Donne (4 page)

And though it in the center sit,

    Yet when the other far doth rome,

It leanes, and hearkens after it,

    And growes erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to mee, who must

    Like th’other foot, obliquely runne.

Thy firmnes makes my circle just,

    And makes me end, where I begunne.

               Let me powre forth

My teares before thy face, whil’st I stay here,

For thy face coines them, and thy stampe they beare,

And by this Mintage they are something worth,

               For thus they bee

               Pregnant of thee,

Fruits of much griefe they are, emblemes of more,

When a teare falls, that thou falst which it bore,

So thou and I are nothing then, when on a divers shore.

               On a round ball

A workeman that hath copies by, can lay

An Europe, Afrique, and an Asia,

And quickly make that, which was nothing,
All
,

               So doth each teare,

               Which thee doth weare,

A globe, yea world by that impression grow,

Till thy teares mixt with mine doe overflow

This world, by waters sent from thee, my heaven dissolved so.

               
O more then Moone,

Draw not up seas to drowne me in thy spheare,

Weepe me not dead, in thine armes, but forbeare

To teach the sea, what it may doe too soone,

               Let not the winde

               Example finde,

To doe me more harme, then it purposeth,

Since thou and I sigh one anothers breath,

Who e’r sighes most, is cruellest, and hastes the others death.

Where, like a pillow on a bed,

    A Pregnant banke swel’d up, to rest

The violets reclining head,

    Sat we two, one anothers best;

Our hands were firmely cimented

    With a fast balme, which thence did spring,

Our eye-beames twisted, and did thred

    Our eyes, upon one double string,

So to’entergraft our hands, as yet

    Was all the meanes to make us one,

And pictures in our eyes to get

    Was all our propagation.

As ’twixt two equall Armies, Fate

    Suspends uncertaine victorie,

Our soules, (which to advance their state,

    Were gone out,) hung ’twixt her, and mee.

And whil’st our soules negotiate there,

    Wee like sepulchrall statues lay,

All day, the same our postures were,

    And wee said nothing, all the day.

If any, so by love refin’d,

    That he soules language understood,

And by good love were growen all minde,

    Within convenient distance stood,

He (though he knowes not which soul spake,

    
Because both meant, both spake the same)

Might thence a new concoction take,

    And part farre purer then he came.

This Extasie doth unperplex

    (We said) and tell us what we love,

Wee see by this, it was not sexe

    Wee see, we saw not what did move:

But as all severall soules containe

    Mixture of things, they know not what,

Love, these mixt soules, doth mixe againe,

    And makes both one, each this and that.

A single violet transplant,

    The strength, the colour, and the size,

(All which before was poore, and scant,)

    Redoubles still, and multiplies.

When love, with one another so

    Interinanimates two soules,

That abler soule, which thence doth flow,

    Defects of loneliness controules.

Wee then, who are this new soule, know,

    Of what we are compos’d, and made,

For, th’Atomies of which we grow,

    Are soules, whom no change can invade.

But O alas, so long, so farre

    Our bodies why doe wee forbeare?

They are ours, though not wee, Wee are

    The intelligences, they the spheares.

We owe them thankes, because they thus,

    Did us, to us, at first convay,

Yeelded their senses force to us,

    Nor are drosse to us, but allay.

On man heavens influence workes not so,

    But that it first imprints the ayre,

For soule into the soule may flow,

    Though it to body first repaire.

As our blood labours to beget

    Spirits, as like soules as it can,

Because such fingers need to knit

    That subtile knot, which makes us man:

So must pure lovers soules descend

    T’affections, and to faculties,

Which sense may reach and apprehend,

    Else a great Prince in prison lies.

To’our bodies turne wee then, that so

    Weake men on love reveal’d may looke;

Loves mysteries in soules doe grow,

    But yet the body is his booke.

And if some lover, such as wee,

    Have heard this dialogue of one,

Let him still marke us, he shall see

    Small change, when we’are to bodies gone.

               Before I sigh my last gaspe, let me breath,

               Great love, some Legacies; Here I bequeath

               Mine eyes to
Argus
, if mine eyes can see,

               If they be blinde, then Love, I give them thee;

               My tongue to Fame; to’Embassadours mine eares;

                         To women or the sea, my teares;

               Thou, Love, hast taught mee heretofore

    By making mee serve her who’had twenty more,

That I should give to none, but such, as had too much before.

               My constancie I to the planets give,

               My truth to them, who at the Court doe live;

               Mine ingenuity and opennesse,

               To Jesuites; to Buffones my pensivenesse;

               My silence to’any, who abroad hath beene;

                         My mony to a Capuchin.

               Thou Love taught’st me, by appointing mee

    To love there, where no love receiv’d can be,

Onely to give to such as have an incapacitie.

               
My faith I give to Roman Catholiques;

               All my goods works unto the Schismaticks

               Of Amsterdam: my best civility

               And Courtship, to an Universitie;

               My modesty I give to souldiers bare;

                         My patience let gamesters share.

               Thou Love taughtst mee, by making mee

    Love her that holds my love disparity,

Onely to give to those that count my gifts indignity.

               I give my reputation to those

               Which were my friends; Mine industrie to foes;

               To Schoolemen I bequeath my doubtfulnesse;

               My sicknesse to Physitians, or excesse;

               To Nature, all that I in Ryme have writ;

                         And to my company my wit;

               Thou Love, by making mee adore

    Her, who begot this love in mee before,

Taughtst me to make, as though I gave, when I did but restore.

               
To him for whom the passing bell next tolls,

               I give my physick bookes; my writen rowles

               Of Morall counsels, I to Bedlam give;

               My brazen medals, unto them which live

               In want of bread; To them which passe among

                         All forrainers, mine English tongue.

               Thou, Love, by making mee love one

    Who thinkes her friendship a fit portion

For yonger lovers, dost my gifts thus disproportion.

               Therefore I’ll give no more; But I’ll undoe

               The world by dying; because love dies too.

               Then all your beauties will be no more worth

               Then gold in Mines, where none doth draw it forth.

               And all your graces no more use shall have

                         Then a Sun dyall in a grave,

               Thou Love taughtst mee, by making mee

    Love her, who doth neglect both mee and thee,

To’invent, and practise this one way, to’annihilate all three.

When by thy scorne, O murdresse, I am dead,

And that thou thinkst thee free

From all solicitation from mee,

Then shall my ghost come to thy bed,

And thee, fain’d vestall in worse armes shall see;

Then thy sicke taper will begin to winke,

And he, whose thou art then, being tyr’d before,

Will, if thou stirre, or pinch to wake him, thinke

               Thou call’st for more,

And in false sleepe will from thee shrinke,

And then poore Aspen wretch, neglected thou

Bath’d in a cold quicksilver sweat wilt lye

               A veryer 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,

Then by my threatnings rest still innocent.

Stand still, and I will read to thee

A Lecture, Love, in loves philosophy.

               These three houres that we have spent,

               Walking here, Two shadowes went

Along with us, which we our selves produc’d;

But, now the Sunne is just above our head,

               We doe those shadowes tread;

               And to brave clearnesse all things are reduc’d.

    So whilst our infant loves did grow,

    Disguises did, and shadowes, flow,

    From us, and our cares; but, now ’tis not so.

That love hath not attain’d the high’st degree,

Which is still diligent lest others see.

Except our loves at this noone stay,

We shall new shadowes make the other way.

               As the first were made to blinde

               Others; these which come behinde

Will worke upon our selves, and blind our eyes.

If our loves faint, and westwardly decline;

               To me thou, falsly, thine,

               And I to thee mine actions shall disguise.

    The morning shadowes weare away,

    But these grow longer all the day,

    But oh, loves day is short, if love decay.

Love is a growing, or full constant light;

And his first minute, after noone, is night.

               When my grave is broke up againe

               Some second guest to entertaine,

               (For graves have learn’d that woman-head

               To be to more then one a Bed)

                         And he that digs it, spies

A bracelet of bright haire about the bone,

                         Will he not let’us alone,

And thinke that there a loving couple lies,

Who thought that this device might be some way

To make their soules, at the last busie 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 digges us up, will bring

               Us, to the Bishop, and the King,

                         To make us Reliques; 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 wee harmlesse lovers wrought.

               
First, we lov’d well and faithfully,

               Yet knew not what wee lov’d, nor why,

               Difference of sex no more wee knew,

               Then our Guardian Angells doe,

                         Comming and going, wee,

Perchance might kisse, but not between those meales.

                         Our hands ne’r toucht the seales,

Which nature, injur’d by late law, sets free,

These miracles wee did; but now alas,

All measure, and all language, I should passe,

Should I tell what a miracle shee was.

When I dyed last, and, Deare, I dye

    As often as from thee I goe,

    Though it be but an houre agoe,

And Lovers houres be full eternity,

I can remember yet, that I

    Something did say, and something did bestow;

Though I be dead, which sent mee, I should be

Mine owne executor and Legacie.

I heard mee say, Tell her anon,

    That my selfe, (that’s you, not I,)

    Did kill me, and when I felt mee dye,

I bid mee send my heart, when I was gone,

But I alas could there finde none,

    When I had ripp’d me, ’and search’d where hearts did lye,

It kill’d mee againe, that I who still was true,

In life, in my last Will should cozen you.

Yet I found something like a heart,

    But colours it, and corners had,

    It was not good, it was not bad,

It was intire 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.