D for

Eath be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,

For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,

Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.

Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then ;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,

And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

IO

Hat if this present were the worlds last night?
Marke in my heart, O Soule, where thou dost dwell,

The picture of Christ crucified, and tell

Whether that countenance can thee affright,

Teares in his eyes quench the amasing light,

Blood fills his frownes, which from his pierc'd head fell.
And can that tongue adjudge thee unto hell,

Which pray'd forgivenesse for his foes fierce spight?
No, no; but as in my idolatrie

I said to all my profane mistresses,
Beauty, of pitty, foulnesse onely is

A signe of rigour: so I say to thee,

To wicked spirits are horrid shapes assign'd,
This beauteous forme assures a pitious minde.

IO

Atter my heart, three person'd God; for, you

BA

As yet but knocke, breathe, shine, and seeke to mend ; That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow mee,'and bend

Your force, to breake, blowe, burn and make me new.
I, like an usurpt towne, to'another due,

Labour to'admit you, but Oh, to no end,

Reason your viceroy in mee, mee should defend,
But is captiv'd, and proves weake or untrue.
Yet dearely'I love you,'and would be loved faine,
But am betroth'd unto your enemie :

1Ο

Divorce mee,'untie, or breake that knot againe ;

Take mee to you, imprison mee, for I

Except you'enthrall mee, never shall be free,

Nor ever chast, except you ravish mee.

How me deare Christ, thy spouse, so bright and clear.

Show me ser bright

Goes richly painted? or which rob'd and tore
Laments and mournes in Germany and here?
Sleepes she a thousand, then peepes up one yeare?

Is she selfe truth and errs? now new, now outwore?
Doth she, and did she, and shall she evermore

On one, on seaven, or on no hill appeare ?
Dwells she with us, or like adventuring knights
First travaile we to seeke and then make Love?
Betray kind husband thy spouse to our sights,
And let myne amorous soule court thy mild Dove,
Who is most trew, and pleasing to thee, then
When she'is embrac'd and open to most men.

John Donne.

ΙΟ

Goodfriday, 1613.

Riding Westward.

[Et mans Soule be a Spheare, and then, in this,
The intelligence that are an, devotion is

And as the other Spheares,' by being growne
Subject to forraigne motions, lose their owne,
And being by others hurried every day,
Scarce in a yeare their naturall forme obey:
Pleasure or business, 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 l'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 turne 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,

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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.

John Donne.

40

A Hymne to CHRIST, at the Authors last going into Germany.

N what torne ship soever I embarke,
That ship be my embleme of thy Arke;

What sea soever swallow mee, that flood

Shall be to mee an embleme of thy blood;

Though thou with clouds of anger do disguise

Thy face; yet through that maske I know those eyes,
Which, though they turne away sometimes,

They never will despise.

I sacrifice this Iland unto thee,

And all whom I lov'd there, and who lov'd mee;
When I have put our seas twixt them and mee,
Put thou thy sea betwixt my sinnes and thee.

ΙΟ

As the trees sap doth seeke the root below
In winter, in my winter now I goe,

Where none but thee, th'Eternall root
know.

Of true Love I may

Nor thou nor thy religion dost controule,

The amorousnesse of an harmonious Soule,

But thou would'st have that love thy selfe: As thou

Art jealous, Lord, so I am jealous now,

Thou lov'st not, till from loving more, thou free

My soule: Who ever gives, takes libertie :

O, if thou car'st not whom I love
Alas, thou lov'st not mee.

Seale then this bill of my Divorce to All,
On whom those fainter beames of love did fall;
Marry those loves, which in youth scattered bee
On Fame, Wit, Hopes (false mistresses) to thee.
Churches are best for Prayer, that have least light:
To see God only, I goe out of sight:

And to scape stormy dayes, I chuse
An Everlasting night.

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30

John Donne.

Hymne to GOD my GOD, in

S

Ince I am comming to that Holy roome,
Where, with thy Quire of Saints for evermore,

I shall be made thy Musique; As I come

I tune the Instrument here at the dore,

And what I must doe then, thinke here before.