John Donne

by John Donne

  To man’s laws, by which she shall not be tried

  At the last day? 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?

  [100] That thou mayest rightly’obey power, her bounds know;

  Those passed, her nature,’and name is changed; 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

  Consumed in going, in the sea are lost:

  So perish souls, which more choose men’s unjust

  [110] Power from God claimed, than God Himself to trust.

  Satire IV

  Well, I may now receive and die. My sin

  Indeed is great, but I have been in

  A purgatory, such as feared hell is

  A recreation and scant map of this.

  My mind neither with pride’s itch nor yet hath been

  Poisoned 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 mass in jest, catched, was fain to disburse

  [10] The hundred marks, which is the statute’s curse,

  Before he ’scaped, so’it pleased my destiny

  (Guilty’of my sin of going) to think me

  As prone to’all ill, and of good as forget-

  ful, as proud, as lustful, and as much in debt,

  As vain, as witless, and as false as they

  Which dwell at 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,

  [20] A thing which would have posed Adam to name

  Stranger than seven antiquaries’ studies,

  Than Afric’s monsters, Guyana’s rarities,

  Stranger than strangers; one who for a Dane

  In the Danes’ massacre had sure been slain

  If he had lived 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.

  [30] 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 tuftafata; and our children shall

  See it plain rash awhile, then not at all.

  This thing hath travailed 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,

  [40] 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 bear this; yet I must be content

  With his tongue. In his tongue, called 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!

  [50] How have I sinned that Thy wrath’s furious rod,

  This fellow chooseth me? He saith, Sir,

  I love your judgement; 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 stopped me and said, Nay, your apostles were

  Good pretty linguists, and so Panurge was

  [60] Yet a poor gentleman; all these may pass

  By travail. Then, as if he would have sold

  His tongue, he praised it, and such wonders told

  That I was fain to say, If you’had lived, 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 Spartans’ fashion.

  To teach by painting drunkards doth not last

  [70] 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-stretched lute string squeaked, 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

  [80] Kings only; the way to it is King Street.

  He smacked 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 chafed him, but as itch

  Scratched into smart, and as blunt iron ground

  [90] Into an edge hurts worse, so I (fool) found

  Crossing hurt me. To fit my sullenness,

  He to another key, his style, doth address

  And asks, What news? I tell him of new plays.

  He takes my hand, and as a still which stays

  A sem’breve ’twixt each drop, he niggardly,

  As loath 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 frowned or smiled, and he knows what

  [100] 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,

  [110] Look pale and sickly, like a patient; yet

  He thrusts on more, and as if he’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 makeron talk in vain. For yet,

  Either my humour or his own to fit,

  He, like a privileged spy whom nothing can

  [120] Discredit, libels now ’gainst each great man.

  He names a price for every office paid.

  He saith our wa
rs thrive ill because delayed,

  That offices are entailed, 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 amazed than Circe’s prisoners when

  [130] They felt themselves turn beasts, felt myself then

  Becoming traitor, and me thought I saw

  One of our giant statutes ope his jaw

  To suck me in; for hearing him, I found

  That, as burnt venom, lechers do grow sound

  By giving others their sores, I might grow

  Guilty and he 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

  [140] 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

  [150] And the prerogative of my crown. Scant

  His thanks were ended when I (which did see

  All the court filled with more strange things than 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 precious soul began the wretchedness

  Of suitors at court to mourn, and a trance

  Like his who dreamt he saw hell did advance

  Itself on me. Such men as he saw there

  [160] I saw at court, and worse, and more. Low fear

  Becomes the guilty, not the’accuser; then

  Shall I, none’s slave, of high born or raised men

  Fear frowns? And my mistress, Truth, betray thee

  To th’huffing braggart, puffed 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

  [170] Transported it from Italy to stand

  With us at London, flouts our presence; for

  Just such gay painted things, which no sap nor

  Taste have in them, ours are, and natural

  Some of the stocks are, their fruits, bastard all.

  ’Tis ten o’clock and past; all whom the mews,

  Balloon, tennis, diet, or the stews

  Had all the morning held, now the second

  Time made ready that day in flocks are found

  In the presence, and I (God pardon me),

  [180] As fresh and sweet their apparels be, as be

  The fields they sold to buy them. For a king

  Those hose are, cry the flatterers, and bring

  Them next week to the theatre to sell;

  Wants reach all states. Me seems they do as well

  At stage as court: all are players. Whoe’er looks

  (For themselves dare not go) o’er Cheapside books

  Shall find their wardrobe’s inventory. Now

  The ladies come. As pirates which do know

  That there came weak ships fraught with cutchannel,

  [190] The men board them and praise, as they think, well,

  Their beauties; they the men’s wits; both are bought.

  Why good wits ne’er wear scarlet gowns, I thought

  This cause: these men, men’s wits for speeches buy,

  And women buy all reds which scarlets dye.

  He called her beauty limetwigs, her hair net.

  She fears her drugs ill laid, her hair loose set.

  Would not Heraclitus laugh to see Macrine

  From hat to shoe, himself at door refine,

  As if the presence were a moschite,’and lift

  [200] His skirts and hose, and call his clothes to shrift,

  Making them confess not only mortal

  Great stains and holes in them but venial

  Feathers and dust, wherewith they fornicate;

  And then by Durer’s rules survey the state

  Of his each limb, and with strings the odds tries

  Of his neck to his leg, and waist to thighs.

  So in immaculate clothes and symmetry

  Perfect as circles, with such nicety

  As a young preacher at his first time goes

  [210] To preach, he enters, and a lady’which owes

  Him not so much as good will, he arrests,

  And unto her protests, protests, protests

  So much as at Rome would serve to have thrown

  Ten cardinals into the’Inquisition,

  And whispered, by Jesu, so often that a

  Pursuivant would have ravished him away

  For saying of our Lady’s Psalter. But ’tis fit

  That they each other plague; they merit it.

  But here comes Glorius that will plague them both,

  [220] Who, in the other extreme, only doth

  Call a rough carelessness good fashion,

  Whose cloak his spurs tear. Whom he spits on

  He cares not; his ill words do no harm

  To him. He rusheth in as if, Arm, arm,

  He meant to cry, and though his face be as ill

  As theirs which in old hangings whip Christ, still

  He strives to look worse. He keeps all in awe,

  Jests like a licensed fool, commands like law.

  Tired, now I leave this place, and but pleased so

  [230] As men which from jails to’execution go,

  Go through the great chamber (Why is it hung

  With the seven deadly sins?) being among

  Those Askaparts: men big enough to throw

  Charing Cross for a bar, men that do know

  No token of worth but queen’s man, and fine

  Living, barrels of beef, flagons of wine.

  I shook like a spied spy. Preachers, which are

  Seas of wits and arts, you can then dare,

  Drown the sins of this place; for, for me,

  [240] Which am but a scarce brook, it enough shall be

  To wash the stains away. Though I, yet

  With Maccabee’s modesty, the known merit

  Of my work lessen, yet some wise man shall,

  I hope, esteem my writs canonical.

  Satire V

  Thou shalt not laugh in this leaf, Muse, nor they

  Whom any pity warms; he which did lay

  Rules to make courtiers (he, being understood,

  May make good courtiers, but who courtiers good?)

  Frees from the sting of jests all who’in extreme

  Are wretched or wicked: of these two a theme

  Charity and liberty give me. What is he

  Who officers’ rage and suitors’ misery

  Can write, and jest? If all things be in all,

  [10] As I think, since all which were, are, and shall

  Be, be made of the same elements,

  Each thing, each thing implies or represents.

  Then man is a world in which officers

  Are the vast ravishing seas; and suitors,

  Springs, now full, now shallow, now dry, which to

  That which drowns them, run; these self reasons do

  Prove the world a man, in which officers

  Are the devouring stomach, and suitor
s

  The excrements which they void. All men are dust;

  [20] How much worse are suitors, who to men’s lust

  Are made preys. O worse than dust, or worm’s meat,

  For they do eat you now, whose selves worms shall eat.

  They are the mills which grind you, yet you are

  The wind which drives them; and a wasteful war

  Is fought against you, and you fight it; they

  Adulterate law, and you prepare their way

  Like wittols; th’issue your own ruin is.

  Greatest and fairest Empress, know you this?

  Alas, no more than Thames’ calm head doth know

  [30] Whose meads her arms drown, or whose corn o’erflow;

  You, sir, whose righteousness she loves, whom I,

  By having leave to serve, am most richly

  For service paid, authorized, now begin

  To know and weed out this enormous sin.

  O age of rusty iron! Some better wit

  Call it some worse name if ought equal it,

  The Iron Age that was when justice was sold, now

  Injustice is sold dearer far. Allow

  All demands, fees, and duties; gamesters, anon

  [40] The money which you sweat, and swear for, is gone

  Into other hands, so controverted lands

  ’Scape, like Angelica, the strivers’ hands.

  If law be in the judge’s heart, and he

  Have no heart to resist letter or fee,

  Where wilt thou’appeal? Power of the courts below

  Flow from the first main head, and these can throw

  Thee, if they suck thee in, to misery,

  To fetters, halters; but if the’injury

  Steel thee to dare complain, alas, thou goest

  [50] Against the stream, when upwards, when thou’art most

  Heavy’and most faint; and in these labours they,

  ’Gainst whom thou should’st complain, will in the way

  Become great seas, o’er which, when thou shalt be

  Forced to make golden bridges, thou shalt see

  That all thy gold was drowned 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’forced to them to go

  By means of angels; when supplications

  [60] We send to God, to Dominations,

  Powers, Cherubim, and all heaven’s courts, if we

  Should pay fees as here, daily bread would be

  Scarce to kings; so ’tis. Would it not anger

  A stoic, a coward, yea a martyr,

  To see a pursuivant come in, and call

  All his clothes, copes; books, primers; and all

  His plate, chalices; and mistake them away,

  And ask a fee for coming? O, ne’er may