  He thrusts on more; and as he had undertook
  To say Gallo-Belgicus without book,
  Speaks of all states and deeds that have been since
  The Spaniards came to th' loss of Amyens.
  
  Like a big wife, at sight of loathed meat,
  Ready to travail, so I sigh and sweat
  To hear this makaron talk in vain; for yet,
  Either my humour or his own to fit,
  He, like a privileg'd spy, whom nothing can
  Discredit, libels now 'gainst each great man:
  He names a price for every office paid:
  He saith, Our wars thrive ill, because delay'd;
  That offices are entail'd, and that there are
  Perpetuities of them lasting as far
  As the last day; and that great officers
  Do with the pirates share and Dunkirkers.
  
  Who wastes in meat, in clothes, in horse, he notes;
  Who loves whores, who boys, and who goats.
  
  I, more amaz'd than Circe's prisoners, when
  They felt themselves turn beasts, felt myself then
  Becoming traitor, and methought I saw
  One of our giant statues ope his jaw
  To suck me in for hearing him: I found
  That as burnt venomous leachers do grow sound
  By giving others their sores, I might grow
  Guilty, and be free; therefore I did show
  All signs of loathing; but since I am in,
  I must pay mine and my forefathers' sin
  To the last farthing: therefore to my power
  Toughly and stubbornly I bear this cross; but th' hour
  Of mercy now was come: he tries to bring
  Me to pay a fine to 'scape his torturing,
  And says, Sir, can you spare me?
  
  I said, Willingly.
  
  Nay, Sir, can you spare me a crown?
  
  Thankfully I
  Gave it as ransom.
  
  But as fiddlers still,
  Though they be paid to be gone, yet needs will
  Thrust one more jigg upon you; so did he
  With his long complimented thanks vex me.
  
  But he is gone, thanks to his needy want,
  And the prerogative of my crown.
  
  Scant
  His thanks were ended when I (which did see
  All the court fill'd with such strange things as he)
  Ran from thence with such or more haste than one
  Who fears more actions doth haste from prison.
  
  At home in wholesome solitariness
  My piteous soul began the wretchedness
  Of suitors at court to mourn, and a trance
  Like his who dreamt he saw hell did advance
  Itself o'er me: such men as he saw there
  I saw at court, and worse, and more.
  
  Low fear
  Becomes the guilty, not th' accuser; then
  Shall I, none's slave, of high born or rais'd men
  Fear frowns, and my mistress, Truth! betray thee
  To th' huffing braggart, puft nobility?
  
  No, no; thou which since yesterday hast been
  Almost about the whole world, hast thou seen,
  O Sun! in all thy journey vanity
  Such as swells the bladder of our court?
  
  I
  Think he which made your waxen garden, and
  Transported it from Italy, to stand
  With us at London, flouts our courtiers; for
  Just such gay painted things, which no sap nor
  Taste have in them, ours are!

• The Computation Read Poem Log in to favourite

  For the first twenty years since yesterday
  I scarce believed thou couldst be gone away;
  For forty more I fed on favors past,
  And forty on hopes that thou wouldst they might last.
  
  Tears drowned one hundred, and sighs blew out two,
  A thousand, I did neither think nor do,
  Or not divide, all being one thought of you,
  Or in a thousand more forgot that too.
  
  Yet call not this long life, but think that I
  Am, by being dead, immortal.
  
  Can ghosts die?

• The Curse Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Whoever guesses, thinks, or dreams, he knows
  Who is my mistress, wither by this curse ;
  Him, only for his purse
  May some dull whore to love dispose,
  And then yield unto all that are his foes ;
  May he be scorn'd 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 cramps, may he
  Make, by but thinking who hath made him such ;
  And may he feel no touch
  Of conscience, but of fame, and be
  Anguish'd, not that 'twas sin, but that 'twas she ;
  Or may he for her virtue reverence
  One that hates him only for impotence,
  And equal traitors be she and his sense.
  
  May he dream treason, and believe that he
  Meant to perform it, and confesses, and die,
  And no record tell why ;
  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, mine, beasts, fowl, fish,
  Can contribute, all ill, which all
  Prophets or poets spake, and all which shall
  Be annex'd in schedules unto this by me,
  Fall on that man ; For if it be a she
  Nature beforehand hath out-cursèd me.

• The Damp Read Poem Log in to favourite

  When I am dead, and doctors know not why,
  And my friends' curiosity
  Will have me cut up to survey each part,—
  When they shall find your picture in my heart,
  You think a sudden damp of love
  Will through all their senses move,
  And work on them as me, and so prefer
  Your murder to the name of massacre.
  
  Poor victories! But if you dare be brave,
  And pleasure in your conquest have,
  First kill th' enormous giant, your Disdain,
  And let th' enchantress Honour next be slain,
  And like a Goth and Vandal rise,
  Deface records and histories
  Of your own arts and triumphs over men,
  And, without such advantage, kill me then.
  
  For I could muster up as well as you
  My giants, and my witches too,
  Which are vast Constancy and Secretness;
  But these I neither look for nor profess.
  
  Kill me as woman, let me die
  As a mere man; do you but try
  Your passive valour, and you shall find then,
  Naked you have odds enough of any man.

• The Dissolution Read Poem Log in to favourite

  She's dead; and all which die
  To their first elements resolve;
  And we were mutual elements to us,
  And made of one another.
  
  My body then doth hers involve,
  And those things whereof I consist hereby
  In me abundant grow, and burdenous,
  And nourish not, but smother.
  
  My fire of passion, sighs of air,
  Water of tears, and earthly sad despair,
  Which my materials be,
  But near worn out by love's security,
  She, to my loss, doth by her death repair,
  And I might live long wretched so
  But that my fire doth with my fuel grow.
  
  Now as those Active Kings
  Whose foreign conquest treasure brings,
  Receive more, and spend more, and soonest break:
  This (which I am amazed that I can speak)
  This death hath with my store
  My use increased.
  
  And so my soul more earnestly released
  Will outstrip hers; as bullets flown before
  A latter bullet may o'ertake, the powder being more.

• The Dream Read Poem Log in to favourite

  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'd'st me wisely; yet
  My dream thou brok'st not, but continued'st it.
  
  Thou art so true that thoughts of thee suffice
  To make dreams truths, and fables histories;
  Enter these arms, for since thou thought'st it best,
  Not to dream all my dream, let's act the rest.
  
  As lightning, or a taper's light,
  Thine eyes, and not thy noise wak'd 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
  Profane, to think thee any thing but thee.
  
  Coming and staying show'd 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
  Will dream that hope again, but else would die.

• The Ecstasy Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Where, like a pillow on a bed
  A pregnant bank swell'd up to rest
  The violet's reclining head,
  Sat we two, one another's best.
  
  Our hands were firmly cemented
  With a fast balm, which thence did spring;
  Our eye-beams twisted, and did thread
  Our eyes upon one double string;
  So to'intergraft our hands, as yet
  Was all the means to make us one,
  And pictures in our eyes to get
  Was all our propagation.
  
  As 'twixt two equal armies fate
  Suspends uncertain victory,
  Our souls (which to advance their state
  Were gone out) hung 'twixt her and me.
  
  And whilst our souls negotiate there,
  We like sepulchral statues lay;
  All day, the same our postures were,
  And we said nothing, all the day.
  
  If any, so by love refin'd
  That he soul's language understood,
  And by good love were grown all mind,
  Within convenient distance stood,
  He (though he knew not which soul spake,
  Because both meant, both spake the same)
  Might thence a new concoction take
  And part far purer than he came.
  
  This ecstasy doth unperplex,
  We said, and tell us what we love;
  We see by this it was not sex,
  We see we saw not what did move;
  But as all several souls contain
  Mixture of things, they know not what,
  Love these mix'd souls doth mix again
  And makes both one, each this and that.
  
  A single violet transplant,
  The strength, the colour, and the size,
  (All which before was poor and scant)
  Redoubles still, and multiplies.
  
  When love with one another so
  Interinanimates two souls,
  That abler soul, which thence doth flow,
  Defects of loneliness controls.
  
  We then, who are this new soul, know
  Of what we are compos'd and made,
  For th' atomies of which we grow
  Are souls, whom no change can invade.
  
  But oh alas, so long, so far,
  Our bodies why do we forbear?
  
  They'are ours, though they'are not we; we are
  The intelligences, they the spheres.
  
  We owe them thanks, because they thus
  Did us, to us, at first convey,
  Yielded their senses' force to us,
  Nor are dross to us, but allay.
  
  On man heaven's influence works not so,
  But that it first imprints the air;
  So soul into the soul may flow,
  Though it to body first repair.
  
  As our blood labors to beget
  Spirits, as like souls as it can,
  Because such fingers need to knit
  That subtle knot which makes us man,
  So must pure lovers' souls descend
  T' affections, and to faculties,
  Which sense may reach and apprehend,
  Else a great prince in prison lies.
  
  To'our bodies turn we then, that so
  Weak men on love reveal'd may look;
  Love's mysteries in souls do grow,
  But yet the body is his book.
  
  And if some lover, such as we,
  Have heard this dialogue of one,
  Let him still mark us, he shall see
  Small change, when we'are to bodies gone.

• The Expiration Read Poem Log in to favourite

  So, so breake off this last lamenting kisse,
  Which sucks two soules, and vapours Both away,
  Turne thou ghost that way, and let mee turne this,
  And let our selves benight our happiest day,
  We ask’d none leave to love; nor will we owe
  Any, so cheape a death, as saying, Goe;
  
  Goe; and if that word have not quite kil’d thee,
  Ease mee with death, by bidding mee goe too.
  
  Oh, if it have, let my word worke on mee,
  And a just office on a murderer doe.
  
  Except it be too late, to kill me so,
  Being double dead, going, and bidding, goe.

• The Flea Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Mark but this flea, and mark in this,
  How little that which thou deniest 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.
  
  Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare,
  Where we almost, nay more than married are.
  
  This flea is you and I, and this
  Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is;
  Though parents grudge, and you, w'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
  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 thy self, nor me the weaker now;
  ’Tis true; then learn how false, fears be:
  Just so much honor, when thou yield’st to me,
  Will waste, as this flea’s death took life from thee.

• The Funerall Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Whoever comes to shroud me, do not harm
  Nor question much
  That subtle wreath of hair, which crowns my arm;
  The mystery, the sign, you must not touch,
  For 'tis my outward soul,
  Viceroy to that, which then to heaven being gone,
  Will leave this to control
  And keep these limbs, her provinces, from dissolution.
  
  For if the sinewy thread my brain lets fall
  Through every part
  Can tie those parts, and make me one of all,
  Those hairs which upward grew, and strength and art
  Have from a better brain,
  Can better do'it; except she meant that I
  By this should know my pain,
  As prisoners then are manacled, when they'are condemn'd to die.
  
  Whate'er she meant by'it, bury it with me,
  For since I am
  Love's martyr, it might breed idolatry,
  If into other hands these relics came;
  As 'twas humility
  To afford to it all that a soul can do,
  So, 'tis some bravery,
  That since you would have none of me, I bury some of you
  Funerall - olde spelling

• The Good-Morrow Read Poem Log in to favourite

  I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I
  Did, till we loved?
  
  Were we not weaned till then?
  
  But sucked on country pleasures, childishly?
  
  Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers’ den?
  
  ’Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be.
  
  If ever any beauty I did see,
  Which I desired, and got, ’twas but a dream of thee.
  
  And now good-morrow to our waking souls,
  Which watch not one another out of fear;
  For love, all love of other sights controls,
  And makes one little room an everywhere.
  
  Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone,
  Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown,
  Let us possess one world, each hath one, and is one.
  
  My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,
  And true plain hearts do in the faces rest;
  Where can we find two better hemispheres,
  Without sharp north, without declining west?
  
  Whatever dies, was not mixed equally;
  If our two loves be one, or, thou and I
  Love so alike, that none do slacken, none can die.

• The Harbinger Read Poem Log in to favourite

  to the Progresse.
  
  TWo soules moue here, and mine (a third) must moue
  Paces of admiration, and of loue;
  Thy soule (Deare Virgin) whose this tribute is,
  Mou'd from this mortall sphere to liuely blisse,
  And yet moues still, and still aspires to see
  The worlds last day, thy glories full degree:
  Like as those starres which thou ore-lookest farre,
  Are in their place, and yet still moued are
  No soule (whiles with the luggage of this clay
  It clogged is) can follow thee halfe way;
  Or see thy flight; which doth our thoughts outgoe
  So fast, that now the lightning moues but slow:
  But now thou art as high in heauen flowne
  As heau'ns from vs; what soule besides thine owne
  Can tell thy ioyes, or say he can relate
  Thy glorious Iornals in that blessed state?
  
  I enuie thee (Rich soule) I enuy thee,
  Although I cannot yet thy glory see:
  And thou (Great spirit) which her's follow'd hast
  So fast, as none can follow thine so fast;
  So farre as none can follow thine so farre,
  (And if this flesh did not the passage barre
  Had'st caught her) let me wonder at thy flight
  Which long agone had'st lost the vulgar sight
  And now mak'st proud the better eyes, that they
  Can see thee les'ned in thine aery way;
  So while thou mak'st her soule by progresse knowne
  Thou mak'st a noble progresse of thine owne.
  
  From this worlds carcasse hauing mounted hie
  To that pure life of Immortalitie;
  Since thine aspiring thoughts themselues so raise
  That more may not beseeme a creatures praise,
  Yet still thou vow'st her more; and euery yeare
  Mak'st a new Progresse, while thou wandrest here;
  Still vpward mount; and let thy makers praise
  Honor thy Laura, and adorne thy laies.
  
  And since thy Mus[es] head in heauen shrouds
  Oh let her neuer stoope below the clouds:
  And if those glorious sainted soules may know
  Or what we doe, or what we sing below,
  Those acts, those songs shall still content them best
  Which praise those awfull powers that make them blest.

• The Indifferent Read Poem Log in to favourite

  I can love both fair and brown,
  Her whom abundance melts, and her whom want betrays,
  Her who loves loneness best, and her who masks and plays,
  Her whom the country formed, and whom the town,
  Her who believes, and her who tries,
  Her who still weeps with spongy eyes,
  And her who is dry cork, and never cries;
  I can love her, and her, and you, and you,
  I can love any, so she be not true.
  
  Will no other vice content you?
  
  Will it not serve your turn to do as did your mothers?
  
  Or have you all old vices spent, and now would find out others?
  
  Or doth a fear that men are true torment you?
  
  O we are not, be not you so;
  Let me, and do you, twenty know.
  
  Rob me, but bind me not, and let me go.
  
  Must I, who came to travail thorough you,
  Grow your fixed subject, because you are true?
  
  Venus heard me sigh this song,
  And by love's sweetest part, variety, she swore,
  She heard not this till now; and that it should be so no more.
  
  She went, examined, and returned ere long,
  And said, Alas! some two or three
  Poor heretics in love there be,
  Which think to ’stablish dangerous constancy.
  
  But I have told them, Since you will be true,
  You shall be true to them who are false to you.

• The Lamentations Of Jeremy, For The Most Part According To Tremellus Read Poem Log in to favourite

  CHAP.
  
  I.
  
  I.
  
  HOW sits this city, late most populous,
  Thus solitary, and like a widow thus ?
  
  Amplest of nations, queen of provinces
  She was, who now thus tributary is ?
  
  2.
  
  Still in the night she weeps, and her tears fall
  Down by her cheeks along, and none of all
  Her lovers comfort her ; perfidiously
  Her friends have dealt, and now are enemy.
  
  3.
  
  Unto great bondage, and afflictions,
  Judah is captive led ; those nations
  With whom she dwells, no place of rest afford ;
  In straits she meets her persecutors' sword.
  
  4.
  
  Empty are the gates of Sion, and her ways
  Mourn, because none come to her solemn days.
  
  Her priests do groan, her maids are comfortless ;
  And she's unto herself a bitterness.
  
  5.
  
  Her foes are grown her head, and live at peace,
  Because, when her transgressions did increase,
  The Lord strook her with sadness ; the enemy
  Doth drive her children to captivity.
  
  6.
  
  From Sion's daughter is all beauty gone ;
  Like harts which seek for pasture, and find none,
  Her princes are ; and now before the foe
  Which still pursues them, without strength they go.
  
  7.
  
  Now in their days of tears, Jerusalem
  —Her men slain by the foe, none succouring them—
  Remembers what of old she esteemed most,
  Whiles her foes laugh at her, for what she hath lost.
  
  8.
  
  Jerusalem hath sinn'd, therefore is she
  Removed, as women in uncleanness be ;
  Who honour'd, scorn her, for her foulness they
  Have seen ; herself doth groan, and turn away.
  
  9.
  
  Her foulness in her skirts was seen, yet she
  Remember'd not her end ; miraculously
  Therefore she fell, none comforting ; behold,
  O Lord, my affliction, for the foe grows bold.
  
  10.
  
  Upon all things where her delight hath been,
  The foe hath stretch'd his hand, for she hath seen
  Heathen, whom thou command'st, should not do so,
  Into her holy sanctuary go.
  
  11.
  
  And all her people groan, and seek for bread ;
  And they have given, only to be fed,
  All precious things, wherein their pleasure lay ;
  How cheap I'm grown, O Lord, behold, and weigh.
  
  12.
  
  All this concerns not you, who pass by me ;
  O see, and mark if any sorrow be
  Like to my sorrow, which Jehovah hath
  Done to me in the day of His fierce wrath ?
  
  13.
  
  That fire, which by Himself is governed
  He hath cast from heaven on my bones, and spread
  A net before my feet, and me o'erthrown,
  And made me languish all the day alone.
  
  14.
  
  His hand hath of my sins framèd a yoke
  Which wreathed, and cast upon my neck, hath broke
  My strength ; the Lord unto those enemies
  Hath given me, from whom I cannot rise.
  
  15.
  
  He under foot hath trodden in my sight
  My strong men ; He did company accite
  To break my young men ; He the winepress hath
  Trod upon Judah's daughter in His wrath.
  
  16.
  
  For these things do I weep ; mine eye, mine eye
  Casts water out ; for He which should be nigh
  To comfort me, is now departed far ;
  The foe prevails, forlorn my children are.
  
  17.
  
  There's none, though Sion do stretch out her hand,
  To comfort her ; it is the Lord's command
  That Jacob's foes girt him ; Jerusalem
  Is as an unclean woman amongst them.
  
  18.
  
  But yet the Lord is just, and righteous still ;
  I have rebell'd against His holy will ;
  O hear all people, and my sorrow see,
  My maids, my young men in captivity.
  
  19.
  
  I called for my lovers then, but they
  Deceived me, and my priests, and elders lay
  Dead in the city ; for they sought for meat
  Which should refresh their souls, and none could get.
  
  20.
  
  Because I am in straits, Jehovah, see !
  My heart o'erturn'd, my bowels muddy be ;
  Because I have rebell'd so much, as fast
  The sword without, as death within, doth waste.
  
  21.
  
  Of all which here I mourn, none comforts me ;
  My foes have heard my grief, and glad they be,
  That Thou hast done it ; but Thy promised day
  Will come, when, as I suffer, so shall they.
  
  22.
  
  Let all their wickedness appear to Thee ;
  Do unto them, as Thou hast done to me,
  For all my sins ; the sighs which I have had
  Are very many, and my heart is sad.
  
  CHAP.
  
  II.
  
  I.
  
  HOW over Sion's daughter hath God hung
  His wrath's thick cloud ?
  
  and from heaven hath flung
  To earth the beauty of Israel, and hath
  Forgot His foot-stool in the day of wrath ?
  
  2.
  
  The Lord unsparingly hath swallowed
  All Jacob's dwellings, and demolished
  To ground the strengths of Judah, and profaned
  The Princes of the kingdom, and the land.
  
  3.
  
  In heat of wrath, the horn of Israel He
  Hath clean cut off, and lest the enemy
  Be hinder'd, His right hand He doth retire,
  But is towards Jacob all-devouring fire.
  
  4.
  
  Like to an enemy He bent His bow ;
  His right hand was in posture of a foe,
  To kill what Sion's daughter did desire,
  'Gainst whom His wrath He poured forth like fire.
  
  5.
  
  For like an enemy Jehovah is,
  Devouring Israel, and his palaces,
  Destroying holds, giving additions
  To Judah's daughters' lamentations.
  
  6.
  
  Like to a garden hedge He hath cast down
  The place where was His congregation,
  And Sion's feasts and sabbaths are forgot ;
  Her King, her Priest, His wrath regardeth not.
  
  7.
  
  The Lord forsakes His altar, and detests
  His sanctuary, and in the foes' hands rests
  His palace, and the walls, in which their cries
  Are heard, as in the true solemnities.
  
  8.
  
  The Lord hath cast a line, so to confound
  And level Sion's walls unto the ground ;
  He draws not back His hand, which doth o'erturn
  The wall, and rampart, which together mourn.
  
  9.
  
  Their gates are sunk into the ground, and He
  Hath broke the bar ; their king and princes be
  Amongst the heathen, without law, nor there
  Unto their prophets doth the Lord appear.
  
  10.
  
  There Sion's Elders on the ground are placed,
  And silence keep ; dust on their heads they cast ;
  In sackcloth have they girt themselves, and low
  The virgins towards ground their heads do throw.
  
  11.
  
  My bowels are grown muddy, and mine eyes
  Are faint with weeping ; and my liver lies
  Pour'd out upon the ground, for misery
  That sucking children in the streets do die.
  
  12.
  
  When they had cryed unto their mothers, “Where
  Shall we have bread, and drink ?
  
  ” they fainted there,
  And in the streets like wounded persons lay,
  Till 'twixt their mothers' breasts they went away.
  
  13.
  
  Daughter Jerusalem, O what may be
  A witness, or comparison for thee ?
  
  Sion, to ease thee, what shall I name like thee ?
  
  Thy breach is like the sea ; what help can be ?
  
  14.
  
  For thee vain foolish things thy prophets sought ;
  Thee, thine iniquities they have not taught,
  Which might disturb thy bondage ; but for thee
  False burthens, and false causes they would see.
  
  15.
  
  The passengers do clap their hands, and hiss
  And wag their head at thee, and say, “Is this
  That city, which so many men did call
  Joy of the earth, and perfectest of all ?
  
  ”
  16.
  
  Thy foes do gape upon thee, and they hiss,
  And gnash their teeth, and say, “Devour we this,
  For this is certainly the day which we
  Expected, and which now we find, and see.
  
  ”
  17.
  
  The Lord hath done that which He purposèd ;
  Fulfill'd His word of old determinèd ;
  He hath thrown down, and not spared, and thy foe
  Made glad above thee, and advanced him so.
  
  18.
  
  But now their hearts unto the Lord do call ;
  Therefore, O walls of Sion, let tears fall
  Down like a river, day and night ; take thee
  No rest, but let thine eye incessant be.
  
  19.
  
  Arise, cry in the night, pour out thy sins,
  Thy heart, like water, when the watch begins ;
  Lift up thy hands to God, lest children die,
  Which, faint for hunger, in the streets do lie.
  
  20.
  
  Behold, O Lord, consider unto whom
  Thou hast done this ; what, shall the women come
  To eat their children of a span ?
  
  shall Thy
  Prophet and priest be slain in sanctuary ?
  
  21.
  
  On ground in streets the young and old do lie ;
  My virgins and young men by sword do die ;
  Them in the day of Thy wrath Thou hast slain ;
  Nothing did Thee from killing them contain.
  
  22.
  
  As to a solemn feast, all whom I fear'd
  Thou call'st about me ; when Thy wrath appear'd,
  None did remain or scape, for those which I
  Brought up, did perish by mine enemy.
  
  CHAP.
  
  III.
  
  1.
  
  I AM the man which have affliction seen,
  Under the rod of God's wrath having been ;
  2.
  
  He hath led me to darkness, not to light,
  3.
  
  And against me all day, His hand doth fight.
  
  4.
  
  He hath broke my bones, worn out my flesh and skin,
  5.
  
  Built up against me ; and hath girt me in
  With hemlock, and with labour ; 6.
  
  And set me
  In dark, as they who dead for ever be.
  
  7.
  
  He hath hedged me lest I 'scape, and added more
  To my steel fetters heavier than before.
  
  8.
  
  When I cry out He outshuts my prayer ; 9.
  
  And hath
  Stopp'd with hewn stone my way, and turn'd my path.
  
  10.
  
  And like a lion hid in secrecy,
  Or bear which lies in wait, He was to me.
  
  11.
  
  He stops my way, tears me, made desolate ;
  12.
  
  And He makes me the mark He shooteth at.
  
  13.
  
  He made the children of His quiver pass
  Into my reins.
  
  14.
  
  I, with my people, was
  All the day long, a song and mockery.
  
  15.
  
  He hath fill'd me with bitterness, and He
  Hath made me drunk with wormwood.
  
  16.
  
  He hath burst
  My teeth with stones, and cover'd me with dust.
  
  17.
  
  And thus my soul far off from peace was set,
  And my prosperity I did forget.
  
  18.
  
  My strength, my hope—unto myself I said—
  Which from the Lord should come, is perished ;
  19.
  
  But when my mournings I do think upon,
  My wormwood, hemlock, and affliction,
  20.
  
  My soul is humbled in rememb'ring this ;
  21.
  
  My heart considers, therefore, hope there is.
  
  22.
  
  'Tis God's great mercy we're not utterly
  Consumed, for His compassions do not die ;
  23.
  
  For every morning they renewed be,
  For great, O Lord, is Thy fidelity.
  
  24.
  
  The Lord is—saith my soul—my portion,
  And therefore in Him will I hope alone.
  
  25.
  
  The Lord is good to them, who on Him rely,
  And to the soul that seeks Him earnestly.
  
  26.
  
  It is both good to trust, and to attend
  The Lord's salvation unto the end.
  
  27.
  
  'Tis good for one His yoke in youth to bear.
  
  28.
  
  He sits alone, and doth all speech forbear,
  Because he hath borne it.
  
  29.
  
  And his mouth he lays
  Deep in the dust, yet then in hope he stays.
  
  30.
  
  He gives his cheeks to whosoever will
  Strike him, and so he is reproached still.
  
  31.
  
  For not for ever doth the Lord forsake ;
  32.
  
  But when He hath struck with sadness, He doth take
  Compassion, as His mercy's infinite ;
  33.
  
  Nor is it with His heart, that He doth smite,
  34.
  
  That underfoot the prisoners stamped be,
  35.
  
  That a man's right the judge himself doth see
  To be wrung from him ;  36.
  
  That he subverted is
  In his just cause, the Lord allows not this.
  
  37.
  
  Who then will say, that aught doth come to pass,
  But that which by the Lord commanded was ?
  
  38.
  
  Both good and evil from His mouth proceeds ;
  39.
  
  Why then grieves any man for his misdeeds ?
  
  40.
  
  Turn we to God, by trying out our ways ;
  41.
  
  To Him in heav'n our hands with hearts upraise.
  
  42.
  
  We have rebell'd, and fallen away from Thee ;
  Thou pardon'st not ;  43.
  
  Usest no clemency ;
  Pursuest us, kill'st us, cover'st us with wrath ;
  44.
  
  Cover'st Thyself with clouds, that our prayer hath
  No power to pass.
  
  45.
  
  And Thou hast made us fall
  As refuse, and off-scouring to them all.
  
  46.
  
  All our foes gape at us.
  
  47.
  
  Fear and a snare
  With ruin, and with waste upon us are.
  
  48.
  
  With watery rivers doth mine eye o'erflow
  For ruin of my people's daughters so ;
  49.
  
  Mine eye doth drop down tears incessantly,
  50.
  
  Until the Lord look down from heav'n to see.
  
  51.
  
  And for my city daughters' sake, mine eye
  Doth break mine heart.
  
  52.
  
  Causeless mine enemy
  Like a bird chased me.
  
  53.
  
  In a dungeon
  They've shut my life, and cast on me a stone.
  
  54.
  
  Waters flow'd o'er my head ; then thought I, I am
  Destroy'd ; 55.
  
  I called, Lord, upon Thy name
  Out of the pit ;  56.
  
  And Thou my voice didst hear ;
  O from my sigh and cry, stop not Thine ear.
  
  57.
  
  Then when I call'd upon Thee, Thou drew'st near
  Unto me, and said'st unto me, “Do not fear.
  
  ”
  58.
  
  Thou, Lord, my soul's cause handled hast, and Thou
  Rescuest my life.
  
  59.
  
  O Lord, do Thou judge now.
  
  Thou heardst my wrong, 60.
  
  Their vengeance, all they've wrought ;
  61.
  
  How they reproach'd, Thou'st heard, and what they thought ;
  62.
  
  What their lips utter'd, which against me rose,
  And what was ever whisper'd by my foes.
  
  63.
  
  I am their song, whether they rise or sit ;
  64.
  
  Give them rewards, Lord, for their working fit,
  65.
  
  Sorrow of heart, Thy curse ; 66.
  
  And with Thy might
  Follow, and from under heaven destroy them quite.
  
  CHAP.
  
  IV.
  
  1.
  
  HOW is the gold become so dim?
  
  How is
  Purest and finest gold thus changed to this ?
  
  The stones which were stones of the sanctuary,
  Scatter'd in corners of each street do lie.
  
  2.
  
  The precious sons of Sion, which should be
  Valued at purest gold, how do we see
  Low rated now, as earthen pitchers, stand,
  Which are the work of a poor potter's hand ?
  
  3.
  
  Even the sea-calfs draw their breasts, and give
  Suck to their young ; my people's daughters live,
  By reason of the foes' great cruelness,
  As do the owls in the vast wilderness.
  
  4.
  
  And when the sucking child doth strive to draw,
  His tongue for thirst cleaves to his upper jaw ;
  And when for bread the children cry,
  There is no man that doth them satisfy.
  
  5.
  
  They which before were delicately fed,
  Now in the streets forlorn have perished ;
  And they which ever were in scarlet clothed,
  Sit and embrace the dunghills which they loathed.
  
  6.
  
  The daughters of my people have sinn'd more,
  Than did the town of Sodom sin before ;
  Which being at once destroy'd, there did remain
  No hands amongst them to vex them again.
  
  7.
  
  But heretofore, purer her Nazarite
  Was than the snow, and milk was not so white ;
  As carbuncles did their pure bodies shine,
  And all their polish'dness was sapphirine.
  
  8.
  
  They're darker now than blackness ; none can know
  Them by the face, as through the street they go ;
  For now their skin doth cleave unto their bone,
  And withered, is like to dry wood grown.
  
  9.
  
  Better by sword than famine 'tis to die ;
  And better through-pierced, than through penury.
  
  10.
  
  Women, by nature pitiful, have eat
  'Their children—dress'd with their own hand—for meat.
  
  11.
  
  Jehovah here fully accomplish'd hath
  His indignation, and pour'd forth His wrath ;
  Kindled a fire in Sion, which hath power
  To eat, and her foundations to devour.
  
  12.
  
  Nor would the kings of th' earth, nor all which live
  In the inhabitable world believe,
  That any adversary, any foe,
  Into Jerusalem should enter so.
  
  13.
  
  For the priests' sins, and prophets', which have shed
  Blood in the streets and the just murdered ;
  14.
  
  Which, when those men whom they made blind did stray
  Thorough the streets, defilèd by the way
  With blood, the which impossible it was
  Their garment should 'scape touching, as they pass,
  15.
  
  Would cry aloud, “Depart, defilèd men,
  Depart, depart, and touch not us !” and then
  They fled, and stray'd, and with the Gentiles were ;
  Yet told their friends, they should not long dwell there.
  
  16.
  
  For this they're scatter'd by Jehovah's face
  Who never will regard them more ; no grace
  Unto their old men shall the foe afford ;
  Nor, that they're priests, redeem them from the sword.
  
  17.
  
  And we as yet, for all these miseries
  Desiring our vain help, consume our eyes.
  
  And such a nation as cannot save,
  We in desire and speculation have ;
  18.
  
  They hunt our steps, that in the streets we fear
  To go ; our end is now approached near.
  
  Our days accomplish'd are ; this the last day ;
  Eagles of heav'n are not so swift as they
  19.
  
  Which follow us ; o'er mountain tops they fly
  At us, and for us in the desert lie.
  
  20.
  
  Th' Anointed Lord, breath of our nostrils, He
  Of whom we said, under His shadow we
  Shall with more ease under the heathen dwell,
  Into the pit which these men digged, fell.
  
  21.
  
  Rejoice, O Edom's daughter, joyful be
  Thou that inhabit'st Uz, for unto thee
  This cup shall pass, and thou with drunkenness
  Shalt fill thyself, and show thy nakedness.
  
  22.
  
  Then thy sins, O Sion, shall be spent,
  The Lord will not leave thee in banishment.
  
  Thy sins, O Edom's daughter, He will see,
  And for them, pay thee with captivity.
  
  CHAP.
  
  V.
  
  1.
  
  Remember, O Lord, what is fall'n on us ;
  See, and mark how we are reproached thus ;
  2.
  
  For unto strangers our possession
  Is turn'd, our houses unto aliens gone.
  
  3.
  
  Our mothers are become as widows ; we
  As orphans all, and without fathers be ;
  4.
  
  Waters which are our own, we drink and pay ;
  And upon our own wood a price they lay.
  
  5.
  
  Our persecutors on our necks do sit ;
  They make us travail, and not intermit ;
  6.
  
  We stretch our hands unto th' Egyptians
  To get us bread ; and to th' Assyrians.
  
  7.
  
  Our fathers did these sins, and are no more ;
  But we do bear the sins they did before.
  
  8.
  
  They are but servants, which do rule us thus,
  Yet from their hands none would deliver us.
  
  9.
  
  With danger of our life our bread we gat ;
  For in the wilderness the sword did wait.
  
  10.
  
  The tempests of this famine we lived in,
  Black as an oven colour'd had our skin.
  
  11.
  
  In Judah's cities they the maids abused
  By force, and so women in Sion used.
  
  12.
  
  The princes with their hands they hung ; no grace
  Nor honour gave they to the elder's face.
  
  13.
  
  Unto the mill our young men carried are,
  And children fell under the wood they bare.
  
  14.
  
  Elders the gates, youth did their songs forbear ;
  Gone was our joy ; our dancings, mournings were.
  
  15.
  
  Now is the crown fall'n from our head ; and woe
  Be unto us, because we've sinnèd so.
  
  16.
  
  For this our hearts do languish, and for this
  Over our eyes a cloudy dimness is.
  
  17.
  
  Because Mount Sion desolate doth lie,
  And foxes there do go at liberty ;
  18.
  
  But Thou, O Lord, art ever, and Thy throne
  From generation to generation.
  
  19.
  
  Why shouldst Thou forget us eternally ?
  
  Or leave us thus long in this misery ?
  
  20.
  
  Restore us, Lord, to thee, that so we may
  Return, and as of old, renew our day.
  
  21.
  
  For oughtest Thou, O Lord, despise us thus,
  And to be utterly enraged at us ?

• The Legacy Read Poem Log in to favourite

  When I died last, and, Dear, I die
  As often as from thee I go,
  Though it be but an hour ago,
  And Lovers' hours be full eternity,
  I can remember yet, that I
  Something did say, and something did bestow;
  Though I be dead, which sent me, I should be
  Mine own executor and legacy.
  
  I heard me say, "Tell her anon,
  That myself, that is you, not I,
  Did kill me," and when I felt me die,
  I bid me send my heart, when I was gone,
  But alas could there find none,
  When I had ripp'd me, and search'd where hearts should lie;
  It kill'd me again, that I who still was true,
  In life, in my last will should cozen you.
  
  Yet I found something like a heart,
  But colors it, and corners had,
  It was not good, it was not bad,
  It was entire to none, and few had part.
  
  As good as could be made by art
  It seem'd, and therefore for our losses sad,
  I meant to send this heart in stead of mine,
  But oh, no man could hold it, for 'twas thine.

• The Message Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Send home my long stray'd eyes to me,
  Which O too long have dwelt on thee,
  Yet since there they have learn'd such ill,
  Such forc'd fashions,
  And false passions,
  That they be
  Made by thee
  Fit for no good sight, keep them still.
  
  Send home my worthless heart again,
  Which no unworthy thought could stain,
  Which if't be taught by thine
  To make jestings
  Of protestings,
  And cross 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
  Art in anguish
  And dost languish
  For some one
  That will non,
  Or prove as false as thou art now.

• The Paradox Read Poem Log in to favourite

  NO lover saith, I love, nor any other
  Can judge a perfect lover ;
  He thinks that else none can or will agree,
  That any loves but he ;
  I cannot say I loved, for who can say
  He was kill'd yesterday.
  
  Love with excess of heat, more young than old,
  Death kills with too much cold ;
  We die but once, and who loved last did die,
  He that saith, twice, doth lie ;
  For though he seem to move, and stir a while,
  It doth the sense beguile.
  
  Such life is like the light which bideth yet
  When the life's light is set,
  Or like the heat which fire in solid matter
  Leaves behind, two hours after.
  
  Once I loved and died ; and am now become
  Mine epitaph and tomb ;
  Here dead men speak their last, and so do I ;
  Love-slain, lo ! here I die.

• The Primrose Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Upon this Primrose hill,
  Where, if Heav'n would distill
  A shower of rain, each several drop might go
  To his own primrose, and grow manna so;
  And where their form and their infinity
  Make a terrestrial Galaxy,
  As the small stars do in the sky:
  I walk to find a true Love; and I see
  That 'tis not a mere woman that is she,
  But must or more or less than woman be.
  
  Yet know I not which flower
  I wish; a six, or four;
  For should my true-Love less than woman be
  She were scarce any thing; and then, should she
  Be more than woman she would get above
  All thought of sex, and think to move
  My heart to study her, and not to love;
  Both these were monsters; since there must reside
  Falsehood in woman, I could more abide
  She were by art than Nature falsified.
  
  Live primrose then, and thrive
  With thy true number five;
  And woman, whom this flower doth represent,
  With this mysterious number be content;
  Ten is the farthest number; if half ten
  Belong unto each woman, then
  Each woman may take half us men;
  Or if this will not serve their turn, since all
  Numbers are odd or even, and they fall
  First into this, five, woman may take us all.

• The Progres Of The Soule Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Wherein,
  BY OCCASION OF
  The Religious death of Mistris
  E L I Z A B E T H   D R V R Y,
  the incommodities of the Soule
  in this life, and her exaltation in
  the next, are Contemplated.
  
  The Second Anniversarie.
  
  NOthing could make me sooner to confesse.
  
  [The entrance.
  
  ]
  That this world had an euerlastingnesse,
  Then to consider, that a yeare is runne,
  Since both this lower worlds, and the Sunnes, Sunne,
  The Lustre, and the vigor of this All,
  Did set; t'were Blasphemy, to say, did fall.
  
  But as a ship which hath strooke saile, doth runne,
  By force of that force which before, it wonne:
  Or as sometimes in a beheaded man,
  Though at those two Red seas, which freely ran,
  One from the Trunke, another from the Head,
  His soule he saild, to her eternall bed,
  His eies will twinckle, and his tongue will roll,
  As though he beckned, and cal'd backe his Soul,
  He graspes his hands, and he puls vp his feet,
  And seemes to reach, and to step forth to meet
  His soule; when all these motions which we saw,
  Are but as Ice, which crackles at a thaw:
  Or as a lute, which in moist weather, rings
  Her knell alone, by cracking of her strings.
  
  So strugles this dead world, now shee is gone;
  For there is motion in corruption.
  
  As some Daies are, at the Creation nam'd,
  Before the Sunne, the which fram'd Daies, was fram'd,
  So after this Sunnes set some show appeares,
  And orderly vicissitude of yeares.
  
  Yet a new Deluge, and of Lethe flood,
  Hath drown'vs all, All haue forgot all good,
  Forgetting her, the m[ai]ne Reserue of all,
  Yet in this Deluge, grosse and generall,
  Thou seest me striue for life; my life shall be,
  To bee hereafter prais'd, for praysing thee,
  Immortall Maid, who though thou wouldst refuse
  The name of Mother, be vnto my Muse,
  A Father since her chaste ambition is,
  Yearely to bring forth such a child as this.
  
  These Hymnes may worke on future wits, and so
  May great Grand-children of thy praises grow.
  
  And so, though not Reuiue, enbalme, and spice
  The world which else would putrifie with vice.
  
  For thus, Man may extend thy progeny,
  Vntill man doe but vanish, and not die.
  
  These Hymns they issue, may encrease so long,
  As till Gods great Venite change the song.
  
  Thirst for that time, O my initiate soule,  [A iust dis-estimation of
  this vvorld.
  
  ]
  And serue thy thirst, with Gods safe-sealing Bowle.
  
  Bee thirsty still, and drinke still till thou goe;
  To th'onely Health, to be Hydroptique so.
  
  Forget this rotten world; And vnto thee,
  Let thine owne times as an old story be[.
  
  ]
  Be not concern'd: study not why, nor whan;
  Doe not so much, as not beleeue a man.
  
  For though to erre, be worst, to try truths forth,
  Is far more busines, then this world is worth.
  
  The world is but a carcasse; thou art fed
  By it, but as a worme, that carcas bred;
  And why shouldst thou, poore worme, consider more,
  When this world will grow better then before,
  Then those thy fellow-wormes doe thinke vpone
  That carcasses last resurrectione.
  
  Forget this world, and scarse thinke of it so,
  As of old cloaths, cast off a yeere agoe.
  
  To be thus stupid as Alacrity;
  Men thus lethargique haue best Memory.
  
  Looke vpward; that's towards her, whose happy state
  We now lament not, but congratulate.
  
  Shee, to whom all this world twas but a stage,
  Where all sat harkning how her youthfull age
  Should be emploid, because in all, shee did,
  Some Figure of the Golden times, was hid.
  
  Who could not lacke, what ere this world could giue,
  Because shee was the forme, that made it liue;
  Nor could complaine, that this world was vnfit,
  To be staid in, then when shee was in it;
  Shee that first tried indifferent desires
  By vertue, and vertue by religious fires,
  Shee to whose person Paradise adhear'd,
  As Courts to Princes, she whose eies enspheard
  Star-light inough, t'haue made the South controll,
  (Had shee beene there) the Starfull Northern Pole,
  Shee, shee is gone; shee is gone; when thou knowest this,
  What fragmentary rubbidge this world is.
  
  Thou knowest, and that it is not worth a thought;
  He honours it too much that thinkes it nought.
  
  Thinke then, My soule, that death is but a Groome,  [Contemplation of
  our state in our death-bed.
  
  ]
  Which brings a Taper to the outward roome,
  Whence thou spiest first a glimmering light,
  And after brings it nearer to thy sight:
  For such approches doth heauen make it in death.
  
  Thinke thy selfe labouring now with broken breath,
  And thinke those broken & soft Notes to bee
  Diuision, and thy happiest Harmonee.
  
  Thinke thee laid on thy death-bed, loose and slacke;
  And thinke that but vnbinding of a packe,
  To take one precious thing, thy soule, from thence.
  
  Thinke thy selfe parch'd with feuers violence,
  Anger thine Ague more, by calling it
  Thy Physicke; chide the slacknes of the fit.
  
  Thinke that thou hear'st thy knell, and thinke no more,
  But that, as Bels cal'd thee to Church before,
  So this, to the Triumphant Church, cals thee.
  
  Thinke Satans Sergeants round about thee bee,
  And thinke that but for Legcies they thrust;
  Giue one thy Pride, to 'another giue thy Lust:
  Giue them those sinnes which they gaue before,
  And trust th'immaculate blood to wash thy score.
  
  Thinke thy friends weeping round, and thinke that thay
  Weepe but because they goe not yet thy way.
  
  Thinke they confesse much in the world, amisse
  Who dare not trust a dead mans eye with that,
  Which they from God, and Angels couer not.
  
  Thinke that they shourd thee vp, and thinke from thence
  They reinuest thee in white innocence.
  
  Thinke that thy body rots, and (if so lowe,
  Thy soule exhalted so, thy thoughts can goe.
  
  )
  Thinke thee a Prince, who of themselues create
  Wormes which insensibly deuoure their state.
  
  Thinke that they bury thee, and thinke that right
  Laies thee to sleepe but a Saint Lucies night.
  
  Thinke these things cheerfully: and if thou bee
  Drowsie or slacke, remember then that shee,
  She whose Complexion was so euen made,
  That which of her Ingredients should inuade
  The other three, no Feare, no Art could guesse:
  So farre were all remou'd from more or lesse.
  
  But as in Mithridate, or iust perfumes,
  Where all good things being met, no one presumes
  To gouerne, or to triumph on the rest,
  Onely because all were, no part was best.
  
  And as, though all doe know, that quantities
  Are made of lines, and lines from Points arise,
  None can these lines or quantities vnioynt,
  And say this is a line, or this a point,
  So though the Elements and Humors were
  In her, one could not say, this gouerns there.
  
  Whose euen constitution might haue worne
  Any disease to venter on the Sunne,
  Rather then her: and make a spirit feare
  That he to disuniting subiect were.
  
  To whose proportions if we would compare
  Cubes, th'are vnstable, Circles, Angulare,
  Shee who was such a Chaine, as Fate emploies
  To bring mankind, all Fortunes it enioyes,
  So fast, so euen wrought, as one would thinke,
  No accident, could threaten any linke,
  Shee, shee embrac'd a sicknesse, gaue it meat,
  The purest Blood, and Breath, that ere it eat.
  
  And hath taught vs that though a good man hath
  Title to Heauen, and plead it by his Faith,
  And though he may pretend a conquest, since
  Heauen was content to suffer violence,
  Yea though he plead a long possesion too,
  (For they're in heauen on earth, who heauens workes do,)
  Though he had right, & power and place before,
  Yet Death must vsher, and vnlocke the doore.
  
  Thinke further on thy selfe, my soule, and thinke;
  How thou at first was made but in a sinke;
  Thinke that it argued some infermitee,
  That those two soules, which then thou foundst in mee,
  Thou fedst upon, and drewst into thee, both
  My second soule of sence, and first of growth.
  
  Thinke but how poore thou wast, how obnoxious;
  Whom a small lumpe of flesh could poyson thus.
  
  This curded milke, this poore vnlittered whelpe
  My body, could, beyound escape, or helpe,
  Infect thee with originall sinne, and thou
  Couldst neither then refuse, nor leaue it now.
  
  Thinke that no stubborne sullen Anchorit,
  Which fixt to'a Pillar, or a Graue doth sit
  Bedded and Bath'd in all his Ordures, dwels
  So fowly as our soules, in their first-built Cels.
  
  Thinke in how poore a prison thou didst lie
  After, enabled but to sucke, and crie.
  
  Thinke, when t'was growne to most, t'was a poore Inne,
  A Prouince Pack'd vp in two yards of skinne.
  
  And that vsurped, or threatned with the rage
  Of sicknesses, or their true mother, Age.
  
  But thinke that Death hath now enfranchis'd thee,   [Her liberty by
  death.
  
  ]
  Thou hast thy'expansion now and libertee;
  Thinke that a rusty Peece, discharg'd, is flowen
  In peeces, and the bullet is his owne,
  And freely flies: This to thy soule allow,
  Thinke thy sheell broke, thinke thy Soule hatch'd but now.
  
  And think this slow-pac'd soule, which late did cleaue,
  To a'body, and went but by the bodies leaue,
  Twenty, perchance, or thirty mile a day,
  Dispatches in a minute all the way,
  Twixt Heauen, and Earth: shee staies not in the Ayre,
  To looke what Meteors there themselues prepare;
  Shee carries no desire to know, nor sense,
  Whether th'Ayrs middle Region be intense,
  For th'Element of fire, shee doth not know,
  Whether shee past by such a place or no;
  Shee baits not at the Moone, nor cares to trie,
  Whether in that new world, men liue, and die.
  
  Venus recards her not, to'enquire, now shee
  Can, (being one Star) Hesper, and Vesper bee,
  Hee that charm'd Argus eyes, sweet Mercury,
  Workes not on her, who now is growen al Ey;
  Who, if shee meete the body of the Sunne,
  Goes through, not staying till his course be runne;
  Who finds in Mars his Campe, no corps of Guard;
  Nor is by Ioue, nor by his father bard;
  But ere she can consider how she went,
  At once is at, and through the Firmament.
  
  And as these starres were but so many beades
  Strunge on one string, speed vndistinguish'd leades
  Her through those spheares, as through the beades, a string,
  Whose quicke succession makes it still one thing:
  As doth the Pith, which, least our Bodies slacke,
  Strings fast the little bones of necke, and backe;
  So by the soule doth death string Heauen and Earth.
  
  For when our soule enioyes this her third birth,
  (Creation gaue her one, a second, grace,)
  Heauen is as neare, and present to her face,
  As colours are, and obiects, in a roome
  Where darkenesse was before, when Tapers come.
  
  This must, my soule, thy long-short Progresse bee;
  To'aduance these thoughts, remember then, that shee
  Shee, whose faire body no such prison was,
  But that a soule might well be pleas'd to passe
  An age in her; she whose rich beauty lent
  Mintage to others beauties, for they went
  But for so much, as they were like to her;
  Shee, in whose body (if we dare prefer
  This low world, to so high a marke, as shee,)
  The Westerne treasure, Esterne spiceree,
  Europe, and Afrique, and the vnknowen rest
  Were easily found, or what in them was best;
  And when w'haue made this large Discoueree.
  
  Of all in her some one part then will bee
  Twenty such patts, whose plenty and riches is
  Inough to make twenty such worlds as this,
  Shee, whom they had knowne who did first betroth
  The Tutelar Angel, and assigned one, both
  To Nations, Cities, and to Companies,
  To Fu[n]ctions, Offices, and Dignities,
  And to each seuerall man, to him, and him,
  They would haue giuen her one for euery limme;
  Shee, of whose soule, if we may say, t'was Gold,
  Her body was th'Electrum, and did hold
  Many degrees of that; (we vnderstood
  Her by the sight, her pure and eloquent blood
  Spoke in her cheekes, and so distinctly wrought,
  That one might almost say, her body thought,
  Shee, shee, thus richly, & largely hous'd, is gone:
  & chides vs slow-pac'd snailes who crawl vpon
  Our prisons prison, earth, nor thinke vs well
  Longer, then whil'st we beare our brittle shell.
  
  But t'were but little to haue chang'd our roome,   [Her ignorance in
  this life and knovvledge in the next.
  
  ]
  If, as we were in this our liuing Toombe
  Oppress'd with ignorance, we still were so,
  Poore soule in this thy flesh what do'st thou know.
  
  Thou know[']st thy selfe so little, as thou know'st not,
  How thou didst die, nor how thou wast begot.
  
  Thou neither know'st, how thou at first came in,
  Nor how thou took'st the poyson of mans sin.
  
  Nor dost thou, (though thou knowst, that thou art so)
  By what way thou art made immortall, know.
  
  Thou art to narrow, wretch, to comprehend
  Euen thy selfe: yea though thou wouldst but bend
  To know thy body.
  
  Haue not all soules thought
  For many ages, that our body'is wrought
  Of Ayre, and Fire, and other Elements?
  
  And now they thinke of new ingredients.
  
  And one soule thinkes one, and another way
  Another thinkes, and ty's an euen lay.
  
  Know'st thou but how the stone doth enter in
  The bladders Caue, and neuer brake the skin?
  
  Knowst thou how blood, which to the heart doth flow,
  Doth from one ventricle to th'other goe?
  
  And for the putrid stuffe, which thou dost spit,
  Knowst how thy lungs haue attracted it?
  
  There are no passages so that there is
  (For ought thou knowst) piercing of substances.
  
  And of those many opinions which men raise
  Of Nayles and Haires, dost thou know which to praise?
  
  What hope haue we to know our selves, when we
  Know not the least things, which for our vse be?
  
  We see in Authors, too stiffe to recant.
  
  A hundred controuersies of an Ant.
  
  And yet one watches, starues, freeses, and sweats,
  To know but Catechismes and Alphabets
  Of vnconcerning things, matters of fact;
  How others on our stage their parts did Act;
  What Cæsar did, yea, and what Cicero said.
  
  Why grasse is greene, or why our blood is red,
  Are mysteries which none haue reach'd vnto.
  
  In this low forme, poore soule what wilt thou doe?
  
  When wilt thou shake off this Pedantery,
  Of being thought by sense, and Fantasy
  Thou look'st through spectacles; small things seeme great,
  Below; But vp vnto the watch-towre get,
  And see all things despoyld of fallacies:
  Thou shalt not peepe though lattices of eies,
  Nor heare through Laberinths of eares, nor learne
  By circuit, or collections to discerne.
  
  In heauen thou straight know'st all, concerning it,
  And what concerns it not, shall straight forget.
  
  There thou (but in no other schoole) maist bee
  Perchance, as learned, and as full, as shee,
  Shee who all Libraries had throughly red
  At home, in her own thoughts, and practised
  So much good as would make as many more:
  Shee whose example they must all implore,
  Who would or doe, or thinke well, and confesse
  That aie the vertuous Actions they expresse,
  Are but a new, and worse edition,
  Of her some one thought, or one action:
  Shee, who in th'Art of knowing Heauen, was growen
  Here vpon Earth, to such perfection,
  That shee hath, euer since to Heauen shee came,
  (In a far fairer point,) but read the same:
  Shee, shee, not satisfied withall this waite,
  (For so much knowledge, as would ouer-fraite
  Another, did but Ballast her) is gone,
  As well t'enioy, as get perfectione.
  
  And cals vs after her, in that shee tooke,
  (Taking her selfe) our best, and worthiest booke.
  
  Returne not, my soule, from this extasee,  [Of our company in this life
  and in the next.
  
  ]
  And meditation of what thou shalt bee,
  To earthly thoughts, till it to thee appeare,
  With whom thy conuersation must be there.
  
  With whom wilt thou Conuerse?
  
  what station
  Canst thou choose out, free from infection,
  That will not giue thee theirs, nor drinke in thine?
  
  Shalt thou not finde a spungy slacke Diuine
  Drinke and sucke in th'Instructions of Great men,
  And for the word of God, vent them agen?
  
  Are there not some Courts, (And then, no things bee
  So like as Courts) which, in this let vs see,
  That wits and tongues of Libellars are weake,
  Because they doe more ill, then these can speake?
  
  The poyson'is gone though all, poysons affect
  Chiefly the cheefest parts, but some effect
  In Nailes, and Haires, yea excrements, will show,
  So wise the poyson of sinne, in the most low.
  
  Vp vp, my drowsie soule, where thy new eare
  Shall in the Angels songs no discord heare;
  Where thou shalt see the blessed Mother-maid
  Ioy in not being that, which men haue said.
  
  Where shee is exalted more for being good,
  Then for her interest, of mother-hood.
  
  Vp to those Patriarckes, which did longer sit
  Expecting Christ, then they haue enioy'd him yet.
  
  Vp to those Prophets, which now gladly see
  Their Prophesies growen to be Historee.
  
  Vp to th'Apostles, who did brauely runne,
  All the Suns course, with more light then the Sunne.
  
  Vp to those Martyrs, who did calmely bleed
  Oyle to th'Apostles lamps, dew to their seed.
  
  Vp to those Virgins, who thoughts that almost
  They made ioyntenants with the Holy Ghost,
  If they to any should his Temple giue.
  
  Vp, vp, for in that squadron there doth liue
  Shee, who hath carried thether, new degrees
  Shee coynd, in this, that her impressions gaue
  To all our actions all the worth they haue:
  Shee gaue protections; the thoughts of her brest
  Satans rude Officers could nere arrest.
  
  As these prerogatiues being met in one,
  Made her a Church; and these two made her all.
  
  Shee who was all this All, and could not fall
  To worse, by company; (for she was still
  More Antidote, then all the world was ill,
  Shee, shee doth leaue it, and by Death, suruiue
  (As to their number) to their dignities.
  
  Shee, who being to her selfe, a state enioyd
  All royalties which any state emploid,
  For shee made wars, and triumph'd, reason still
  Did not ouerthrow, but rectifie her will:
  And shee made peace, for no peace is like this,
  That beauty and chastity together kisse:
  Shee did high iustice; for shee crucified
  Euery first motion of rebellious pride:
  And shee gaue pardons, and was liberall,
  For, onely her selfe except, shee pardond all:
  All this, in Heauen; whether who doth not striue
  The more, because shee's there, he doth not know
  That accidentall ioyes in Heauen doe grow.
  
  [Of essentiall ioy in this
  life and in the next.
  
  ]
  But pause, My soule, and study ere thou fall
  On accidentall ioyes, th'essentiall.
  
  Still before Accessories doe abide
  A triall, must the principall be tride.
  
  And what essentiall ioy canst thou expect
  Here vpon earth?
  
  what permanent effect
  Of transitory causes?
  
  Dost thou loue
  Beauty?
  
  (And Beauty worthy'st is to moue)
  Poore couse'ned cose'nor, that she, and that thou,
  Which did begin to liue, are neither now.
  
  You are both fluid, chang'd since yesterday;
  Next day repaires, (but ill) last dayes decay.
  
  Nor are, (Although the riuer keepe the name)
  Yesterdayes waters, and to daies the same.
  
  So flowes her face, & thine eies, neither now
  That Saint, nor Pilgrime, which your louing row
  Concernd, remaines, but whil'st you thinke you bee
  Constant, you'are hourely in inconstancee.
  
  Honour may haue pretence vnto our loue,
  Because that God did liue so long aboue
  Without this Honour, and then lou'd it so,
  That he at last made Creatures to bestow
  Honour on him; not that he needed it,
  But that, to his hands, man might grow more fit.
  
  But since all honours from inferiours flow,
  (For they doe giue it; Princes doe but show
  Whom they would haue so honord) and that this
  On such opinions, and capacities
  Is built, as rise, and fall, to more and lesse,
  Alas, tis but a casuall happinesse.
  
  Hath euer any man to'himselfe assigned
  This or that happiness, to'arrest his minde,
  But that another man, which takes a worse,
  Thinke him a foole for hauing tane that course?
  
  They who did labour Babels tower to'erect,
  Might haue considered, that for that effect,
  All this whole solid Earth could not allow
  Nor furnish forth Materials enow;
  And that his Center, to raise such a place
  Was farre too little, to haue beene the Base;
  No more affoords this worlds, foundatione
  To erect true ioye, were all the meanes in one.
  
  But as the Heathen made them seuerall gods,
  Of all Gods Benefits, and all his Rods,
  (For as the Wine, and Corne, and Onions are
  Gods vnto them, so Agues bee, and warre)
  And as by changing that whole precious Gold
  To such small copper coynes, they lost the old,
  And lost their onely God, who euer must
  Be fought alone, and not in such a thrust,
  So much mankind true happinesse mistakes;
  No Ioye enioyes that man, that many makes.
  
  Then, soule, to thy first pitch worke vpon againe;
  Know that all lines which circles doe containe,
  For once that they the Center touch, doe touch
  Twice the circumference; and be thou such.
  
  Double on heauen, thy thoughts on earth emploid;
  All will not serue; Onely who haue enioyd
  The sight of God, in fulnesse, can thinke it;
  For it is both the obiect, and the wit.
  
  This is essentiall ioye, where neither hee
  Can suffer Diminution, nor wee;
  Tis such a full, and such a filling good;
  Had th'Angels once look'd on him, they had stood.
  
  To fill the place of one of them, or more,
  Shee whom we celebrate, is gone before.
  
  Shee, who had Here so much essentiall ioy.
  
  As no chance could distract, much lesse destroy;
  Who with Gods presence was acquainted so,
  (Hearing, and speaking to him) as to know
  His face, in any naturall Stone, or Tree,
  Better then when in Images they bee:
  Who kept by diligent deuotion,
  Gods Image, in such reparation,
  Within her heart, that what decay was growen,
  Was her first Parents fault, and not her own:
  Who being solicited to any Act,
  Still heard God pleading his safe precontract;
  Who by a faithfull confidence, was here
  Betrothed to God, and now is married there,
  Whose twilights were more cleare, then our mid-day,
  Who dreamt deuoutlier, then most vse to pray;
  Who being here fild with grace, yet stroue to bee,
  Both where more grace, & more capacitee
  At once is giuen: she to Heauen is gone,
  Who made this world in some proportion
  A heauen, and here, became vnto vs all,
  Ioye, (as our ioyes admit) essentiall.
  
  But could this low world ioyes essentiall touch,  [Of accidental ioyes
  in both places.
  
  ]
  Heauens accidentall ioies would passe them much.
  
  How poore and lame, must then our casuall bee?
  
  If thy Prince will his subiects to call thee
  My Lord, and this doe swell thee, thou art than,
  By being a greater, growen to be lesse Man,
  When no Physician of Reders can speake,
  A ioyfull casuall violence may breake
  A dangerous Apostem in thy brest;
  And whilst thou ioyest in this, the dangerous rest,
  The bag may rise vp, and so strangle thee.
  
  What eye was casuall, may euer bee.
  
  What should the Nature change?
  
  Or make the same
  Cer[t]a[i]ne, which was but casuall, when it came?
  
  All casuall ioye doth loud and plainly say,
  Onely by comming, that it can away.
  
  Onely in Heauen ioies strength is neuer spent;
  And accidentall things are permanent.
  
  Ioy of a soules arriuall neere decaies;
  For that soule euer ioyes & euer staies.
  
  Ioy that their last great Consummation
  Approches in the resurrection;
  When earthly bodies more celestiall
  Shalbe, then Angels were, for they could fall;
  This kind of ioy doth euery day admit
  Degrees of grouth, but none of loosing it.
  
  In this fresh ioy, tis no small part, that shee,
  Shee, in whose goodnesse, he that names degree,
  Doth iniure her; (Tis losse to be cald best,
  There where the stuffe is not such as the rest)
  Shee, who left such a body, as euen shee
  Onely in Heauen could learne, how it can bee
  Made better; for shee rather was two soules,
  Or like to full, on both sides written Rols,
  Where eies might read vpon the outward skin,
  As strong Records for God, as mindes within,
  Shee, who by making a full perfection grow,
  Peeces a Circle, and still keepes it so,
  Long'd for, and longing for'it, to heauen is gon,
  Where shee receiues, and giues addition.
  
  [Conclusion.
  
  ]
  Here in a place, where mis-deuotion frames
  A thousand praiers to Saints, whose very names
  The ancient Church knew not, Heauen knowes not yet,
  And where, what lawes of Poetry admit,
  Lawes of Religion, haue at least the same,
  Immortall Maid, I might in[u]oke thy name.
  
  Could any Saint prouoke that appetit,
  Thou here shouldst make mee a french conuertite.
  
  But thou wouldst not; nor wouldst thou be content,
  To take this, for my second yeeres true Rent,
  Did this Coine beare any other stampe, then his,
  That gaue thee power to doe me, to say this.
  
  Since his will is, that to posteritee,
  Thou shouldest for life, & death, a patterne bee,
  And that the world should notice haue of this,
  The purpose, and th'Authority is his;
  Thou art the Proclamation, and I ame
  The Trumpet, at whose voice the people came.

• The Prohibition Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Take heed of loving me,
  At least remember, I forbade it thee;
  Not that I shall repair my unthrifty waste
  Of breath and blood, upon thy sighs, and tears,
  By being to thee then what to me thou wast;
  But, so great joy, our life at once outwears,
  Then, lest thy love, by my death, frustrate be,
  If thou love me, take heed of loving me.
  
  Take heed of hating me,
  Or too much triumph in the victory.
  
  Not that I shall be mine own officer,
  And hate with hate again retaliate;
  But thou wilt lose the style of conqueror,
  If I, thy conquest, perish by thy hate.
  
  Then, lest my being nothing lessen thee,
  If thou hate me, take heed of hating me.
  
  Yet, love and hate me too,
  So, these extremes shall neither`s office do;
  Love me, that I may die the gentler way;
  Hate me, because thy love`s too great for me;
  Or let these two, themselves, not me decay;
  So shall I live thy stage, not triumph be;
  Lest thou thy love and hate and me undo,
  To let me live, Oh love and hate me too.

• The Relic Read Poem Log in to favourite

  When my grave is broke up again
  Some second guest to entertain,
  (For graves have learn'd that woman head,
  To be to more than one a bed)
  And he that digs it, spies
  A bracelet of bright hair about the bone,
  Will he not let'us alone,
  And think that there a loving couple lies,
  Who thought that this device might be some way
  To make their souls, at the last busy day,
  Meet at this grave, and make a little stay?
  
  If this fall in a time, or land,
  Where mis-devotion doth command,
  Then he, that digs us up, will bring
  Us to the bishop, and the king,
  To make us relics; then
  Thou shalt be a Mary Magdalen, and I
  A something else thereby;
  All women shall adore us, and some men;
  And since at such time miracles are sought,
  I would have that age by this paper taught
  What miracles we harmless lovers wrought.
  
  First, we lov'd well and faithfully,
  Yet knew not what we lov'd, nor why;
  Difference of sex no more we knew
  Than our guardian angels do;
  Coming and going, we
  Perchance might kiss, but not between those meals;
  Our hands ne'er touch'd the seals
  Which nature, injur'd by late law, sets free;
  These miracles we did, but now alas,
  All measure, and all language, I should pass,
  Should I tell what a miracle she was.

• The Soule Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Thee, eye of heaven, this great soule envies not;
  By thy male force is all wee have begot;
  In the first East thou now begins to shine;
  Suck'st early balme, and island spices there;
  And wilt anon, in thy loose-rein'd careere
  At Tagus, Po, Sene, Thames, and Danon dine,
  And see at night thy Westerne land of Myne :
  Yet hast thou not more nations seene than shee,
  That before thee one day beganne to bee,
  And, thy fraill light being quenched, shall long, long outlive thee.

• The Sun Rising Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Busy old fool, unruly sun,
  Why dost thou thus,
  Through windows, and through curtains call on us?
  
  Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?
  
  Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide
  Late school boys and sourprenticesprenticesapprentices,
  Go tell court huntsmen thatthe king will ride,the king will rideJames I, the king of England at the time of Donne’s writing, had a known passion for riding horses and hunting.
  
  Call country ants to harvest offices,
  Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime,
  Nor hours, days, months, which are therags of time.
  
  rags of timea figure of speech meaning that such things are passing and immaterial.
  
  Donne uses this phrase in one of his sermons.
  
  Thy beams, soreverendreverendworthy of high respectand strong
  Why shouldst thou think?
  
  I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,
  But that I would not lose her sight so long;
  If her eyes have not blinded thine,
  Look, and tomorrow late, tell me,
  Whetherboth th' Indias of spice and mineboth th’ Indias of spice and minethe East Indies for spices and the West Indies for gold.
  
  In a 1623 letter to Sir Robert Ker, Donne wrote: “Your way intoSpainwas Eastward, and that is the way to the land of Perfumes and Spices; their way hither is Westward, and that is the way to the land of Gold, and of Mynes.
  
  ” [John Donne: Selected Prose.
  
  Edited by Helen Gardner and Timothy Healy, p.
  
  155]
  Be where thou leftst them, or lie here with me.
  
  Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday,
  And thou shalt hear, All here in one bed lay.
  
  She's all states, and all princes, I,
  Nothing else is.
  
  Princes do but play us; compared to this,
  All honor's mimic, all wealthalchemyalchemyfiguratively, not the real thing.
  
  The speculative practice of alchemy involved a search for chemically turning base metals, such as iron, into highly valuable metals, such as gold.
  
  .
  
  Thou, sun, art half as happy as we,
  In that the world's contracted thus.
  
  Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be
  To warm the world, that's done in warming us.
  
  Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;
  This bed thy center is, these walls, thy sphere.

• The Token Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Send me some token, that my hope may live,
  Or that my easeless thoughts may sleep and rest;
  Send me some honey to make sweet my hive,
  That in my passions I may hope the best.
  
  I beg no riband wrought with thine own hands,
  To knit our loves in the fantastic strain
  Of new-touched youth; nor ring to show the stands
  Of our affection, that as that's round and plain,
  So should our loves meet in simplicity;
  No, nor the corals which thy wrist enfold,
  Laced up together in congruity,
  To show our thoughts should rest in the same hold;
  No, nor thy picture, though most gracious,
  And most desired, because best like the best;
  Nor witty lines, which are most copious,
  Within the writings which thou hast addressed.
  
  Send me nor this, nor that, to increase my store,
  But swear thou think'st 'I love thee,' and no more.

• The Triple Fool Read Poem Log in to favourite

  I am two fools, I know,
  For loving, and for saying so
  In whining poetry;
  But where's that wiseman, that would not be I,
  If she would not deny?
  
  Then as th' earth's inward narrow crooked lanes
  Do purge sea water's fretful salt away,
  I thought, if I could draw my pains
  Through rhyme's vexation, I should them allay.
  
  Grief brought to numbers cannot be so fierce,
  For he tames it, that fetters it in verse.
  
  But when I have done so,
  Some man, his art and voice to show,
  Doth set and sing my pain;
  And, by delighting many, frees again
  Grief, which verse did restrain.
  
  To love and grief tribute of verse belongs,
  But not of such as pleases when 'tis read.
  
  Both are increased by such songs,
  For both their triumphs so are published,
  And I, which was two fools, do so grow three;
  Who are a little wise, the best fools be.

• The Undertaking Read Poem Log in to favourite

  I have done one braver thing
  Than all the Worthies did,
  And yet a braver thence doth spring,
  Which is, to keep that hid.
  
  It were but madness now t'impart
  The skill of specular stone,
  When he which can have learn'd the art
  To cut it, can find none.
  
  So, if I now should utter this,
  Others (because no more
  Such stuff to work upon, there is,)
  Would love but as before.
  
  But he who loveliness within
  Hath found, all outward loathes,
  For he who colour loves, and skin,
  Loves but their oldest clothes.
  
  If, as I have, you also do
  Virtue attir'd in woman see,
  And dare love that, and say so too,
  And forget the He and She;
  And if this love, though placed so,
  From profane men you hide,
  Which will no faith on this bestow,
  Or, if they do, deride:
  Then you have done a braver thing
  Than all the Worthies did;
  And a braver thence will spring,
  Which is, to keep that hid.

• The Will Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Before I sigh my last gasp, let me breathe,
  Great Love, some legacies ; I here bequeath
  Mine eyes to Argus, if mine eyes can see ;
  If they be blind, then, Love, I give them thee ;
  My tongue to Fame ; to ambassadors mine ears ;
  To women, or the sea, my tears ;
  Thou, Love, hast taught me heretofore
  By making me serve her who had twenty more,
  That I should give to none, but such as had too much before.
  
  My constancy I to the planets give ;
  My truth to them who at the court do live ;
  My ingenuity and openness,
  To Jesuits ; to buffoons my pensiveness ;
  My silence to any, who abroad hath been ;
  My money to a Capuchin :
  Thou, Love, taught'st me, by appointing me
  To love there, where no love received can be,
  Only to give to such as have an incapacity.
  
  My faith I give to Roman Catholics ;
  All my good works unto the Schismatics
  Of Amsterdam ; my best civility
  And courtship to an University ;
  My modesty I give to soldiers bare ;
  My patience let gamesters share :
  Thou, Love, taught'st me, by making me
  Love her that holds my love disparity,
  Only to give to those that count my gifts indignity.
  
  I give my reputation to those
  Which were my friends ; mine industry to foes ;
  To schoolmen I bequeath my doubtfulness ;
  My sickness to physicians, or excess ;
  To nature all that I in rhyme have writ ;
  And to my company my wit :
  Thou, Love, by making me adore
  Her, who begot this love in me before,
  Taught'st me to make, as though I gave, when I do but restore.
  
  To him for whom the passing-bell next tolls,
  I give my physic books ; my written rolls
  Of moral counsels I to Bedlam give ;
  My brazen medals unto them which live
  In want of bread ; to them which pass among
  All foreigners, mine English tongue :
  Though, Love, by making me love one
  Who thinks her friendship a fit portion
  For younger lovers, dost my gifts thus disproportion.
  
  Therefore I'll give no more, but I'll undo
  The world by dying, because love dies too.
  
  Then all your beauties will be no more worth
  Than gold in mines, where none doth draw it forth ;
  And all your graces no more use shall have,
  Than a sun-dial in a grave :
  Thou, Love, taught'st me by making me
  Love her who doth neglect both me and thee,
  To invent, and practise this one way, to annihilate all three.

• To George Herbert, Read Poem Log in to favourite

  SENT HIM WITH ONE OF MY SEALS OF THE
  ANCHOR AND CHRIST.
  
  QUI prius assuetus serpentum fasce tabellas
  Signare, hæc nostræ symbola parva domus,
  Adscitus domui Domini, patrioque relicto
  Stemmate, nanciscor stemmata jure nova.
  
  Hinc mihi Crux primo quæ fronti impressa lavacro,
  Finibus extensis, anchora facta patet.
  
  Anchoræ in effigiem Crux tandem desinit ipsam,
  Anchora fit tandem Crux tolerata diu.
  
  Hoc tamen ut fiat, Christo vegetatur ab ipso
  Crux, et ab affixo est Anchora facta Jesu.
  
  Nec natalitiis penitus serpentibus orbor,
  Non ita dat Deus, ut auferat ante data.
  
  Qua sapiens, dos est, qua terram lambit et ambit,
  Pestis, at in nostra sit medicina Cruce
  Serpens fixa Cruci si sit natura, Crucique
  A fixo nobis gratia tota fluat.
  
  Omnia cum Crux sint, Crux Anchora fixa, sigillum
  Non tam dicendum hoc, quam catechismus erit.
  
  Mitto, nec exigua, exigua sub imagine, dona,
  Pignora amicitiæ, et munera vota preces.
  
  Plura tibi accumulet sanctus cognominis, Ille
  Regia qui flavo dona sigillat equo.

• To Mr. I.L. Read Poem Log in to favourite

  OF that short roll of friends writ in my heart,
  Which with thy name begins, since their depart,
  Whether in th' English provinces they be,
  Or drink of Po, Sequane, or Danuby,
  There's none that sometime greets us not, and yet
  Your Trent is Lethe ; that past, us you forget.
  
  You do not duties of societies,
  If from th' embrace of a loved wife you rise,
  View your fat beasts, stretch'd barns, and labour'd fields,
  Eat, play, ride, take all joys which all day yields,
  And then again to your embracements go.
  
  Some hours on us your friends, and some bestow
  Upon your Muse, else both we shall repent ;
  I that my love, she that her gifts on you are spent.

• To Mr. I.P. Read Poem Log in to favourite

  BLEST are your north parts, for all this long time
  My sun is with you ; cold and dark's our clime ;
  Heaven's sun, which stay'd so long from us this year,
  Stay'd in your north, I think, for she was there ;
  And hither by kind nature drawn from thence,
  Here rages, chafes, and threatens pestilence.
  
  Yet I, as long as she from hence doth stay,
  Think this no south, no summer, nor no day.
  
  With thee my kind and unkind heart is run ;
  There sacrifice it to that beauteous sun.
  
  So may thy pastures with their flowery feasts,
  As suddenly as lard, fat thy lean beasts ;
  So may thy woods oft poll'd, yet ever wear
  A green, and—when thee list—a golden hair ;
  So may all thy sheep bring forth twins ; and so
  In chase and race may thy horse all out-go ;
  So may thy love and courage ne'er be cold ;
  Thy son ne'er ward ; thy loved wife ne'er seem old.
  
  But mayst thou wish great things, and them attain,
  As thou tell'st her, and none but her, my pain.

• To Mr. Rowland Woodward Read Poem Log in to favourite

  LIKE one who in her third widowhood doth profess
  Herself a nun, tied to retiredness,
  So affects my Muse, now, a chaste fallowness.
  
  Since she to few, yet to too many hath shown,
  How love-song weeds and satiric thorns are grown,
  Where seeds of better arts were early sown ;
  Though to use and love poetry, to me,
  Betroth'd to no one art, be no adultery ;
  Omissions of good, ill, as ill deeds be.
  
  For though to us it seems but light and thin,
  Yet in those faithful scales, where God throws in
  Men's works, vanity weighs as much as sin.
  
  If our souls have stain'd their first white, yet we
  May clothe them with faith, and dear honesty,
  Which God imputes as native purity.
  
  There is no virtue but religion.
  
  Wise, valiant, sober, just, are names which none
  Want, which want not vice-covering discretion.
  
  Seek we then ourselves in ourselves ; for as
  Men force the sun with much more force to pass,
  By gathering his beams with a crystal glass,
  So we—if we into ourselves will turn,
  Blowing our spark of virtue—may out-burn
  The straw which doth about our hearts sojourn.
  
  You know physicians, when they would infuse
  Into any oil the souls of simples, use
  Places, where they may lie still warm, to choose.
  
  So works retiredness in us.
  
  To roam
  Giddily and be everywhere, but at home,
  Such freedom doth a banishment become.
  
  We are but farmers of ourselves, yet may,
  If we can stock ourselves, and thrive, uplay
  Much, much dear treasure for the great rent day.
  
  Manure thyself then, to thyself be improved ;
  And with vain outward things be no more moved,
  But to know that I love thee and would be loved.

• TO Mr. Samuel Brooke Read Poem Log in to favourite

  O THOU which to search out the secret parts
  Of the India, or rather Paradise
  Of knowledge, hast with courage and advice
  Lately launch'd into the vast sea of arts ;
  Disdain not in thy constant travelling
  To do as other voyagers, and make
  Some turns into less creeks, and wisely take
  Fresh water at the Heliconian spring.
  
  I sing not, siren-like, to tempt, for I
  Am harsh ; nor as those schismatics with you,
  Which draw all wits of good hope to their crew ;
  But seeing in you bright sparks of poetry,
  I, though I brought no fuel, had desire
  With these articulate blasts to blow the fire.

• To Mr. T.W. Read Poem Log in to favourite

  PREGNANT again with th' old twins, Hope and Fear,
  Oft have I asked for thee, both how and where
  Thou wert ; and what my hopes of letters were ;
  As in our streets sly beggars narrowly
  Watch motions of the giver's hand or eye,
  And evermore conceive some hope thereby.
  
  And now thy alms is given, thy letter's read,
  The body risen again, the which was dead,
  And thy poor starveling bountifully fed.
  
  After this banquet my soul doth say grace,
  And praise thee for 't, and zealously embrace
  Thy love, though I think thy love in this case
  To be as gluttons, which say 'midst their meat,
  They love that best of which they most do eat.

• To Mr. Tilman After He Had Taken Orders Read Poem Log in to favourite

  THOU, whose diviner soul hath caused thee now
  To put thy hand unto the holy plough,
  Making lay-scornings of the ministry
  Not an impediment, but victory ;
  What bring'st thou home with thee ?
  
  how is thy mind
  Affected since the vintage ?
  
  Dost thou find
  New thoughts and stirrings in thee ?
  
  and, as steel
  Touch'd with a loadstone, dost new motions feel ?
  
  Or, as a ship after much pain and care
  For iron and cloth brings home rich Indian ware,
  Hast thou thus traffick'd, but with far more gain
  Of noble goods, and with less time and pain ?
  
  Thou art the same materials, as before,
  Only the stamp is changèd, but no more.
  
  And as new crowned kings alter the face,
  But not the money's substance, so hath grace
  Changed only God's old image by creation,
  To Christ's new stamp, at this thy coronation ;
  Or, as we paint angels with wings, because
  They bear God's message and proclaim His laws,
  Since thou must do the like and so must move,
  Art thou new feather'd with celestial love ?
  
  Dear, tell me where thy purchase lies, and show
  What thy advantage is above, below.
  
  But if thy gainings do surmount expression,
  Why doth the foolish world scorn that profession,
  Whose joys pass speech ?
  
  Why do they think unfit
  That gentry should join families with it ?
  
  As if their day were only to be spent
  In dressing, mistressing and compliment.
  
  Alas ! poor joys, but poorer men, whose trust
  Seems richly placèd in sublimèd dust,
  —For such are clothes and beauty, which though gay,
  Are, at the best, but of sublimèd clay—
  Let then the world thy calling disrespect,
  But go thou on, and pity their neglect.
  
  What function is so noble, as to be
  Ambassador to God, and destiny ?
  
  To open life ?
  
  to give kingdoms to more
  Than kings give dignities?
  
  to keep heaven's door ?
  
  Mary's prerogative was to bear Christ, so
  'Tis preachers' to convey Him, for they do,
  As angels out of clouds, from pulpits speak ;
  And bless the poor beneath, the lame, the weak.
  
  If then th' astronomers, whereas they spy
  A new-found star, their optics magnify,
  How brave are those, who with their engine can
  Bring man to heaven, and heaven again to man ?
  
  These are thy titles and pre-eminences,
  In whom must meet God's graces, men's offences ;
  And so the heavens which beget all things here,
  And the earth, our mother, which these things doth bear ;
  Both these in thee, are in thy calling knit
  And make thee now a blest hermaphrodite.

• To Sir Henry Goodyere Read Poem Log in to favourite

  WHO makes the last a pattern for next year,
  Turns no new leaf, but still the same things reads ;
  Seen things he sees again, heard things doth hear,
  And makes his life but like a pair of beads.
  
  A palace, when 'tis that which it should be,
  Leaves growing, and stands such, or else decays ;
  But he which dwells there is not so ; for he
  Strives to surge upward, and his fortune raise.
  
  So had your body her morning, hath her noon,
  And shall not better ; her next change is night ;
  But her fair, larger guest, to whom sun and moon
  Are sparks, and short-lived, claims another right.
  
  The noble soul by age grows lustier ;
  Her appetite and her digestion mend.
  
  We must not starve, nor hope to pamper her
  With women's milk, and pap, unto the end.
  
  Provide you manlier diet.
  
  You have seen
  All libraries, which are schools, camps, and courts ;
  But ask your garners if you have not been
  In harvest too indulgent to your sports.
  
  Would you redeem it ?
  
  then yourself transplant
  Awhile from hence.
  
  Perchance outlandish ground
  Bears no more wit than ours ; but yet more scant
  Are those diversions there, which here abound.
  
  To be a stranger hath that benefit,
  We can beginnings, but not habits choke.
  
  Go—whither ?
  
  hence.
  
  You get, if you forget ;
  New faults, till they prescribe to us, are smoke.
  
  Our soul, whose country's heaven, and God her Father,
  Into this world, corruption's sink, is sent ;
  Yet so much in her travel she doth gather,
  That she returns home wiser than she went.
  
  It pays you well, if it teach you to spare,
  And make you ashamed to make your hawks' praise yours,
  Which when herself she lessens in the air,
  You then first say, that high enough she towers.
  
  However, keep the lively taste you hold
  Of God ; love Him as now, but fear Him more ;
  And in your afternoons think what you told
  And promised Him, at morning prayer before.
  
  Let falsehood like a discord anger you,
  Else not be froward.
  
  But why do I touch
  Things of which none is in your practice new ?
  
  And fables, or fruit-trenchers teach as much.
  
  But thus I make you keep your promise, sir,
  Riding I had you, though you still stay'd there ;
  And in these thoughts, although you never stir,
  You came with me to Mitcham, and are here.

• To Sir Henry Wotton Read Poem Log in to favourite

  SIR, more than kisses, letters mingle souls,
  For thus, friends absent speak.
  
  This ease controls
  The tediousness of my life ; but for these
  I could ideate nothing which could please ;
  But I should wither in one day, and pass
  To a bottle of hay, that am a lock of grass.
  
  Life is a voyage, and in our lives' ways
  Countries, courts, towns are rocks, or remoras ;
  They break or stop all ships, yet our state's such,
  That though than pitch they stain worse, we must touch.
  
  If in the furnace of the raging line,
  Or under th' adverse icy pole thou pine,
  Thou know'st two temperate regions, girded in,
  Dwell there ; but O, what refuge canst thou win
  Parch'd in the court, and in the country frozen ?
  
  Shall cities built of both extremes be chosen ?
  
  Can dung or garlic be perfume ?
  
  Or can
  A scorpion or torpedo cure a man ?
  
  Cities are worst of all three ; of all three ?
  
  O knotty riddle !  ; each is worst equally.
  
  Cities are sepulchres ; they who dwell there
  Are carcases, as if no such there were.
  
  And courts are theatres, where some men play
  Princes, some slaves, all to one end, of one clay.
  
  The country is a desert, where the good,
  Gain'd, inhabits not, born, is not understood.
  
  There men become beasts, and prone to more evils ;
  In cities blocks, and in a lewd court devils.
  
  As in the first chaos, confusedly,
  Each element's qualities were in th' other three,
  So pride, lust, covetise, being several
  To these three places, yet all are in all,
  And mingled thus, their issue is incestuous.
  
  Falsehood is denizen'd ; virtue is barbarous.
  
  Let no man say there, “ Virtue's flinty wall
  Shall lock vice in me, I'll do none, but know all.
  
  ”
  Men are sponges, which, to pour out, receive ;
  Who know false play, rather than lose, deceive.
  
  For in best understandings sin began,
  Angels sinn'd first, then devils, and then man.
  
  Only perchance beasts sin not ; wretched we
  Are beasts in all but white integrity.
  
  I think if men, which in these place live,
  Durst look in themselves, and themselves retrieve,
  They would like strangers greet themselves, seeing then
  Utopian youth grown old Italian.
  
  Be then thine own home, and in thyself dwell ;
  Inn anywhere ; continuance maketh hell.
  
  And seeing the snail, which everywhere doth roam,
  Carrying his own house still, still is at home ;
  Follow—for he is easy paced—this snail,
  Be thine own palace, or the world's thy gaol.
  
  And in the world's sea do not like cork sleep
  Upon the water's face ; nor in the deep
  Sink like a lead without a line ; but as
  Fishes glide, leaving no print where they pass,
  Nor making sound ; so closely thy course go,
  Let men dispute, whether thou breathe or no.
  
  Only in this be no Galenist—to make
  Courts' hot ambitions wholesome, do not take
  A dram of country's dullness ; do not add
  Correctives, but, as chemics, purge the bad.
  
  But, sir, I advise not you, I rather do
  Say o'er those lessons, which I learn'd of you ;
  Whom, free from Germany's schisms, and lightness
  Of France, and fair Italy's faithlessness,
  Having from these suck'd all they had of worth,
  And brought home that faith which you carried forth,
  I thoroughly love ; but if myself I've won
  To know my rules, I have, and you have DONNE.

• To Sir Henry Wotton At His Going Ambassador To Venice Read Poem Log in to favourite

  AFTER those reverend papers, whose soul is
  Our good and great king's loved hand and fear'd name ;
  By which to you he derives much of his,
  And, how he may, makes you almost the same,
  A taper of his torch, a copy writ
  From his oiginal, and a fair beam
  Of the same warm and dazzling sun, though it
  Must in another sphere his virtue stream ;
  After those learned papers which your hand
  Hath stored with notes of use and pleasures too,
  From which rich treasury you may command
  Fit matter whether you will write or do ;
  After those loving papers where friends send,
  With glad grief to your sea-ward steps, farewell,
  Which thicken on you now, as prayers ascend
  To heaven in troops, at a good man's passing-bell ;
  Admit this honest paper, and allow
  It such an audience as yourself would ask ;
  What you must say at Venice, this means now,
  And hath for nature, what you have for task.
  
  To swear much love, not to be changed before
  Honour, alone will to your fortune fit ;
  Nor shall I then honour your fortune, more
  Than I have done your honour, wanting it.
  
  But 'tis an easier load, though both oppress,
  To want, than govern greatness, for we are
  In that, our own and only business,
  In this, we must for others' vices care.
  
  'Tis therefore well your spirits now are placed
  In their last furnace, in activity ;
  Which fits them—schools and courts and wars o'erpast—
  To touch and test in any best degree.
  
  For me—if there be such a thing as I—
  Fortune—if there be such a thing as she—
  Spies that I bear so well her tyranny,
  That she thinks nothing else so fit for me.
  
  But, though she part us, to hear my oft prayers
  For your increase, God is as near me here ;
  And to send you what I shall beg, His stairs
  In length and ease are alike everywhere.

• To Sir Henry Wotton II Read Poem Log in to favourite

  HERE'S no more news than virtue ; I may as well
  Tell you Calais, or Saint Michael's tales, as tell
  That vice doth here habitually dwell.
  
  Yet as, to get stomachs, we walk up and down,
  And toil to sweeten rest ; so, may God frown,
  If, but to loathe both, I haunt court or town.
  
  For, here, no one's from th' extremity
  Of vice by any other reason free,
  But that the next to him still 's worse than he.
  
  In this world's warfare, they whom rugged Fate
  (God's commissary) doth so throughly hate,
  As in the court's squadron to marshal their state ;
  if they stand arm'd with silly honesty,
  With wishes, prayers, and neat integrity,
  Like Indians 'gainst Spanish hosts they be.
  
  Suspicious boldness to this place belongs,
  And to have as many ears as all have tongues ;
  Tender to know, tough to acknowledge wrongs.
  
  Believe me, sir, in my youth's giddiest days,
  When to be like the court was a play's praise,
  Plays were not so like courts, as courts like plays.
  
  Then let us at these mimic antics jest,
  Whose deepest projects and egregious gests
  Are but dull morals of a game at chests.
  
  But now 'tis incongruity to smile,
  Therefore I end ; and bid farewell awhile ;
  “ At court,”—though “ from court” were the better style.

• To The Countess Of Bedford I Read Poem Log in to favourite

  MADAM—
  Reason is our soul's left hand, faith her right ;
  By these we reach divinity, that's you ;
  Their loves, who have the blessing of your light,
  Grew from their reason ; mine from fair faith grew.
  
  But as, although a squint left-handedness
  Be ungracious, yet we cannot want that hand ;
  So would I—not to increase, but to express
  My faith—as I believe, so understand.
  
  Therefore I study you first in your saints,
  Those friends whom your election glorifies ;
  Then in your deeds, accesses and restraints,
  And what you read, and what yourself devise.
  
  But soon the reasons why you're loved by all,
  Grow infinite, and so pass reason's reach ;
  Then back again to implicit faith I fall,
  And rest on that the Catholic voice doth teach—
  That you are good ; and not one heretic
  Denies it ; if he did, yet you are so ;
  For rocks, which high to sense deep-rooted stick,
  Waves wash, not undermine, nor overthrow.
  
  In everything there naturally grows
  A balsamum to keep it fresh and new,
  If 'twere not inured by extrinsic blows ;
  Your birth and beauty are this balm in you.
  
  But you, of learning, and religion,
  And virtue, and such ingredients, have made
  A mithridate, whose operation
  Keeps off, or cures, what can be done or said.
  
  Yet this is not your physic, but your food,
  A diet fit for you ; for you are here
  The first good angel, since the world's frame stood,
  That ever did in woman's shape appear.
  
  Since you are then God's masterpiece, and so
  His factor for our loves, do as you do ;
  Make your return home gracious, and bestow
  This life on that ; so make one life of two.
  
  For, so God help me, I would not miss you there,
  For all the good which you can do me here.

• To The Countess Of Bedford II Read Poem Log in to favourite

  TO have written then, when you writ, seem'd to me
  Worst of spiritual vices, simony ;
  And not to have written then seems little less
  Than worst of civil vices, thanklessness.
  
  In this, my debt I seem'd loth to confess ;
  In that, I seem'd to shun beholdingness.
  
  But 'tis not so ; nothings, as I am, may
  Pay all they have, and yet have all to pay.
  
  Such borrow in their payments, and owe more
  By having leave to write so, than before.
  
  Yet, since rich mines in barren grounds are shown,
  May not I yield (not gold but) coal or stone ?
  
  Temples were not demolish'd, though profane ;
  Here Peter Jove's ; there Paul hath Dian's fane.
  
  So whether my hymns you admit or choose,
  In me you've hallowed a pagan muse,
  And denizen'd a stranger, who, mistaught
  By blamers of the times they marr'd, hath sought
  Virtues in corners, which now bravelv do
  Shine in the world's best part, or all it—you.
  
  I have been told, that virtue in courtiers' hearts
  Suffers an ostracism, and departs.
  
  Profit, ease, fitness, plenty, bid it go ;
  But whither, only knowing you, I know.
  
  Your, or you virtue, two vast uses serves ;
  It ransoms one sex, and one court preserves.
  
  There's nothing but your worth, which being true
  Is known to any other, not to you.
  
  And you can never know it ; to admit
  No knowledge of your worth, is some of it.
  
  But since to you your praises discords be,
  Stoop others' ills to meditate with me.
  
  O ! to confess we know not what we should,
  Is half excuse, we know not what we would.
  
  Lightness depresseth us, emptiness fills ;
  We sweat and faint, yet still go down the hills.
  
  As new philosophy arrests the sun,
  And bids the passive earth about it run,
  So we have dull'd our mind ; it hath no ends ;
  Only the body's busy, and pretends.
  
  As dead low earth eclipses and controls
  The quick high moon, so doth the body souls.
  
  In none but us are such mix'd engines found,
  As hands of double office ; for the ground
  We till with them, and them to heaven we raise.
  
  Who prayerless labours, or, without this, prays,
  Doth but one half, that's none ;   He which said,
  “ Plough
  And look not back,” to look up doth allow.
  
  Good seed degenerates, and oft obeys
  The soil's disease, and into cockle strays.
  
  Let the mind's thoughts be but transplanted so
  Into the body, and bastardly they grow.
  
  What hate could hurt our bodies like our love ?
  
  We, but no foreign tyrants, could remove
  These not engraved, but inborn dignities,
  Caskets of souls, temples and palaces ;
  For bodies shall from death redeemed be,
  Souls but preserved, born naturally free.
  
  As men to our prisons now, souls to us are sent,
  Which learn vice there, and come in innocent.
  
  First seeds of every creature are in us ;
  Whate'er the world hath bad, or precious,
  Man's body can produce ; hence hath it been
  That stones, worms, frogs, and snakes in man are seen.
  
  But whoe'er saw, though nature can work so,
  That pearl, or gold, or corn in man did grow ?
  
  We've added to the world Virginia, and sent
  Two new stars lately to the firmament.
  
  Why grudge we us (not heaven) the dignity
  To increase with ours those fair souls' company ?
  
  But I must end this letter ; though it do
  Stand on two truths, neither is true to you.
  
  Virtue has some perverseness, for she will
  Neither believe her good, nor others' ill.
  
  Even in you, virtue's best paradise,
  Virtue hath some, but wise degrees of vice.
  
  Too many virtues, or too much of one,
  Begets in you unjust suspicion ;
  And ignorance of vice makes virtue less,
  Quenching compassion of our wretchedness.
  
  But these are riddles ; some aspersion
  Of vice becomes well some complexion.
  
  Statesmen purge vice with vice, and may corrode
  The bad with bad, a spider with a toad.
  
  For so, ill thralls not them, but they tame ill,
  And make her do much good against her will.
  
  But in your commonwealth or world in you,
  Vice hath no office or good work to do.
  
  Take then no vicious purge, but be content
  With cordial virtue, your known nourishment.

• To The Earl Of Doncaster Read Poem Log in to favourite

  SEE, sir, how, as the sun's hot masculine flame
  Begets strange creatures on Nile's dirty slime,
  In me your fatherly yet lusty rhyme
  —For these songs are their fruits—have wrought the same.
  
  But though th' engend'ring force from which they came
  Be strong enough, and Nature doth admit
  Seven to be born at once ; I send as yet
  But six ;   they say the seventh hath still some maim.
  
  I choose your judgment, which the same degree
  Doth with her sister, your invention, hold,
  As fire these drossy rhymes to purify,
  Or as elixir, to change them to gold.
  
  You are that alchemist, which always had
  Wit, whose one spark could make good things of bad.

• To The Lady Magdalen Herbert, Of St. Mary Magdalen Read Poem Log in to favourite

  HER of your name, whose fair inheritance
  Bethina was, and jointure Magdalo,
  An active faith so highly did advance,
  That she once knew, more than the Church did know,
  The Resurrection ; so much good there is
  Deliver'd of her, that some Fathers be
  Loth to believe one woman could do this ;
  But think these Magdalens were two or three.
  
  Increase their number, Lady, and their fame ;
  To their devotion add your innocence ;
  Take so much of th' example as of the name,
  The latter half ; and in some recompense,
  That they did harbour Christ Himself, a guest,
  Harbour these hymns, to His dear Name address'd.

• To The Praise Of The Dead And The Anatomy Read Poem Log in to favourite

  VVEll dy'de the World, that we might liue to see
  This World of wit, in his Anatomee:
  No euill wants his good: so wilder heyres;
  Bedew their Fathers Toombs, with forced teares,
  Whose state requites their losse: whiles thus we gaine
  Well may we walke in black[e], but not complaine.
  
  Yet how can I consent the world is dead
  While this Muse liues?
  
  which in his spirits stead
  Seemes to informe a world: and bids it bee,
  In spight of losse, or fraile mortalitee?
  
  And thou the subiect of this wel-borne thought,
  Thrise noble Maid; couldst not haue found nor sought
  A fitter time to yeeld to thy sad Fate,
  Then whiles this spirit liues; that can relate
  Thy worth so well to our last Nephews Eyne,
  That they shall wonder both at his, and thine:
  Admired match! where striues in mutuall grace
  The cunning Pencill, and the comely face:
  A taske, which thy faire goodnesse made too much
  For the bold pride of vulgar pens to tuch;
  Enough is vs to praise them that praise thee,
  And say that but enough those prayses bee,
  Which had'st thou liu'd, had hid their fearefull head
  From th'angry checkings of thy modestred:
  Death bars reward & shame: when enuy's gone,
  And gaine; 'tis safe to giue the dead their owne.
  
  As then the wise Egyptians wont to lay
  More on their Tombes, then houses: these of clay,
  But those of brasse, or marbele were; so wee
  Giue more vnto thy Ghost, then vnto thee.
  
  Yet what wee giue to thee, thou gauest to vs,
  And maiest but thanke thy selfe, for being thus:
  Yet what thou gau'st, and wert, O happy maid,
  Thy grace profest all due, were 'tis repayd.
  
  So these high songs that to thee suited bine,
  Serue but to sound thy makers praise, in thine,
  Which thy deare soule as sweetly sings to him
  Amid the Quire of Saints and Seraphim,
  As any Angels tongue can sing of thee;
  The subiects differ, then the skill agree:
  For as by infant-yeares men iudge of age,
  Thy early loue, thy vertues, did presage
  What hie part thou bear'st in those best songs
  Whereto no burden, nor no end belongs.
  
  Sing on thou Virgin soule, whose losseful gaine
  Thy loue-sicke Parents haue bewail'd in vaine;
  Neuer may thy Name be in our songs forgot.
  
  Till we shall sing thy ditty, and thy note.

• Translated Out Of Gazaeus, "Vota Amico Facta," Fol. 160 Read Poem Log in to favourite

  GOD grant thee thine own wish, and grant thee mine,
  Thou who dost, best friend, in best things outshine ;
  May thy soul, ever cheerful, ne'er know cares,
  Nor thy life, ever lively, know grey hairs,
  Nor thy hand, ever open, know base holds,
  Nor thy purse, ever plump, know pleats, or folds,
  Nor thy tongue, ever true, know a false thing,
  Nor thy words, ever mild, know quarrelling,
  Nor thy works, ever equal, know disguise,
  Nor thy fame, ever pure, know contumelies,
  Nor thy prayers know low objects, still divine ;
  God grant thee thine own wish, and grant thee mine.

• Twickenham Garden Read Poem Log in to favourite

  BLASTED with sighs, and surrounded with tears,
  Hither I come to seek the spring,
  And at mine eyes, and at mine ears,
  Receive such balms as else cure every thing.
  
  But O ! self-traitor, I do bring
  The spider Love, which transubstantiates all,
  And can convert manna to gall ;
  And that this place may thoroughly be thought
  True paradise, I have the serpent brought.
  
  'Twere wholesomer for me that winter did
  Benight the glory of this place,
  And that a grave frost did forbid
  These trees to laugh and mock me to my face ;
  But that I may not this disgrace
  Endure, nor yet leave loving, Love, let me
  Some senseless piece of this place be ;
  Make me a mandrake, so I may grow here,
  Or a stone fountain weeping out my year.
  
  Hither with crystal phials, lovers, come,
  And take my tears, which are love's wine,
  And try your mistress' tears at home,
  For all are false, that taste not just like mine.
  
  Alas ! hearts do not in eyes shine,
  Nor can you more judge women's thoughts by tears,
  Than by her shadow what she wears.
  
  O perverse sex, where none is true but she,
  Who's therefore true, because her truth kills me.

• Upon The Translation Of The Psalms By Sir Philip Sidney And The Countess Of Pembroke, His Sister Read Poem Log in to favourite

  ETERNAL God—for whom who ever dare
  Seek new expressions, do the circle square,
  And thrust into straight corners of poor wit
  Thee, who art cornerless and infinite—
  I would but bless Thy name, not name Thee now
  —And Thy gifts are as infinite as Thou—
  Fix we our praises therefore on this one,
  That, as thy blessed Spirit fell upon
  These Psalms' first author in a cloven tongue
  —For 'twas a double power by which he sung
  The highest matter in the noblest form—
  So thou hast cleft that Spirit, to perform
  That work again, and shed it here, upon
  Two, by their bloods, and by Thy Spirit one ;
  A brother and a sister, made by Thee
  The organ, where Thou art the harmony.
  
  Two that make one John Baptist's holy voice,
  And who that Psalm, "Now let the Isles rejoice,"
  Have both translated, and applied it too,
  Both told us what, and taught us how to do.
  
  They show us islanders our Joy, our King ;
  They tell us why, and teach us how to sing.
  
  Make all this all three choirs, heaven, earth, and spheres ;
  The first, Heaven, hath a song, but no man hears ;
  The spheres have music, but they have no tongue,
  Their harmony is rather danced than sung ;
  But our third choir, to which the first gives ear
  —For Angels learn by what the Church does here—
  This choir hath all.
  
  The organist is he
  Who hath tuned God and man, the organ we ;
  The songs are these, which heaven's high holy Muse
  Whisper'd to David, David to the Jews ;
  And David's successors in holy zeal,
  In forms of joy and art do re-reveal
  To us so sweetly and sincerely too,
  That I must not rejoice as I would do,
  When I behold that these Psalms are become
  So well attired abroad, so ill at home,
  So well in chambers, in Thy Church so ill,
  As I can scarce call that reform'd until
  This be reform'd ; would a whole state present
  A lesser gift than some one man hath sent ?
  
  And shall our Church unto our Spouse and King
  More hoarse, more harsh than any other, sing ?
  
  For that we pray, we praise Thy name for this,
  Which, by this Moses and this Miriam, is
  Already done ; and as those Psalms we call,
  —Though some have other authors—David's all,
  So though some have, some may some Psalms translate,
  We Thy Sidneian psalms shall celebrate,
  And, till we come th' extemporal song to sing
  —Learn'd the first hour that we see the King,
  Who hath translated those translators—may
  These their sweet learned labours all the way
  Be as our tuning, that when hence we part,
  We may fall in with them, and sing our part !

• Valediction to his Book Read Poem Log in to favourite

  I'LL tell thee now (dear love) what thou shalt do
  To anger destiny, as she doth us ;
  How I shall stay, though she eloign me thus,
  And how posterity shall know it too ;
  How thine may out-endure
  Sibyl's glory, and obscure
  Her who from Pindar could allure,
  And her, through whose help Lucan is not lame,
  And her, whose book (they say) Homer did find, and name.
  
  Study our manuscripts, those myriads
  Of letters, which have past 'twixt thee and me ;
  Thence write our annals, and in them will be
  To all whom love's subliming fire invades,
  Rule and example found ;
  There the faith of any ground
  No schismatic will dare to wound,
  That sees, how Love this grace to us affords,
  To make, to keep, to use, to be these his records.
  
  This book, as long-lived as the elements,
  Or as the world's form, this all-gravèd tome
  In cypher writ, or new made idiom ;
  We for Love's clergy only are instruments ;
  When this book is made thus,
  Should again the ravenous
  Vandals and Goths invade us,
  Learning were safe ; in this our universe,
  Schools might learn sciences, spheres music, angels verse.
  
  Here Love's divines—since all divinity
  Is love or wonder—may find all they seek,
  Whether abstract spiritual love they like,
  Their souls exhaled with what they do not see ;
  Or, loth so to amuse
  Faith's infirmity, they choose
  Something which they may see and use ;
  For, though mind be the heaven, where love doth sit,
  Beauty a convenient type may be to figure it.
  
  Here more than in their books may lawyers find,
  Both by what titles mistresses are ours,
  And how prerogative these states devours,
  Transferr'd from Love himself, to womankind ;
  Who, though from heart and eyes,
  They exact great subsidies,
  Forsake him who on them relies ;
  And for the cause, honour, or conscience give ;
  Chimeras vain as they or their prerogative.
  
  Here statesmen—or of them, they which can read—
  May of their occupation find the grounds ;
  Love, and their art, alike it deadly wounds,
  If to consider what 'tis, one proceed.
  
  In both they do excel
  Who the present govern well,
  Whose weakness none doth, or dares tell ;
  In this thy book, such will there something see,
  As in the Bible some can find out alchemy.
  
  Thus vent thy thoughts ; abroad I'll study thee,
  As he removes far off, that great heights takes ;
  How great love is, presence best trial makes,
  But absence tries how long this love will be ;
  To take a latitude
  Sun, or stars, are fitliest view'd
  At their brightest, but to conclude
  Of longitudes, what other way have we,
  But to mark when and where the dark eclipses be?

• Witchcraft By A Picture Read Poem Log in to favourite

  I FIX mine eye on thine, and there
  Pity my picture burning in thine eye ;
  My picture drown'd in a transparent tear,
  When I look lower I espy ;
  Hadst thou the wicked skill
  By pictures made and marr'd, to kill,
  How many ways mightst thou perform thy will?
  
  But now I've drunk thy sweet salt tears,
  And though thou pour more, I'll depart ;
  My picture vanished, vanish all 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.

• Woman's Constancy Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Now thou has loved me one whole day,
  Tomorrow when you leav’st, what wilt thou say?
  
  Wilt thou then antedate some new-made vow?
  
  Or say that now
  We are not just those persons which we were?
  
  Or, that oaths made in reverential fear
  Of Love, and his wrath, any may forswear?
  
  Or, as true deaths true marriages untie,
  So lovers’ contracts, images of those,
  Bind but till sleep, death’s image, them unloose?
  
  Or, your own end to justify,
  For having purposed change and falsehood, you
  Can have no way but falsehood to be true?
  
  Vain lunatic, against these ‘scapes I could
  Dispute and conquer, if I would,
  Which I abstain to do,
  For by tomorrow, I may think so too.

• An Anatomy of the World Read Poem Log in to favourite

  When that rich soul which to her heaven is gone,
  Whom all do celebrate, who know they have one
  (For who is sure he hath a soul, unless
  It see, and judge, and follow worthiness,
  And by deeds praise it?
  
  He who doth not this,
  May lodge an inmate soul, but 'tis not his)
  When that queen ended here her progress time,
  And, as t'her standing house, to heaven did climb,
  Where loath to make the saints attend her long,
  She's now a part both of the choir, and song;
  This world, in that great earthquake languished;
  For in a common bath of tears it bled,
  Which drew the strongest vital spirits out;
  But succour'd then with a perplexed doubt,
  Whether the world did lose, or gain in this,
  (Because since now no other way there is,
  But goodness, to see her, whom all would see,
  All must endeavour to be good as she)
  This great consumption to a fever turn'd,
  And so the world had fits; it joy'd, it mourn'd;
  And, as men think, that agues physic are,
  And th' ague being spent, give over care,
  So thou, sick world, mistak'st thy self to be
  Well, when alas, thou'rt in a lethargy.
  
  Her death did wound and tame thee then, and then
  Thou might'st have better spar'd the sun, or man.
  
  That wound was deep, but 'tis more misery
  That thou hast lost thy sense and memory.
  
  'Twas heavy then to hear thy voice of moan,
  But this is worse, that thou art speechless grown.
  
  Thou hast forgot thy name thou hadst; thou wast
  Nothing but she, and her thou hast o'erpast.
  
  For, as a child kept from the font until
  A prince, expected long, come to fulfill
  The ceremonies, thou unnam'd had'st laid,
  Had not her coming, thee her palace made;
  Her name defin'd thee, gave thee form, and frame,
  And thou forget'st to celebrate thy name.
  
  Some months she hath been dead (but being dead,
  Measures of times are all determined)
  But long she'ath been away, long, long, yet none
  Offers to tell us who it is that's gone.
  
  But as in states doubtful of future heirs,
  When sickness without remedy impairs
  The present prince, they're loath it should be said,
  "The prince doth languish," or "The prince is dead;"
  So mankind feeling now a general thaw,
  A strong example gone, equal to law,
  The cement which did faithfully compact
  And glue all virtues, now resolv'd, and slack'd,
  Thought it some blasphemy to say sh'was dead,
  Or that our weakness was discovered
  In that confession; therefore spoke no more
  Than tongues, the soul being gone, the loss deplore.
  
  But though it be too late to succour thee,
  Sick world, yea dead, yea putrified, since she
  Thy' intrinsic balm, and thy preservative,
  Can never be renew'd, thou never live,
  I (since no man can make thee live) will try,
  What we may gain by thy anatomy.
  
  Her death hath taught us dearly that thou art
  Corrupt and mortal in thy purest part.
  
  Let no man say, the world itself being dead,
  'Tis labour lost to have discovered
  The world's infirmities, since there is none
  Alive to study this dissection;
  For there's a kind of world remaining still,
  Though she which did inanimate and fill
  The world, be gone, yet in this last long night,
  Her ghost doth walk; that is a glimmering light,
  A faint weak love of virtue, and of good,
  Reflects from her on them which understood
  Her worth; and though she have shut in all day,
  The twilight of her memory doth stay,
  Which, from the carcass of the old world free,
  Creates a new world, and new creatures be
  Produc'd.
  
  The matter and the stuff of this,
  Her virtue, and the form our practice is.
  
  And though to be thus elemented, arm
  These creatures from home-born intrinsic harm,
  (For all assum'd unto this dignity
  So many weedless paradises be,
  Which of themselves produce no venomous sin,
  Except some foreign serpent bring it in)
  Yet, because outward storms the strongest break,
  And strength itself by confidence grows weak,
  This new world may be safer, being told
  The dangers and diseases of the old;
  For with due temper men do then forgo,
  Or covet things, when they their true worth know.
  
  There is no health; physicians say that we
  At best enjoy but a neutrality.
  
  And can there be worse sickness than to know
  That we are never well, nor can be so?
  
  We are born ruinous: poor mothers cry
  That children come not right, nor orderly;
  Except they headlong come and fall upon
  An ominous precipitation.
  
  How witty's ruin! how importunate
  Upon mankind! It labour'd to frustrate
  Even God's purpose; and made woman, sent
  For man's relief, cause of his languishment.
  
  They were to good ends, and they are so still,
  But accessory, and principal in ill,
  For that first marriage was our funeral;
  One woman at one blow, then kill'd us all,
  And singly, one by one, they kill us now.
  
  We do delightfully our selves allow
  To that consumption; and profusely blind,
  We kill our selves to propagate our kind.
  
  And yet we do not that; we are not men;
  There is not now that mankind, which was then,
  When as the sun and man did seem to strive,
  (Joint tenants of the world) who should survive;
  When stag, and raven, and the long-liv'd tree,
  Compar'd with man, died in minority;
  When, if a slow-pac'd star had stol'n away
  From the observer's marking, he might stay
  Two or three hundred years to see't again,
  And then make up his observation plain;
  When, as the age was long, the size was great
  (Man's growth confess'd, and recompens'd the meat),
  So spacious and large, that every soul
  Did a fair kingdom, and large realm control;
  And when the very stature, thus erect,
  Did that soul a good way towards heaven direct.
  
  Where is this mankind now?
  
  Who lives to age,
  Fit to be made Methusalem his page?
  
  Alas, we scarce live long enough to try
  Whether a true-made clock run right, or lie.
  
  Old grandsires talk of yesterday with sorrow,
  And for our children we reserve tomorrow.
  
  So short is life, that every peasant strives,
  In a torn house, or field, to have three lives.
  
  And as in lasting, so in length is man
  Contracted to an inch, who was a span;
  For had a man at first in forests stray'd,
  Or shipwrack'd in the sea, one would have laid
  A wager, that an elephant, or whale,
  That met him, would not hastily assail
  A thing so equall to him; now alas,
  The fairies, and the pigmies well may pass
  As credible; mankind decays so soon,
  We'are scarce our fathers' shadows cast at noon,
  Only death adds t'our length: nor are we grown
  In stature to be men, till we are none.
  
  But this were light, did our less volume hold
  All the old text; or had we chang'd to gold
  Their silver; or dispos'd into less glass
  Spirits of virtue, which then scatter'd was.
  
  But 'tis not so; w'are not retir'd, but damp'd;
  And as our bodies, so our minds are cramp'd;
  'Tis shrinking, not close weaving, that hath thus
  In mind and body both bedwarfed us.
  
  We seem ambitious, God's whole work t'undo;
  Of nothing he made us, and we strive too,
  To bring our selves to nothing back; and we
  Do what we can, to do't so soon as he.
  
  With new diseases on our selves we war,
  And with new physic, a worse engine far.
  
  Thus man, this world's vice-emperor, in whom
  All faculties, all graces are at home
  (And if in other creatures they appear,
  They're but man's ministers and legates there
  To work on their rebellions, and reduce
  Them to civility, and to man's use);
  This man, whom God did woo, and loath t'attend
  Till man came up, did down to man descend,
  This man, so great, that all that is, is his,
  O what a trifle, and poor thing he is!
  If man were anything, he's nothing now;
  Help, or at least some time to waste, allow
  T'his other wants, yet when he did depart
  With her whom we lament, he lost his heart.
  
  She, of whom th'ancients seem'd to prophesy,
  When they call'd virtues by the name ofshe;
  She in whom virtue was so much refin'd,
  That for alloy unto so pure a mind
  She took the weaker sex; she that could drive
  The poisonous tincture, and the stain of Eve,
  Out of her thoughts, and deeds, and purify
  All, by a true religious alchemy,
  She, she is dead; she's dead: when thou knowest this,
  Thou knowest how poor a trifling thing man is,
  And learn'st thus much by our anatomy,
  The heart being perish'd, no part can be free,
  And that except thou feed (not banquet) on
  The supernatural food, religion,
  Thy better growth grows withered, and scant;
  Be more than man, or thou'rt less than an ant.
  
  Then, as mankind, so is the world's whole frame
  Quite out of joint, almost created lame,
  For, before God had made up all the rest,
  Corruption ent'red, and deprav'd the best;
  It seiz'd the angels, and then first of all
  The world did in her cradle take a fall,
  And turn'd her brains, and took a general maim,
  Wronging each joint of th'universal frame.
  
  The noblest part, man, felt it first; and then
  Both beasts and plants, curs'd in the curse of man.
  
  So did the world from the first hour decay,
  That evening was beginning of the day,
  And now the springs and summers which we see,
  Like sons of women after fifty be.
  
  And new philosophy calls all in doubt,
  The element of fire is quite put out,
  The sun is lost, and th'earth, and no man's wit
  Can well direct him where to look for it.
  
  And freely men confess that this world's spent,
  When in the planets and the firmament
  They seek so many new; they see that this
  Is crumbled out again to his atomies.
  
  'Tis all in pieces, all coherence gone,
  All just supply, and all relation;
  Prince, subject, father, son, are things forgot,
  For every man alone thinks he hath got
  To be a phoenix, and that then can be
  None of that kind, of which he is, but he.
  
  This is the world's condition now, and now
  She that should all parts to reunion bow,
  She that had all magnetic force alone,
  To draw, and fasten sund'red parts in one;
  She whom wise nature had invented then
  When she observ'd that every sort of men
  Did in their voyage in this world's sea stray,
  And needed a new compass for their way;
  She that was best and first original
  Of all fair copies, and the general
  Steward to fate; she whose rich eyes and breast
  Gilt the West Indies, and perfum'd the East;
  Whose having breath'd in this world, did bestow
  Spice on those Isles, and bade them still smell so,
  And that rich India which doth gold inter,
  Is but as single money, coin'd from her;
  She to whom this world must it self refer,
  As suburbs or the microcosm of her,
  She, she is dead; she's dead: when thou know'st this,
  Thou know'st how lame a cripple this world is

• Break of Day Read Poem Log in to favourite

  ‘Tis true, ‘tis day, what though it be?
  
  O wilt thou therefore rise from me?
  
  Why should we rise because ‘tis light?
  
  Did we lie down because ‘twas night?
  
  Love, which in spite of darkness brought us hither,
  Should in despite of light keep us together.
  
  Light hath no tongue, but is all eye;
  If it could speak as well as spy,
  This were the worst that it could say,
  That being well I fain would stay,
  And that I loved my heart and honour so,
  That I would not from him, that had them, go.
  
  Must business thee from hence remove?
  
  Oh, that’s the worst disease of love,
  The poor, the foul, the false, love can
  Admit, but not the busied man.
  
  He which hath business, and makes love, doth do
  Such wrong, as when a married man doth woo.

• Elegy V: His Picture Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Here take my picture; though I bid farewell
  Thine, in my heart, where my soul dwells, shall dwell.
  
  'Tis like me now, but I dead, 'twill be more
  When we are shadows both, than 'twas before.
  
  When weather-beaten I come back, my hand
  Perhaps with rude oars torn, or sun beams tann'd,
  My face and breast of haircloth, and my head
  With care's rash sudden storms being o'erspread,
  My body'a sack of bones, broken within,
  And powder's blue stains scatter'd on my skin;
  If rival fools tax thee to'have lov'd a man
  So foul and coarse as, oh, I may seem then,
  This shall say what I was, and thou shalt say,
  "Do his hurts reach me?
  
  doth my worth decay?
  
  Or do they reach his judging mind, that he
  Should now love less, what he did love to see?
  
  That which in him was fair and delicate,
  Was but the milk which in love's childish state
  Did nurse it; who now is grown strong enough
  To feed on that, which to disus'd tastes seems tough.
  
  "

• Elegy VII: Nature’s lay idiot, I taught thee to love Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Nature’s lay idiot, I taught thee to love,
  And in that sophistry, oh, thou dost prove
  Too subtle: Fool, thou didst not understand
  The mystic language of the eye nor hand:
  Nor couldst thou judge the difference of the air
  Of sighs, and say, this lies, this sounds despair:
  Nor by the’eye’s water call a malady
  Desperately hot, or changing feverously.
  
  I had not taught thee then, the alphabet
  Of flowers, how they devicefully being set
  And bound up, might with speechless secrecy
  Deliver errands mutely, and mutually.
  
  Remember since all thy words used to be
  To every suitor, “I, ’if my friends agree”;
  Since, household charms, thy husband’s name to teach,
  Were all the love-tricks, that thy wit could reach;
  And since, an hour’s discourse could scarce have made
  One answer in thee, and that ill arrayed
  In broken proverbs, and torn sentences.
  
  Thou art not by so many duties his,
  That from the’world’s common having severed thee,
  Inlaid thee, neither to be seen, nor see,
  As mine: who have with amorous delicacies
  Refined thee’into a blissful paradise.
  
  Thy graces and good words my creatures be;
  I planted knowledge and life’s tree in thee,
  Which oh, shall strangers taste?
  
  Must I alas
  Frame and enamel plate, and drink in glass?
  
  Chafe wax for others’ seals?
  
  break a colt’s force
  And leave him then, being made a ready horse?

• The Funeral Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Whoever comes to shroud me, do not harm
  Nor question much
  That subtle wreath of hair, which crowns my arm;
  The mystery, the sign, you must not touch,
  For 'tis my outward soul,
  Viceroy to that, which then to heaven being gone,
  Will leave this to control
  And keep these limbs, her provinces, from dissolution.
  
  For if the sinewy thread my brain lets fall
  Through every part
  Can tie those parts, and make me one of all,
  Those hairs which upward grew, and strength and art
  Have from a better brain,
  Can better do'it; except she meant that I
  By this should know my pain,
  As prisoners then are manacled, when they'are condemn'd to die.
  
  Whate'er she meant by'it, bury it with me,
  For since I am
  Love's martyr, it might breed idolatry,
  If into other hands these relics came;
  As 'twas humility
  To afford to it all that a soul can do,
  So, 'tis some bravery,
  That since you would have none of me, I bury some of you.

• Holy Sonnets: At the round earth's imagin'd corners, blow Read Poem Log in to favourite

  At the round earth's imagin'd corners, blow
  Your trumpets, angels, and arise, arise
  From death, you numberless infinities
  Of souls, and to your scatter'd bodies go;
  All whom the flood did, and fire shall o'erthrow,
  All whom war, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies,
  Despair, law, chance hath slain, and you whose eyes
  Shall behold God and never taste death's woe.
  
  But let them sleep, Lord, and me mourn a space,
  For if above all these my sins abound,
  'Tis late to ask abundance of thy grace
  When we are there; here on this lowly ground
  Teach me how to repent; for that's as good
  As if thou'hadst seal'd my pardon with thy blood.

• Holy Sonnets: Batter my heart, three-person'd God Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you
  As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
  That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
  Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
  
  I, like an usurp'd town to another due,
  Labor to admit you, but oh, to no end;
  Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
  But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue.
  
  Yet dearly I love you, and would be lov'd fain,
  But am betroth'd unto your enemy;
  Divorce me, untie or break that knot again,
  Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
  Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
  Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

• Holy Sonnets: Death, be not proud Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
  Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
  For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
  Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
  
  From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
  Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
  And soonest our best men with thee do go,
  Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
  
  Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
  And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
  And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
  And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
  
  One short sleep past, we wake eternally
  And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

• Holy Sonnets: I am a little world made cunningly Read Poem Log in to favourite

  I am a little world made cunningly
  Of elements and an angelic sprite,
  But black sin hath betray'd to endless night
  My world's both parts, and oh both parts must die.
  
  You which beyond that heaven which was most high
  Have found new spheres, and of new lands can write,
  Pour new seas in mine eyes, that so I might
  Drown my world with my weeping earnestly,
  Or wash it, if it must be drown'd no more.
  
  But oh it must be burnt; alas the fire
  Of lust and envy have burnt it heretofore,
  And made it fouler; let their flames retire,
  And burn me O Lord, with a fiery zeal
  Of thee and thy house, which doth in eating heal.

• Holy Sonnets: If poisonous minerals, and if that tree Read Poem Log in to favourite

  If poisonous minerals, and if that tree
  Whose fruit threw death on else immortal us,
  If lecherous goats, if serpents envious
  Cannot be damn'd, alas, why should I be?
  
  Why should intent or reason, born in me,
  Make sins, else equal, in me more heinous?
  
  And mercy being easy, and glorious
  To God, in his stern wrath why threatens he?
  
  But who am I, that dare dispute with thee,
  O God?
  
  Oh, of thine only worthy blood
  And my tears, make a heavenly Lethean flood,
  And drown in it my sins' black memory.
  
  That thou remember them, some claim as debt;
  I think it mercy, if thou wilt forget.

• Holy Sonnets: Show me dear Christ, thy spouse so bright and clear Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Show me dear Christ, thy spouse so bright and clear.
  
  What! is it she which on the other shore
  Goes richly painted?
  
  or which, robb'd and tore,
  Laments and mourns in Germany and here?
  
  Sleeps she a thousand, then peeps up one year?
  
  Is she self-truth, and errs?
  
  now new, now outwore?
  
  Doth she, and did she, and shall she evermore
  On one, on seven, or on no hill appear?
  
  Dwells she with us, or like adventuring knights
  First travel we to seek, and then make love?
  
  Betray, kind husband, thy spouse to our sights,
  And let mine amorous soul court thy mild Dove,
  Who is most true and pleasing to thee then
  When she'is embrac'd and open to most men.

• Holy Sonnets: Since she whom I lov'd hath paid her last debt Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Since she whom I lov'd hath paid her last debt
  To nature, and to hers, and my good is dead,
  And her soul early into heaven ravished,
  Wholly in heavenly things my mind is set.
  
  Here the admiring her my mind did whet
  To seek thee, God; so streams do show the head;
  But though I have found thee, and thou my thirst hast fed,
  A holy thirsty dropsy melts me yet.
  
  But why should I beg more love, whenas thou
  Dost woo my soul, for hers off'ring all thine,
  And dost not only fear lest I allow
  My love to saints and angels, things divine,
  But in thy tender jealousy dost doubt
  Lest the world, flesh, yea devil put thee out.

• Holy Sonnets: This is my play's last scene Read Poem Log in to favourite

  This is my play's last scene; here heavens appoint
  My pilgrimage's last mile; and my race,
  Idly, yet quickly run, hath this last pace,
  My span's last inch, my minute's latest point;
  And gluttonous death will instantly unjoint
  My body and my soul, and I shall sleep a space;
  But my'ever-waking part shall see that face
  Whose fear already shakes my every joint.
  
  Then, as my soul to'heaven, her first seat, takes flight,
  And earth-born body in the earth shall dwell,
  So fall my sins, that all may have their right,
  To where they'are bred, and would press me, to hell.
  
  Impute me righteous, thus purg'd of evil,
  For thus I leave the world, the flesh, the devil.

• Holy Sonnets: Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay? Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay?
  
  Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste,
  I run to death, and death meets me as fast,
  And all my pleasures are like yesterday;
  I dare not move my dim eyes any way,
  Despair behind, and death before doth cast
  Such terror, and my feebled flesh doth waste
  By sin in it, which it towards hell doth weigh.
  
  Only thou art above, and when towards thee
  By thy leave I can look, I rise again;
  But our old subtle foe so tempteth me,
  That not one hour I can myself sustain;
  Thy grace may wing me to prevent his art,
  And thou like adamant draw mine iron heart.

• Hymn to God, My God, in My Sickness Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Since I am coming to that holy room,
  Where, with thy choir of saints for evermore,
  I shall be made thy music; as I come
  I tune the instrument here at the door,
  And what I must do then, think here before.
  
  Whilst my physicians by their love are grown
  Cosmographers, and I their map, who lie
  Flat on this bed, that by them may be shown
  That this is my south-west discovery,
  Per fretum febris, by these straits to die,
  
  I joy, that in these straits I see my west;
  For, though their currents yield return to none,
  What shall my west hurt me?
  
  As west and east
  In all flat maps (and I am one) are one,
  So death doth touch the resurrection.
  
  Is the Pacific Sea my home?
  
  Or are
  The eastern riches?
  
  Is Jerusalem?
  
  Anyan, and Magellan, and Gibraltar,
  All straits, and none but straits, are ways to them,
  Whether where Japhet dwelt, or Cham, or Shem.
  
  We think that Paradise and Calvary,
  Christ's cross, and Adam's tree, stood in one place;
  Look, Lord, and find both Adams met in me;
  As the first Adam's sweat surrounds my face,
  May the last Adam's blood my soul embrace.
  
  So, in his purple wrapp'd, receive me, Lord;
  By these his thorns, give me his other crown;
  And as to others' souls I preach'd thy word,
  Be this my text, my sermon to mine own:
  "Therefore that he may raise, the Lord throws down.
  
  "

• A Hymn to God the Father Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Wilt thou forgive that sin where I begun,
  Which was my sin, though it were done before?
  
  Wilt thou forgive that sin, through which I run,
  And do run still, though still I do deplore?
  
  When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
  For I have more.
  
  Wilt thou forgive that sin which I have won
  Others to sin, and made my sin their door?
  
  Wilt thou forgive that sin which I did shun
  A year or two, but wallow'd in, a score?
  
  When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
  For I have more.
  
  I have a sin of fear, that when I have spun
  My last thread, I shall perish on the shore;
  But swear by thyself, that at my death thy Son
  Shall shine as he shines now, and heretofore;
  And, having done that, thou hast done;
  I fear no more.

• A Lame Begger Read Poem Log in to favourite

  I am unable, yonder beggar cries,
  To stand, or move; if he say true, he lies.

• A Lecture upon the Shadow Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Stand still, and I will read to thee
  A lecture, love, in love's philosophy.
  
  These three hours that we have spent,
  Walking here, two shadows went
  Along with us, which we ourselves produc'd.
  
  But, now the sun is just above our head,
  We do those shadows tread,
  And to brave clearness all things are reduc'd.
  
  So whilst our infant loves did grow,
  Disguises did, and shadows, flow
  From us, and our cares; but now 'tis not so.
  
  That love has not attain'd the high'st degree,
  Which is still diligent lest others see.
  
  Except our loves at this noon stay,
  We shall new shadows make the other way.
  
  As the first were made to blind
  Others, these which come behind
  Will work upon ourselves, and blind our eyes.
  
  If our loves faint, and westwardly decline,
  To me thou, falsely, thine,
  And I to thee mine actions shall disguise.
  
  The morning shadows wear away,
  But these grow longer all the day;
  But oh, love's day is short, if love decay.
  
  Love is a growing, or full constant light,
  And his first minute, after noon, is night.

• Lovers' Infiniteness Read Poem Log in to favourite

  If yet I have not all thy love,
  Dear, I shall never have it all;
  I cannot breathe one other sigh, to move,
  Nor can intreat one other tear to fall;
  And all my treasure, which should purchase thee—
  Sighs, tears, and oaths, and letters—I have spent.
  
  Yet no more can be due to me,
  Than at the bargain made was meant;
  If then thy gift of love were partial,
  That some to me, some should to others fall,
  Dear, I shall never have thee all.
  
  Or if then thou gavest me all,
  All was but all, which thou hadst then;
  But if in thy heart, since, there be or shall
  New love created be, by other men,
  Which have their stocks entire, and can in tears,
  In sighs, in oaths, and letters, outbid me,
  This new love may beget new fears,
  For this love was not vow'd by thee.
  
  And yet it was, thy gift being general;
  The ground, thy heart, is mine; whatever shall
  Grow there, dear, I should have it all.
  
  Yet I would not have all yet,
  He that hath all can have no more;
  And since my love doth every day admit
  New growth, thou shouldst have new rewards in store;
  Thou canst not every day give me thy heart,
  If thou canst give it, then thou never gavest it;
  Love's riddles are, that though thy heart depart,
  It stays at home, and thou with losing savest it;
  But we will have a way more liberal,
  Than changing hearts, to join them; so we shall
  Be one, and one another's all.

• A Nocturnal upon St. Lucy's Day Read Poem Log in to favourite

  '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 interr'd; yet all these seem to laugh,
  Compar'd with me, who am their epitaph.
  
  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 ruin'd me, and I am re-begot
  Of absence, darkness, death: things which are not.
  
  All others, from all things, draw all that's good,
  Life, soul, form, spirit, whence they being have;
  I, by Love's limbec, am the grave
  Of all that's nothing.
  
  Oft a flood
  Have we two wept, and so
  Drown'd 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;
  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
  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.

• Of the Progress of the Soul: The Second Anniversary Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Forget this rotten world, and unto thee
  Let thine own times as an old story be.
  
  Be not concern'd; study not why, nor when;
  Do not so much as not believe a man.
  
  For though to err, be worst, to try truths forth
  Is far more business than this world is worth.
  
  I'he world is but a carcass; thou art fed
  By it, but as a worm, that carcass bred;
  And why shouldst thou, poor worm, consider more,
  When this world will grow better than before,
  Than those thy fellow-worms do think upon
  That carcass's last resurrection?
  
  Forget this world, and scarce think of it so,
  As of old clothes, cast off a year ago.
  
  To be thus stupid is alacrity;
  Men thus lethargic have best memory.
  
  Look upward; that's towards her, whose happy state
  We now lament not, but congratulate.
  
  She, to whom all this world was but a stage,
  Where all sat heark'ning how her youthful age
  Should be employ'd, because in all she did
  Some figure of the golden times was hid.
  
  Who could not lack, what'er this world could give,
  Because she was the form, that made it live;
  Nor could complain that this world was unfit
  To be stay'd in, then when she was in it;
  She, that first tried indifferent desires
  By virtue, and virtue by religious fires;
  She, to whose person paradise adher'd,
  As courts to princes; she, whose eyes enspher'd
  Star-light enough t' have made the South control,
  (Had she been there) the star-full Northern Pole;
  She, she is gone; she is gone; when thou knowest this,
  What fragmentary rubbish this world is
  Thou knowest, and that it is not worth a thought;
  He honours it too much that thinks it nought.
  
  Think then, my soul, that death is but a groom,
  Which brings a taper to the outward room,
  Whence thou spiest first a little glimmering light,
  And after brings it nearer to thy sight;
  For such approaches doth heaven make in death.
  
  Think thyself labouring now with broken breath,
  And think those broken and soft notes to be
  Division, and thy happiest harmony.
  
  Think thee laid on thy death-bed, loose and slack,
  And think that but unbinding of a pack,
  To take one precious thing, thy soul, from thence.
  
  Think thyself parch'd with fever's violence;
  Anger thine ague more, by calling it
  Thy physic; chide the slackness of the fit.
  
  Think that thou hear'st thy knell, and think no more,
  But that, as bells call'd thee to church before,
  So this to the Triumphant Church calls thee.
  
  Think Satan's sergeants round about thee be,
  And think that but for legacies they thrust;
  Give one thy pride, to'another give thy lust;
  Give them those sins which they gave thee before,
  And trust th' immaculate blood to wash thy score.
  
  Think thy friends weeping round, and think that they
  Weep but because they go not yet thy way.
  
  Think that they close thine eyes, and think in this,
  That they confess much in the world amiss,
  Who dare not trust a dead man's eye with that
  Which they from God and angels cover not.
  
  Think that they shroud thee up, and think from thence
  They reinvest thee in white innocence.
  
  Think that thy body rots, and (if so low,
  Thy soul exalted so, thy thoughts can go)
  Think thee a prince, who of themselves create
  Worms, which insensibly devour their state.
  
  Think that they bury thee, and think that rite
  Lays thee to sleep but a Saint Lucy's night.

• Song: Go and catch a falling star Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Go and catch a falling star,
  Get with child a mandrake root,
  Tell me where all past years are,
  Or who cleft the devil's foot,
  Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
  Or to keep off envy's stinging,
  And find
  What wind
  Serves to advance an honest mind.
  
  If thou be'st born to strange sights,
  Things invisible to see,
  Ride ten thousand days and nights,
  Till age snow white hairs on thee,
  Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me,
  All strange wonders that befell thee,
  And swear,
  No where
  Lives a woman true, and fair.
  
  If thou find'st one, let me know,
  Such a pilgrimage were sweet;
  Yet do not, I would not go,
  Though at next door we might meet;
  Though she were true, when you met her,
  And last, till you write your letter,
  Yet she
  Will be
  False, ere I come, to two, or three.
  
  Poetry Out Loud Note: In the print anthology, this poem is titled simply "Song.
  
  " The student may give either title during the recitation.

• Song: Sweetest love, I do not go Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Sweetest love, I do not go,
  For weariness of thee,
  Nor in hope the world can show
  A fitter love for me;
  But since that I
  Must die at last, 'tis best
  To use myself in jest
  Thus by feign'd deaths to die.
  
  Yesternight the sun went hence,
  And yet is here today;
  He hath no desire nor sense,
  Nor half so short a way:
  Then fear not me,
  But believe that I shall make
  Speedier journeys, since I take
  More wings and spurs than he.
  
  O how feeble is man's power,
  That if good fortune fall,
  Cannot add another hour,
  Nor a lost hour recall!
  But come bad chance,
  And we join to'it our strength,
  And we teach it art and length,
  Itself o'er us to'advance.
  
  When thou sigh'st, thou sigh'st not wind,
  But sigh'st my soul away;
  When thou weep'st, unkindly kind,
  My life's blood doth decay.
  
  It cannot be
  That thou lov'st me, as thou say'st,
  If in thine my life thou waste,
  That art the best of me.
  
  Let not thy divining heart
  Forethink me any ill;
  Destiny may take thy part,
  And may thy fears fulfil;
  But think that we
  Are but turn'd aside to sleep;
  They who one another keep
  Alive, ne'er parted be.

• To His Mistress Going to Bed Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy,
  Until I labour, I in labour lie.
  
  The foe oft-times having the foe in sight,
  Is tir’d with standing though he never fight.
  
  Off with that girdle, like heaven’s Zone glistering,
  But a far fairer world encompassing.
  
  Unpin that spangled breastplate which you wear,
  That th’eyes of busy fools may be stopped there.
  
  Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime,
  Tells me from you, that now it is bed time.
  
  Off with that happy busk, which I envy,
  That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
  
  Your gown going off, such beauteous state reveals,
  As when from flowery meads th’hill’s shadow steals.
  
  Off with that wiry Coronet and shew
  The hairy Diadem which on you doth grow:
  Now off with those shoes, and then safely tread
  In this love’s hallow’d temple, this soft bed.
  
  In such white robes, heaven’s Angels used to be
  Received by men; Thou Angel bringst with thee
  A heaven like Mahomet’s Paradise; and though
  Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know,
  By this these Angels from an evil sprite,
  Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.
  
  Licence my roving hands, and let them go,
  Before, behind, between, above, below.
  
  O my America! my new-found-land,
  My kingdom, safeliest when with one man mann’d,
  My Mine of precious stones, My Empirie,
  How blest am I in this discovering thee!
  To enter in these bonds, is to be free;
  Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be.
  
  Full nakedness! All joys are due to thee,
  As souls unbodied, bodies uncloth’d must be,
  To taste whole joys.
  
  Gems which you women use
  Are like Atlanta’s balls, cast in men’s views,
  That when a fool’s eye lighteth on a Gem,
  His earthly soul may covet theirs, not them.
  
  Like pictures, or like books’ gay coverings made
  For lay-men, are all women thus array’d;
  Themselves are mystic books, which only we
  (Whom their imputed grace will dignify)
  Must see reveal’d.
  
  Then since that I may know;
  As liberally, as to a Midwife, shew
  Thy self: cast all, yea, this white linen hence,
  There is no penance due to innocence.
  
  To teach thee, I am naked first; why then
  What needst thou have more covering than a man.

• A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning Read Poem Log in to favourite

  As virtuous men pass mildly away,
  And whisper to their souls to go,
  Whilst some of their sad friends do say
  The breath goes now, and some say, No:
  
  So let us melt, and make no noise,
  No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move;
  'Twere profanation of our joys
  To tell the laity our love.
  
  Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears,
  Men reckon what it did, and meant;
  But trepidation of the spheres,
  Though greater far, is innocent.
  
  Dull sublunary lovers' love
  (Whose soul is sense) cannot admit
  Absence, because it doth remove
  Those things which elemented it.
  
  But we by a love so much refined,
  That our selves know not what it is,
  Inter-assured of the mind,
  Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss.
  
  Our two souls therefore, which are one,
  Though I must go, endure not yet
  A breach, but an expansion,
  Like gold to airy thinness beat.
  
  If they be two, they are two so
  As stiff twin compasses are two;
  Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show
  To move, but doth, if the other do.
  
  And though it in the center sit,
  Yet when the other far doth roam,
  It leans and hearkens after it,
  And grows erect, as that comes home.
  
  Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
  Like th' other foot, obliquely run;
  Thy firmness makes my circle just,
  And makes me end where I begun.

• A Valediction of the Book Read Poem Log in to favourite

  I’ll tell thee now (dear Love) what thou shalt do
  To anger destiny, as she doth us,
  How I shall stay, though she esloygne me thus
  And how posterity shall know it too;
  How thine may out-endure
  Sybil’s glory, and obscure
  Her who from Pindar could allure,
  And her, through whose help Lucan is not lame,
  And her, whose book (they say) Homer did find, and name.
  
  Study our manuscripts, those myriads
  Of letters, which have past twixt thee and me,
  Thence write our annals, and in them will be
  To all whom love’s subliming fire invades,
  Rule and example found;
  There, the faith of any ground
  No schismatic will dare to wound,
  That sees, how Love this grace to us affords,
  To make, to keep, to use, to be these his records.
  
  This book, as long-lived as the elements,
  Or as the world’s form, this all-graved tome
  In cipher writ, or new made idiom;
  We for love’s clergy only’are instruments,
  When this book is made thus,
  Should again the ravenous
  Vandals and the Goths invade us,
  Learning were safe; in this our universe
  Schools might learn sciences, spheres music, angels verse.
  
  Here Love’s divines (since all divinity
  Is love or wonder) may find all they seek,
  Whether abstract spiritual love they like,
  Their souls exhaled with what they do not see,
  Or loth so to amuse
  Faith’s infirmity, they choose
  Something which they may see and use;
  For, though mind be the heaven, where love doth sit,
  Beauty’a convenient type may be to figure it.
  
  Here more than in their books may lawyers find,
  Both by what titles mistresses are ours,
  And how prerogative these states devours,
  Transferred from Love himself, to womankind,
  Who though from heart, and eyes,
  They exact great subsidies,
  Forsake him who on them relies
  And for the cause, honor, or conscience give,
  Chimeras, vain as they, or their prerogative.
  
  Here statesmen (or of them, they which can read)
  May of their occupation find the grounds,
  Love and their art alike it deadly wounds,
  If to consider what’tis, one proceed,
  In both they do excel
  Who the present govern well,
  Whose weakness none doth, or dares tell;
  In this thy book, such will there nothing see,
  As in the Bible some can find out alchemy.
  
  Thus vent thy thoughts; abroad I’ll study thee,
  As he removes far off, that great heights takes;
  How great love is, presence best trial makes,
  But absence tries how long this love will be;
  To take a latitude
  Sun, or stars, are fitliest viewed
  At their brightest, but to conclude,
  Of longitudes, what other way have we,
  But to mark when, and where the dark eclipses be?

• A Valediction: of Weeping Read Poem Log in to favourite

  Let me pour forth
  
  My tears before thy face,whilst I stay hereWhilst I stay hereThis poem is a valediction, meaning that it is an act of saying goodbye to someone.
  
  Donne wrote other poems with “Valediction” in the title, including “A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning,” “A Valediction of My Name,” and “Valediction to his Book.
  
  ”,
  For thy facecoinscoinsMakes, as a mint foundry stamps/makes coins.
  
  Compare this line with “As Kings do coynes, to which their stamps impart” from Donne’s poem, “Image of her whom I love, more then she.
  
  ”them, and thy stamp they bear,
  And by this mintage they are something worth,
  For thus they be
  PregnantPregnantAlso meaning: filled with emotion or significance, rich in meaning or implicationof thee;
  Fruits of much grief they are, emblems of more,
  When a tear falls, that thou falls which it bore,
  So thou and I are nothing then, when on adiverse shorediverse shoreOn different lands.
  
  On around ballround ballThat is, the Earth
  A workman that hath copies by, can lay
  An Europe,AfricAfricArchaic reference to Africa, used here as two syllables to fit the fixed meter of the line, and anAsiaAsiaPronounced ‘Ay-zee-ay’, rhyming with “lay”,
  And quickly make that, which wasnothingnothingBoth the “round ball” and later “each tear” are likened to a zero (“0”), all;
  So doth each tear
  Which thee doth wear,
  A globe, yea world, by that impression grow,
  Till thy tears mix'd with mine do overflow
  This world; by waters sent from thee, my heaven dissolved so.
  
  O more than moon,
  Draw not up seas to drown me in thy sphere,
  Weep me not dead, in thine arms, butforbearforbearWhen used as a verb, to avoid or refrain from doing something
  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 deathWhoe’er sighs most is cruellest, and hastes the other’s deathCompare to the lines “When thou sigh’st, thou sigh’st not wind, / But sigh’st my soul away” from Donne’s poem, “Song: Sweetest love, I do not go” (lines 25-26).