1

JOHN DONNE
 2

The Sun Rising

BUSY old fool, unruly Sun,

Why dost thou thus,
Through windows, and through curtains, call on us?
Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?
Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide
Late school-boys and 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
Why shouldst thou think?
I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,
But that I would not lose her sight so long.
If her eyes have not blinded thine,
Look, and to-morrow late tell me,
Whether both th' Indias of spice and mine
Be where thou left'st them, or lie here with me.
Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday,
And thou shalt hear, "All here in one bed lay."
She's all states, and all princes I;
Nothing else is;
Princes do but play us; compared to this,
All honour's mimic, all wealth alchemy.
Thou, Sun, art half as happy as we,
In that the world's contracted thus;
Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be
To warm the world, that's done in warming us.
Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;
This bed thy center is, these walls thy sphere.
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The Relic

WHEN my grave is broke up again

Some second guest to entertain,
—For graves have learn'd that woman-head,
To be to more than one a bed—
And he that digs it, spies
A bracelet of bright hair about the bone,
Will he not let us alone,
And think that there a loving couple lies,
Who thought that this device might be some way
To make their souls at the last busy day
Meet at this grave, and make a little stay?

If this fall in a time, or land,

Where mass-devotion doth command,
Then he that digs us up will bring
Us to the bishop or the king,
To make us relics ; 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 we harmless lovers wrought.

First we loved well and faithfully,

Yet knew not what we loved, nor why ;
Difference of sex we never knew,
No more than guardian angels do ;
Coming and going we
Perchance might kiss, but not between those meals ;
Our hands ne'er touch'd the seals,
Which nature, injured by late law, sets free.
These miracles we did ; but now alas !
All measure, and all language, I should pass,
Should I tell what a miracle she was.
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A Hymn to God The Father

Wilt thou forgive that sin where I begun,

Which was my sin, though it were done before?
Wilt thou forgive that sin, through which I run,
And do run still, though still I do deplore?
When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
For I have more.

Wilt thou forgive that sin which I have won

Others to sin, and made my sin their door?
Wilt thou forgive that sin which I did shun
A year or two, but wallow'd in, a score?
When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
For I have more.

I have a sin of fear, that when I have spun

My last thread, I shall perish on the shore;
But swear by thyself, that at my death thy Son
Shall shine as he shines now, and heretofore;
And, having done that, thou hast done;
I fear no more.
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The Canonization

For God's sake hold your tongue, and let me love,

Or chide my palsy, or my gout,
My five gray hairs, or ruined fortune flout,
With wealth your state, your mind with arts improve,
Take you a course, get you a place,
Observe his honor, or his grace,
Or the king's real, or his stampèd face
Contemplate; what you will, approve,
So you will let me love.

Alas, alas, who's injured by my love?

What merchant's ships have my sighs drowned?
Who says my tears have overflowed his ground?
When did my colds a forward spring remove?
When did the heats which my veins fill
Add one more to the plaguy bill?
Soldiers find wars, and lawyers find out still
Litigious men, which quarrels move,
Though she and I do love.

Call us what you will, we are made such by love;

Call her one, me another fly,
We're tapers too, and at our own cost die,
And we in us find the eagle and the dove.
The phœnix riddle hath more wit
By us; we two being one, are it.
So, to one neutral thing both sexes fit.
We die and rise the same, and prove
Mysterious by this love.

We can die by it, if not live by love,

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And if unfit for tombs and hearse

Our legend be, it will be fit for verse;
And if no piece of chronicle we prove,
We'll build in sonnets pretty rooms;
As well a well-wrought urn becomes
The greatest ashes, as half-acre tombs,
And by these hymns, all shall approve
Us canonized for Love.

And thus invoke us: "You, whom reverend love

Made one another's hermitage;
You, to whom love was peace, that now is rage;
Who did the whole world's soul contract, and drove
Into the glasses of your eyes
(So made such mirrors, and such spies,
That they did all to you epitomize)
Countries, towns, courts: beg from above
A pattern of your love!"
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JOHN MILTON
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On His Blindness
When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide,
"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies: "God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts: who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed
And post o'er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait."
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On the Morning of Christ’s Nativity

THIS is the month, and this the happy morn,

Wherein the Son of Heaven’s eternal King,
Of wedded maid and Virgin Mother born,
Our great redemption from above did bring;
For so the holy sages once did sing, 5
That he our deadly forfeit should release,
And with his Father work us a perpetual peace.
II

That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable,

And that far-beaming blaze of majesty,
1
Wherewith he wont at Heaven’s high council-table
0
To sit the midst of Trinal Unity,
He laid aside, and, here with us to be,
Forsook the Courts of everlasting Day,
And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay.
III 1
5
Say, Heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein
Afford a present to the Infant God?
Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain,
To welcome him to this his new abode,
Now while the heaven, by the Sun’s team untrod,
2
Hath took no print of the approaching light,
0
And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons
bright?
IV

See how from far upon the Eastern road

The star-led Wisards haste with odours sweet!
Oh! run; prevent them with thy humble ode,
And lay it lowly at his blessèd feet; 2
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5
Have thou the honour first thy Lord to greet,
And join thy voice unto the Angel Quire,
From out his secret altar touched with hallowed fire.
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Of Man’s First Disobedience

OF Mans First Disobedience, and the Fruit
Of that Forbidden Tree, whose mortal tast
Brought Death into the World, and all our woe,
With loss of Eden, till one greater Man
Restore us, and regain the blissful Seat, [ 5 ]
Sing Heav'nly Muse, that on the secret top
Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire
That Shepherd, who first taught the chosen Seed,
In the Beginning how the Heav'ns and Earth
Rose out of Chaos: Or if Sion Hill [ 10 ]
Delight thee more, and Siloa's Brook that flow'd
Fast by the Oracle of God; I thence
Invoke thy aid to my adventrous Song,
That with no middle flight intends to soar
Above th' Aonian Mount, while it pursues [ 15 ]
Things unattempted yet in Prose or Rhime.
And chiefly Thou O Spirit, that dost prefer
Before all Temples th' upright heart and pure,
Instruct me, for Thou know'st; Thou from the first
Wast present, and with mighty wings outspread [ 20 ]
Dove-like satst brooding on the vast Abyss
And mad'st it pregnant: What in me is dark
Illumin, what is low raise and support;
That to the highth of this great Argument
I may assert Eternal Providence, [ 25 ]
And justifie the wayes of God to men.
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FRANCIS BACON
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Of Friendship
IT HAD been hard for him that spake it to have put more truth and untruth together
in few words, than in that speech, Whatsoever is delighted in solitude, is either a
wild beast or a god. For it is most true, that a natural and secret hatred, and
aversation towards society, in any man, hath somewhat of the savage beast; but it
is most untrue, that it should have any character at all, of the divine nature; except
it proceed, not out of a pleasure in solitude, but out of a love and desire to
sequester a man’s self, for a higher conversation: such as is found to have been
falsely and feignedly in some of the heathen; as Epimenides the Candian, Numa
the Roman, Empedocles the Sicilian, and Apollonius of Tyana; and truly and
really, in divers of the ancient hermits and holy fathers of the church. But little do
men perceive what solitude is, and how far it extendeth. For a crowd is not
company; and faces are but a gallery of pictures; and talk but a tinkling cymbal,
where there is no love. The Latin adage meeteth with it a little: Magna civitas,
magna solitudo; because in a great town friends are scattered; so that there is not
that fellowship, for the most part, which is in less neighborhoods. But we may go
further, and affirm most truly, that it is a mere and miserable solitude to want true
friends; without which the world is but a wilderness; and even in this sense also of
solitude, whosoever in the frame of his nature and affections, is unfit for
friendship, he taketh it of the beast, and not from humanity.

A principal fruit of friendship, is the ease and discharge of the fulness and
swellings of the heart, which passions of all kinds do cause and induce. We know
diseases of stoppings, and suffocations, are the most dangerous in the body; and it
is not much otherwise in the mind; you may take sarza to open the liver, steel to
open the spleen, flowers of sulphur for the lungs, castoreum for the brain; but no
receipt openeth the heart, but a true friend; to whom you may impart griefs, joys,
fears, hopes, suspicions, counsels, and whatsoever lieth upon the heart to oppress
it, in a kind of civil shrift or confession.

It is a strange thing to observe, how high a rate great kings and monarchs do
set upon this fruit of friendship, whereof we speak: so great, as they purchase it,
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many times, at the hazard of their own safety and greatness. For princes, in regard
of the distance of their fortune from that of their subjects and servants, cannot
gather this fruit, except (to make themselves capable thereof) they raise some
persons to be, as it were, companions and almost equals to themselves, which
many times sorteth to inconvenience. The modern languages give unto such
persons the name of favorites, or privadoes; as if it were matter of grace, or
conversation. But the Roman name attaineth the true use and cause thereof, naming
them participes curarum; for it is that which tieth the knot. And we see plainly that
this hath been done, not by weak and passionate princes only, but by the wisest and
most politic that ever reigned; who have oftentimes joined to themselves some of
their servants; whom both themselves have called friends, and allowed other
likewise to call them in the same manner; using the word which is received
between private men.

L. Sylla, when he commanded Rome, raised Pompey (after surnamed the

Great) to that height, that Pompey vaunted himself for Sylla’s overmatch. For
when he had carried the consulship for a friend of his, against the pursuit of Sylla,
and that Sylla did a little resent thereat, and began to speak great, Pompey turned
upon him again, and in effect bade him be quiet; for that more men adored the sun
rising, than the sun setting. With Julius Caesar, Decimus Brutus had obtained that
interest as he set him down in his testament, for heir in remainder, after his
nephew. And this was the man that had power with him, to draw him forth to his
death. For when Caesar would have discharged the senate, in regard of some ill
presages, and specially a dream of Calpurnia; this man lifted him gently by the arm
out of his chair, telling him he hoped he would not dismiss the senate, till his wife
had dreamt a better dream. And it seemeth his favor was so great, as Antonius, in a
letter which is recited verbatim in one of Cicero’s Philippics, calleth him venefica,
witch; as if he had enchanted Caesar. Augustus raised Agrippa (though of mean
birth) to that height, as when he consulted with Maecenas, about the marriage of
his daughter Julia, Maecenas took the liberty to tell him, that he must either marry
his daughter to Agrippa, or take away his life; there was no third way, he had made
him so great. With Tiberius Caesar, Sejanus had ascended to that height, as they
two were termed, and reckoned, as a pair of friends. Tiberius in a letter to him
saith, Haec pro amicitia nostra non occultavi; and the whole senate dedicated an
altar to Friendship, as to a goddess, in respect of the great dearness of friendship,
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between them two. The like, or more, was between Septimius Severus and
Plautianus. For he forced his eldest son to marry the daughter of Plautianus; and
would often maintain Plautianus, in doing affronts to his son; and did write also in
a letter to the senate, by these words: I love the man so well, as I wish he may
over-live me. Now if these princes had been as a Trajan, or a Marcus Aurelius, a
man might have thought that this had proceeded of an abundant goodness of
nature; but being men so wise, of such strength and severity of mind, and so
extreme lovers of themselves, as all these were, it proveth most plainly that they
found their own felicity (though as great as ever happened to mortal men) but as an
half piece, except they mought have a friend, to make it entire; and yet, which is
more, they were princes that had wives, sons, nephews; and yet all these could not
supply the comfort of friendship.

It is not to be forgotten, what Comineus observeth of his first master, Duke

Charles the Hardy, namely, that he would communicate his secrets with none; and
least of all, those secrets which troubled him most. Whereupon he goeth on, and
saith that towards his latter time, that closeness did impair, and a little perish his
understanding. Surely Comineus mought have made the same judgment also, if it
had pleased him, of his second master, Lewis the Eleventh, whose closeness was
indeed his tormentor. The parable of Pythagoras is dark, but true; Cor ne edito; Eat
not the heart. Certainly, if a man would give it a hard phrase, those that want
friends, to open themselves unto, are carnnibals of their own hearts. But one thing
is most admirable (wherewith I will conclude this first fruit of friendship), which
is, that this communicating of a man’s self to his friend, works two contrary
effects; for it redoubleth joys, and cutteth griefs in halves. For there is no man, that
imparteth his joys to his friend, but he joyeth the more; and no man that imparteth
his griefs to his friend, but he grieveth the less. So that it is in truth, of operation
upon a man’s mind, of like virtue as the alchemists use to attribute to their stone,
for man’s body; that it worketh all contrary effects, but still to the good and benefit
of nature. But yet without praying in aid of alchemists, there is a manifest image of
this, in the ordinary course of nature. For in bodies, union strengtheneth and
cherisheth any natural action; and on the other side, weakeneth and dulleth any
violent impression: and even so it is of minds.
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The second fruit of friendship, is healthful and sovereign for the

understanding, as the first is for the affections. For friendship maketh indeed a fair
day in the affections, from storm and tempests; but it maketh daylight in the
understanding, out of darkness, and confusion of thoughts. Neither is this to be
understood only of faithful counsel, which a man receiveth from his friend; but
before you come to that, certain it is, that whosoever hath his mind fraught with
many thoughts, his wits and understanding do clarify and break up, in the
communicating and discoursing with another; he tosseth his thoughts more easily;
he marshalleth them more orderly, he seeth how they look when they are turned
into words: finally, he waxeth wiser than himself; and that more by an hour’s
discourse, than by a day’s meditation. It was well said by Themistocles, to the king
of Persia, That speech was like cloth of Arras, opened and put abroad; whereby the
imagery doth appear in figure; whereas in thoughts they lie but as in packs. Neither
is this second fruit of friendship, in opening the understanding, restrained only to
such friends as are able to give a man counsel; (they indeed are best;) but even
without that, a man learneth of himself, and bringeth his own thoughts to light, and
whetteth his wits as against a stone, which itself cuts not. In a word, a man were
better relate himself to a statua, or picture, than to suffer his thoughts to pass in
smother.

Add now, to make this second fruit of friendship complete, that other point,
which lieth more open, and falleth within vulgar observation; which is faithful
counsel from a friend. Heraclitus saith well in one of his enigmas, Dry light is ever
the best. And certain it is, that the light that a man receiveth by counsel from
another, is drier and purer, than that which cometh from his own understanding and
judgment; which is ever infused, and drenched, in his affections and customs. So
as there is as much difference between the counsel, that a friend giveth, and that a
man giveth himself, as there is between the counsel of a friend, and of a flatterer.
For there is no such flatterer as is a man’s self; and there is no such remedy against
flattery of a man’s self, as the liberty of a friend. Counsel is of two sorts: the one
concerning manners, the other concerning business. For the first, the best
preservative to keep the mind in health, is the faithful admonition of a friend. The
calling of a man’s self to a strict account, is a medicine, sometime too piercing and
corrosive. Reading good books of morality, is a little flat and dead. Observing our
faults in others, is sometimes improper for our case. But the best receipt (best, I
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say, to work, and best to take) is the admonition of a friend. It is a strange thing to
behold, what gross errors and extreme absurdities many (especially of the greater
sort) do commit, for want of a friend to tell them of them; to the great damage both
of their fame and fortune: for, as St. James saith, they are as men that look
sometimes into a glass, and presently forget their own shape and favor. As for
business, a man may think, if he win, that two eyes see no more than one; or that a
gamester seeth always more than a looker-on; or that a man in anger, is as wise as
he that hath said over the four and twenty letters; or that a musket may be shot off
as well upon the arm, as upon a rest; and such other fond and high imaginations, to
think himself all in all. But when all is done, the help of good counsel, is that
which setteth business straight. And if any man think that he will take counsel, but
it shall be by pieces; asking counsel in one business, of one man, and in another
business, of another man; it is well (that is to say, better, perhaps, than if he asked
none at all); but he runneth two dangers: one, that he shall not be faithfully
counselled; for it is a rare thing, except it be from a perfect and entire friend, to
have counsel given, but such as shall be bowed and crooked to some ends, which
he hath, that giveth it. The other, that he shall have counsel given, hurtful and
unsafe (though with good meaning), and mixed partly of mischief and partly of
remedy; even as if you would call a physician, that is thought good for the cure of
the disease you complain of, but is unacquainted with your body; and therefore
may put you in way for a present cure, but overthroweth your health in some other
kind; and so cure the disease, and kill the patient. But a friend that is wholly
acquainted with a man’s estate, will beware, by furthering any present business,
how he dasheth upon other inconvenience. And therefore rest not upon scattered
counsels; they will rather distract and mislead, than settle and direct.

After these two noble fruits of friendship (peace in the affections, and
support of the judgment), followeth the last fruit; which is like the pomegranate,
full of many kernels; I mean aid, and bearing a part, in all actions and occasions.
Here the best way to represent to life the manifold use of friendship, is to cast and
see how many things there are, which a man cannot do himself; and then it will
appear, that it was a sparing speech of the ancients, to say, that a friend is another
himself; for that a friend is far more than himself. Men have their time, and die
many times, in desire of some things which they principally take to heart; the
bestowing of a child, the finishing of a work, or the like. If a man have a true
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friend, he may rest almost secure that the care of those things will continue after
him. So that a man hath, as it were, two lives in his desires. A man hath a body,
and that body is confined to a place; but where friendship is, all offices of life are
as it were granted to him, and his deputy. For he may exercise them by his friend.
How many things are there which a man cannot, with any face or comeliness, say
or do himself? A man can scarce allege his own merits with modesty, much less
extol them; a man cannot sometimes brook to supplicate or beg; and a number of
the like. But all these things are graceful, in a friend’s mouth, which are blushing
in a man’s own. So again, a man’s person hath many proper relations, which he
cannot put off. A man cannot speak to his son but as a father; to his wife but as a
husband; to his enemy but upon terms: whereas a friend may speak as the case
requires, and not as it sorteth with the person. But to enumerate these things were
endless; I have given the rule, where a man cannot fitly play his own part; if he
have not a friend, he may quit the stage.

Of Studies
STUDIES serve for delight, for ornament, and for ability. Their chief use for
delight, is in privateness and retiring; for ornament, is in discourse; and for ability,
is in the judgment, and disposition of business. For expert men can execute, and
perhaps judge of particulars, one by one; but the general counsels, and the plots
and marshalling of affairs, come best, from those that are learned. To spend too
much time in studies is sloth; to use them too much for ornament, is affectation; to
make judgment wholly by their rules, is the humor of a scholar. They perfect
nature, and are perfected by experience: for natural abilities are like natural plants,
that need proyning, by study; and studies themselves, do give forth directions too
much at large, except they be bounded in by experience. Crafty men contemn
studies, simple men admire them, and wise men use them; for they teach not their
own use; but that is a wisdom without them, and above them, won by observation.
Read not to contradict and confute; nor to believe and take for granted; nor to find
talk and discourse; but to weigh and consider. Some books are to be tasted, others
to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested; that is, some books are
to be read only in parts; others to be read, but not curiously; and some few to be
read wholly, and with diligence and attention. Some books also may be read by
deputy, and extracts made of them by others; but that would be only in the less
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important arguments, and the meaner sort of books, else distilled books are like
common distilled waters, flashy things. Reading maketh a full man; conference a
ready man; and writing an exact man. And therefore, if a man write little, he had
need have a great memory; if he confer little, he had need have a present wit: and if
he read little, he had need have much cunning, to seem to know, that he doth not.

Histories make men wise; poets witty; the mathematics subtile; natural
philosophy deep; moral grave; logic and rhetoric able to contend. Abeunt studia in
mores. Nay, there is no stond or impediment in the wit, but may be wrought out by
fit studies; like as diseases of the body, may have appropriate exercises. Bowling is
good for the stone and reins; shooting for the lungs and breast; gentle walking for
the stomach; riding for the head; and the like. So if a man’s wit be wandering, let
him study the mathematics; for in demonstrations, if his wit be called away never
so little, he must begin again. If his wit be not apt to distinguish or find differences,
let him study the Schoolmen; for they are cymini sectores. If he be not apt to beat
over matters, and to call up one thing to prove and illustrate another, let him study
197 the lawyers’ cases. So every defect of the mind, may have a special receipt.