TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE WILLIAM LORD CRAVEN, BARON OF HAMSTED-MARSHAM. MY LORD, MANY of these poems have, for several impressions, wandered up and down, trusting (as well as they might) upon the author's reputation: neither do they now complain of any injury, but what may proceed either from the kindness of the printer, or the courtesy of the reader; the one, by adding something too much, lest any spark of this sacred fire might perish undiscerned; the other, by putting such an estimation upon the wit and fancy they find here, that they are content to use it as their own; as if a man should dig out the stones of a royal amphitheatre, to build a stage for a country show. Amongst all the monsters this unlucky age has teemed with, I find none so prodigious as the poets of these later times, wherein men, as if they would level understandings too, as well as estates, acknowledging no inequality of parts and judgments, pretend as indifferently to the chair of wit as to the pulpit, and conceive themselves no less inspired with the spirit of poetry, than with that of religion: so it is not only the noise of drums and trumpets which have drowned the Muse's harmony, or the fear that the church's ruin will destroy the priests' likewise, that now frights them from this country, where they have been so ingeniously received; but these rude pretenders to excellencies they unjustly own, who, profanely rushing into Minerva's temple, with noisome airs blast the laurel, which thunder cannot hurt. In this sad condition, these learned sisters are fled over to beg your lordship's protection, who have been so certain a patron both to arts and arms, and who, in this general confusion, have so entirely preserved your honour, that in your lordship we may still read a most perfect character of what England was in all her pomp and greatness. So that although these poems were formerly written upon several occasions to several persons, they now unite themselves, and are become one pyramid to set your lordship's statue upon; where you may stand, like armed Apollo, the defender of the Muses, encouraging the poets now alive to celebrate your great acts, by affording your countenance to his poems, that wanted only so noble a subject. My Lord, your most humble servant, JOHN DONNE. DONNE, the delight of Phœbus, and each Muse, BEN JONSON. : POEMS OF JOHN DONNE, D. D. M THE FLEA ARK but this flea, and mark in this, Me it suck'd first, and now sucks thee, A sin, or shame, or loss of maidenhead, And pamper'd swells with one blood made of two, Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare, Cruel and sudden, hast thou since THE GOOD-MORROW. I WONDER, by my troth, what thou and I Which I desir'd, and got, 't was but a dream of thee. And now good-morrow to our waking souls, My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears, 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. WOMAN'S CONSTANCY. Now thou hast lov'd me one whole day, 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 purpos'd change and falsehood, you Can have no way but falsehood to be true? Vain lunatic, against these seapes I could Dispute, and conquer, if I would; Which I abstain to doe, For by to morrow I may think so too. THE UNDERTAKING. I HAVE done one braver thing, And yet a braver thence doth spring, It were but madness now t' impart When he, which can have learn'd the art So, if I now should utter this, Be 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 And dare love that, and say so too, 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, THE SUN RISING. Busy old fool, unruly Sun, Through windows and through curtains, look on us? Late school-boys, or sour 'prentices, Go tell court-huntsmen, that the king will ride, Call country ants to harvest offices; Love, all alike, no season, knows nor clime, Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time. Thy beams, so reverend and strong, I could eclipse, and cloud them with a wink, If her eyes have not blinded thine, She 's all states, and all princes I, Princes do but play us; compar'd to this, THE INDIFFERENT. " I CAN love both fair and brown; betrays; Her whom abundance melts, and her whom want [plays; Her who loves loneness best, and her who sports and Her whom the country form'd, and whom the town; Her who believes, and her who tries; Her who still weeps with spungy eyes, And her who is dry cork, and never cries; 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 worn, and now would find out others? Or doth a fear, that men are true, torment you? Let me; and do you twenty know. Venus heard me sing this song, And by love's sweetest sweet, variety, she swore, Which think to stablish dangerous constancy, Then as th' Earth's inward narrow crooked lanes But when I have done so, Some man, his art or voice to show, FOR God's sake hold your tongue, and let me love, To love and grief tribute of verse belongs, Or chide my palsy, or my gout, My five grey hairs, or ruin'd fortunes flout; Alas, alas! who 's injur'd by my love? What merchant's ships have my sighs drown'd? Soldiers find wars, and lawyers find out still Call's what you will, we are made such by love; W' are tapers too, and at our own cost die; So to one neutral thing both sexes fit. We die and rise the same, and prove We can die by it, if not live by love. But not of such as pleases, when 't is read, LOVER'S INFINITENESS. IF yet I have not all thy love, And all my treasure, which should purchase thee, Or, if then thou giv'st me all, All was but all, which thou hadst then: K |