Pagina-afbeeldingen
PDF
ePub

SONG.

Sweetest love, I do not go
For weariness of thee,

Nor in hope the world can show
A fitter love for me;

But since that I

Must die at last, 'tis best
Thus to use myself in jest
By feigned deaths to die.

Yesternight the Sun went hence
And yet is here to-day,

He hath no desire nor sense,
Nor half so short a way;

Then fear not me,

But believe that I shall make
Hastier journeys, since I take
More wings and spurs than he.

O how feeble is man's power,
That if good fortune fall,
Cannot ado another hour,
Nor a lost hour recall!

But come bad chance,

And we join to 't our strength,

And we teach it art and length,

Itself o'er us t' advance.

When thou sigh'st thou sigh'st not wind,

But sigh'st my soul away;

When thou weep'st unkindly kind,

My life's blood doth decay.

It cannot be

That thou lov'st me, as thou say'st;
If in thine my life thou waste,

Thou art the life of me.

Let not thy divining heart
Forethink me any ill,

Destiny may take my part
And may thy fears fulfil;
But think that we

Are but laid aside to sleep:
They who one another keep
Alive, ne'er parted be.

FROM 'VERSES TO SIR HENRY WOOTTON.'

Be then thine own home, and in thyself dwell;
Inn anywhere; continuance maketh Hell.
And seeing the snail, which everywhere doth roam,
Carrying his own house still, is still at home:
Follow (for he's easy pac'd) this snail,

Be thine own palace, or the world's thy jail.
But in the world's sea do not like cork sleep
Upon the water's face, nor in the deep
Sink like a lead without a line: but as

Fishes glide, leaving no print where they pass,
Nor making sound, so closely thy course go;
Let men dispute whether thou breathe or no:
Only in this be no Galenist. To make
Court's hot ambitions wholesome, do not take
A dram of country's dulness; do not add
Correctives, but as chymics purge the bad.
But, sir, I advise not you, I rather do
Say o'er those lessons which I learn'd of you:
Whom, free from Germany's schisms, and lightness.
Of France, and fair Italie's faithlessness,
Having from these suck'd all they had of worth
And brought home that faith which you carry'd forth,
I throughly love but if myself I've won

To know my rules, I have, and you have, Donne.

THE WILL.

Before I sigh my last gasp, let me breathe,
Great Love, some legacies; here I bequeath
Mine eyes to Argus, if mine eyes can see,
If they be blind, then Love, I give them thee;
My tongue to Fame; to ambassadors mine ears;
To women, or the sea, my tears;

Thou, Love, hast taught me heretofore

By making me serve her who had twenty more,

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

My constancy I to the planets give,

My truth to them who at the court do live;
Mine ingenuity and openness.

To Jesuits; to buffoons my pensiveness;
My silence to any, who abroad hath been ;
My money to a Capuchin.

Thou, Love, taught'st me, by appointing me
To love there, where no love receiv'd can be,
Only to give to such as have an incapacity.

My faith I give to Roman Catholics;
All my good works unto the schismatics
Of Amsterdam; my best civility
And courtship, to an university;

My modesty I give to shoulders bare;

My patience let gamesters share.

Thou, Love, taught'st me, by making me

Love her that holds my love disparity,

Only to give to those that count my gifts indignity.

I give my reputation to those

Which were my friends; my industry to foes;
To schoolmen I bequeath my doubtfulness;

My sickness to physicians. or excess;

To Nature, all that I in rhyme have writ;

And to my company my wit;

Thou, Love, by making me adore

Her, who begot this love in me before,

Taught'st me to make, as though I gave, when I did but restore.

To him for whom the passing bell next tolls

I give my physic books; my written rolls
Of moral counsels I to Bedlam give;

My brazen medals, unto them which live
In want of bread; to them which pass among
All foreigners, my English tongue,

Thou, Love, by making me love one

Who thinks her friendship a fit portion

For younger lovers, dost my gifts thus disproportion.

Therefore I'll give no more; but I'll undo
The world by dying; because love dies too.
Then all your beauties will be no more worth

Than gold in mines, where none doth draw it forth;
And all your graces no more use shall have

Than a sun-dial on a grave.

Thou, Love, taughtest me, by making me

Love her, who doth neglect both me and thee,

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

3

« VorigeDoorgaan »