John Donne - Delphi Poets Series

by John Donne

  Doe with the Pirates share, and Dunkirkers.

  Who wasts in meat, in clothes, in horse, he notes;

  Who loves Whores, who boyes, and who goats.

  I more amas’d then Circes prisoners, when

  They felt themselves turne beasts, felt my selfe then

  Becomming Traytor, and mee thought I saw

  One of our Giant Statutes ope his jaw

  To sucke me in; for hearing him, I found

  That as burnt venom’d Leachers doe grow sound

  By giving others their soares, I might growe

  Guilty, and he free: Therefore I did shew

  All signes of loathing; But since I am in,

  I must pay mine, and my forefathers sinne

  To the last farthing; Therefore to my power

  Toughly’and stubbornly’I beare this crosse; But the’houre

  Of mercy now was come; He tries to bring

  Me to pay’a fine to scape his torturing,

  And saies, ‘Sir, can you spare me?’ I said, ‘Willingly.’

  ‘Nay, Sir, can you spare me’a crown?’ Thankfully I

  Gave it, as Ransome; But as fidlers, still,

  Though they be paid to be gone, yet needs will

  Thrust one more jigge upon you: so did hee

  With his long complementall thankes vexe me.

  But he is gone, thankes to his needy want,

  And the prerogative of my Crowne: Scant

  His thankes were ended, when I, (which did see

  All the court fill’d with more strange things then hee)

  Ran from thence with such or more hast, then one

  Who feares more actions, doth make from prison.

  At home in wholesome solitarinesse

  My precious soule began, the wretchednesse

  Of suiters at court to mourne, and a trance

  Like his, who dreamt he saw hell, did advance

  It selfe on mee; Such men as he saw there,

  I saw at court, and worse, and more; Low feare

  Becomes the guiltie, not th’accuser; Then,

  Shall I, nones slave, of high borne, or rais’d men

  Feare frownes? And, my Mistresse Truth, betray thee

  To th’huffing braggart, puft Nobility?

  No, no, Thou which since yesterday hast beene

  Almost about the whole world, hast thou seene,

  O Sunne, in all thy journey, Vanitie,

  Such as swells the bladder of our court? I

  Thinke he which made your waxen garden, and

  Transported it from Italy to stand

  With us, at London, flouts our Presence, for

  Just such gay painted things, which no sappe, nor

  Tast have in them, ours are; And naturall

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

  ‘Tis ten a clock and past; All whom the Mues,

  Baloune, Tennis, Dyet, or the stewes,

  Had all the morning held, now the second

  Time made ready, that day, in flocks, are found

  In the Presence, and I, (God pardon mee.)

  As fresh, and sweet their Apparrells be, as bee

  The fields they sold to buy them;’For a King

  Those hose are,’cry the flatterers; And bring

  Them next weeke to the Theatre to sell;

  Wants reach all states; Me seemes they doe as well

  At stage, as court; All are players; who e’r lookes

  (For themselves dare not goe) o’r Cheapside books,

  Shall finde their wardrops Inventory. Now,

  The Ladies come; As Pirats, which doe know

  That there came weak ships fraught with Cutchannel,

  The men board them; and praise, as they thinke, well,

  Their beauties; they the mens wits; Both are bought.

  Why good wits ne’r weare scarlet gownes, I thought

  This cause, These men, mens wits for speeches buy,

  And women buy all reds which scarlets die.

  He call’d her beauty limetwigs, her haire net;

  She feares her drugs ill laid, her haire loose set.

  Would not Heraclitus laugh to see Macrine,

  From hat, to shooe, himselfe at doore refine,

  As if the Presence were a Moschite,’and lift

  His skirts and hose, and call his clothes to shrift,

  Making them confesse not only mortall

  Great staines and holes in them; but veniall

  Feathers and dust, wherewith they fornicate;

  And then by Durers rules survay the state

  Of his each limbe, and with strings the odds tries

  Of his neck to his legge, and wast to thighes.

  So in immaculate clothes, and Symetrie

  Perfect as circles, with such nicetie

  As a young Preacher at his first time goes

  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 throwne

  Ten Cardinalls into th’Inquisition;

  And whisperd ‘by Jesu’,so’often,that A

  Pursevant would have ravish’d him away

  For saying of our Ladies psalter; But ‘tis fit

  That they each other plague, they merit it.

  But here comes Glorius that will plague them both,

  Who, in the other extreme, only doth

  Call a rough carelessnesse, good fashion;

  Whose cloak his spurres teare; whom he spits on

  He cares not; His ill words doe no harme

  To him; he rusheth in, as if ‘Arme, arme,’

  He meant to crie; And though his face be’as ill

  As theirs which in old hangings whip Christ, yet still

  He strives to looke worse, he keepes all in awe;

  Jeasts like a licenc’d foole, commands like law.

  Tyr’d, now I leave this place, and but pleas’d so

  As men which from gaoles to’execution goe,

  Goe through the great chamber (why is it hung

  With the seaven deadly sinnes?); Being among

  Those Askaparts, men big enough to throw

  Charing Crosse for a barre, men that doe know

  No token of worth, but ‘Queenes man’, and fine

  Living, barrells of beefe, flaggons of wine;

  I shooke like a spyed Spie. Preachers which are

  Seas of Wit and Arts, you can, then dare,

  Drowne the sinnes of this place, for, for mee

  Which am but a scarce brooke, it enough shall bee

  To wash the staines away; Though I yet

  With Macchabees modestie, the knowne merit

  Of my worke lessen: yet some wise man shall,

  I hope, esteeme my writs Canonicall.

  SATYRE V

  THOU SHALT NOT LAUGH IN THIS LEAFE, MUSE, NOR THEY

  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’excrem
ents, 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.

  SATIRE VI.

  MEN WRITE THAT LOVE AND REASON DISAGREE

  MEN write that love and reason disagree,

  But I ne’er saw ‘t express’d as ‘tis in thee.

  Well, I may lead thee, God must make thee see,

  But, thine eyes blind too, there’s no hope for thee.

  Thou say’st she’s wise and witty, fair and free; 5

  All these are reasons why she should scorn thee.

  Thou dost protest thy love, and wouldst it show

  By matching her as she would match her foe;

  And wouldst persuade her to a worse offence,

  Than that whereof thou didst accuse her wench. 10

  Reason there’s none for thee, but thou mayst vex

  Her with example. Say, for fear her sex

  Shun her, she needs must change; I do not see

  How reason e’er can bring that ‘must’ to thee.

  Thou art a match a justice to rejoice, 15

  Fit to be his, and not his daughter’s choice.

  Urged 1 with his threats she’d scarcely stay with thee,

  And wouldst thou have this to choose thee, being free?

  Go, then, and punish some soon-gotten stuff;

  For her dead husband this hath mourn’d enough, 20

  In hating thee. Thou mayst one like this meet;

  For spite take her, prove kind, make thy breath sweet,

  Let her see she hath cause, and, to bring to thee

  Honest children, let her dishonest be.

  If she be a widow I’ll warrant her 25

  She’ll thee before her first husband prefer,

  And will wish thou hadst had her maidenhead,

  She’ll love thee so! for then thou hadst been dead.

  But thou such strong love and weak reasons hast,

  Thou must thrive there, or ever live disgraced. 30

  Yet pause awhile; and thou mayst live to see

  A time to come, wherein she may beg thee.

  If thou’lt not pause nor change, she’ll beg thee now,

  Do what she can, love for nothing she’ll allow.

  Besides, here were too much gain and merchandise, 35

  And when thou art rewarded, desert dies.

  Now thou hast odds of him she loves; he may doubt

  Her constancy, but none can put thee out.

  Again, be thy love true, she’ll prove divine,

  And in the end the good on’t will be thine. 40

  For, though thou must ne’er think of other love,

  And so wilt advance her as high above

  Virtue, as cause above effect can be;

  ‘Tis virtue to be chaste, which she’ll make thee.

  SATIRE VII.

  TO SIR NICHOLAS SMYTH

  SLEEP, next society and true friendship,

  Man’s best contentment, doth securely slip

  His passions, and the world’s troubles; rock me,

  O sleep, wean’d from my 1 dear friend’s company,

  In a cradle free from dreams or thoughts, there 5

  Where poor men lie, for kings asleep do fear.

  Here sleep’s house by famous Ariosto,

  By silver-tongued Ovid, and many moe

  — Perhaps by golden-mouthed Spenser too, pardie —

  Which builded was some dozen stories high, 10

  I had repair’d, but that it was so rotten,

  As sleep awaked by rats from thence was gotten;

  And I will build no new, for by my will

  Thy father’s house shall be the fairest still

  In Exeter. Yet, methinks, for all their wit, 15

  Those wits that say nothing, best describe it.

  Without it there is no sense; only in this

  Sleep is unlike a long parenthesis.

  Not to save charges, but would I had slept

  The time I spent in London, when I kept 20

  Fighting and untruss’d gallants’ company,<
br />
  In which Natta, the new knight, seized on me,

  And offered me th’ experience he had bought

  With great expense. I found him thoroughly taught

  In curing burns. His thing had had more scars 25

  Than T — — himself; like Epps it often wars,

  And still is hurt. For his body and state

  The physic and counsel — which came too late

  ‘Gainst whores and dice — he now on me bestows;

  Most superficially he speaks of those. 30

  I found by him, least sound, him who most knows.

  He swears well, speaks ill, but best of clothes,

  What fits summer, what winter, what the spring.

  He had living, but now these ways come in

  His whole revenues. Where his whore now dwells, 35

  And hath dwelt, since his father’s death, he tells.

  Yea, he tells most cunningly each hid cause

  Why whores forsake their bawds. To these, some laws

  He knows of the duel, and touch his skill 2

  The least jot in that or these, he quarrel will, 40

  Though sober, but ne’er fought. I know

  What made his valour undubb’d windmill go,

  Within a pint at most; yet for all this

  — Which is most strange — Natta thinks no man is

  More honest than himself. Thus men may want 45

  Conscience, whilst being brought up ignorant,

  They use themselves to vice. And besides those

  Illiberal arts forenamed, no vicar knows

  Nor other captain less than he; his schools

  Are ordinaries, where civil men seem fools, 50

  Or are for being there; his best books, plays,

  Where, meeting godly scenes, perhaps he prays.

  His first set prayer was for his father, ill 3

  And sick — that he might die; that had, until

  The lands were gone he troubled God no more, 55

  And then ask’d him but his right — that the whore

  Whom he had kept, might now keep him; she spent,

  They left each other on even terms; she went

  To Bridewell, he unto the wars, where want

  Hath made him valiant, and a lieutenant 60

  He is become; where, as they pass apace,

  He steps aside, and for his captain’s place

  He prays again — tells God he will confess

  His sins; swear, drink, dice, and whore thenceforth less,

  On this condition, that his captain die 65

  And he succeed; but his prayer did not. They

  Both cashier’d came home, and he is braver now

  Than his captain; all men wonder, few know how;

  Can he rob? ‘No.’ Cheat? ‘No.’ Or doth he spend

  His own? ‘No; Fidus, he is thy dear friend; 70