The sun his heat and light? the air his dew?
Or winds the spirit by which the flower so grew ?
That were to wither all, and make a grave
Of that wise nature would a cradle have.
Her order is to cherish and preserve;
Consumption's, nature to destroy and sterve.
But to exact again what once is given,
Is nature's mere obliquity; as heaven
Should ask the blood and spirits he hath infus'd
In man, because man hath the flesh abus'd.
O may your wisdom take example hence,
God lightens not at man's each frail offence:
He pardons slips, goes by a world of ills,
And then his thunder frights more than it kills.
He cannot angry be, but all must quake ;
It shakes e'en him that all things else doth shake,
And how more fair and lovely looks the world
In a calm sky, than when the heaven is hurl'd
About in clouds, and wrapt in raging weather,
As all with storm and tempest ran together!
O imitate that sweet serenity
That makes us live, not that which calls to die.
In dark and sullen morns do we not say,
This looketh like an execution-day?
And with the vulgar doth it not obtain
The name of cruel weather, storm and rain?
Be not affected with these marks too much
Of cruelty, lest they do make you such;
But view the mildness of your Maker's state,
As I the penitent's here emulate.
He, when he sees a sorrow, such as this,
Straight puts off all his anger, and doth kiss
The contrite soul, who hath no thought to win
Upon the hope to have another sin
Forgiven him and in that line stand I,
Rather than once displease you more, to die,
To suffer tortures, scorn, and infamy,
What fools, and all their parasites can apply;
The wit of ale, and genius of the malt
Can pump for, or a libel without salt
Produce; though threat'ning with a coal or chalk,
On every wall, and sung where-e'er I walk.
I number these, as being of the chore
Of contumely, and urge a good man more
Than sword, or fire, or what is of the race
To carry noble danger in the face :
There is not any punishment or pain,
A man should fly from, as he would disdain.
Then, mistress, here, here let your rigour end,
And let your mercy make me asham'd t' offend;
I will no more abuse my vows to you,
Than I will study falsehood, to be true.
O that you could but by dissection see
How much you are the better part of me ;
How all my fibres by your spirit do move,
And that there is no life in me, but love!
You would be then most confident, that though
Public affairs command me now to go
Out of your eyes, and be awhile away;
Absence or distance shall not breed decay.
Your form shines here, here, fixed in my heart :
I may dilate myself, but not depart.
Others by common stars their courses run,
When I see you, then I do see my sun :
Till then 'tis all but darkness that I have;
Rather than want your light, I wish a grave.
O make the doubt clear, that no woman's true,
Was it my fate to prove it full in you?"
Thought I but one had breath'd the purer air,
And must she needs be false, because she's
fair?
Is it your beauty's mark, or of your youth,
Or your perfection, not to study truth?
Or think you heaven is deaf, or hath no eyes,
Or those it hath wink at your perjuries?
Are vows so cheap with women? or the matter
Whereof they are made, that they are writ in water,
5 To make the doubt clear, that no woman's true,
Was it my fate to prove it full in you?] There is a collection of Dr. Donne's poems in 8vo. 1669, amongst which is this elegy: how it came there I know not, for there is no doubt but it is Jonson's. WHAL.
Whalley appears not to have known that the elegy was printed in a 4to. edition of Donne's Poems, which came out in 1633. I have already observed that there was a mutual communication of MSS. between the two poets, and the verses before us might be found among the doctor's papers (for he was now dead), and published by his son, or by those who collected them, as his own.
The preceding poem, in which the poet so ingenuously confessed his fault, and so earnestly sued for pardon, appears to have had its effect, and reconciled the lovers. They were still, however, imprudent the lady in her turn trusted a false friend, who abused her confidence, and traduced the parties to each other, till he had stirred up a mutual jealousy, and finally separated them. On the discovery of this treachery, Jonson writes the second elegy, which, like the first, led to a reconciliation.
I have no knowledge of the person to whom these Elegies were addressed. I once thought them to be scholastic exercises like the desperate love verses of Donne and Cowley; but they now strike me as too earnest for any thing but a real intrigue.
The text of the folio (the blunders of which I am weary of noticing) has been much improved by a collation with the copy in Donne's works.
And blown away with wind? or doth their breath,
Both hot and cold at once, threat life and death?
Who could have thought so many accents sweet
Tuned to our words, so many sighs should meet
Blown from our hearts, so many oaths and tears
Sprinkled among, all sweeter by our fears,
And the divine impression of stol'n kisses,
That seal'd the rest, could now prove empty blisses?
Did you draw bonds to forfeit ? sign to break?
Or must we read you quite from what you speak,
And find the truth out the wrong way? or must
He first desire you false, would wish you just?
O, I profane! though most of women be
The common monster, thought shall except thee,
My dearest love, though froward jealousy
With circumstance might urge the contrary.
Sooner I'll think the sun would cease to cheer
The teeming earth, and that forget to bear;
Sooner that rivers would run back, or Thames
With ribs of ice in June would bind his streams;
Or Nature, by whose strength the world endures,
Would change her course, before you alter yours.
But, O, that treacherous breast! to whom weak
Did trust our counsels, and we both may rue,
Having his falsehood found too late! 'twas he
That made me cast you guilty, and you me;
Whilst he, black wretch, betray'd each simple word
We spake, unto the cunning of a third!
Curst may he be, that so our love hath slain,
And wander wretched on the earth, as Cain ;
Wretched as he, and not deserve least pity!
In plaguing him, let misery be witty.
Let all eyes shun him, and he shun each eye,
Till he be noisome as his infamy;
May he without remorse deny God thrice,
And not be trusted more on his soul's price;
And after all self-torment, when he dies,
May wolves tear out his heart, vultures his eyes,
Swine eat his bowels, and his falser tongue,
That utter'd all, be to some raven flung;
And let his carrion corse be a longer feast
To the king's dogs, than any other beast!
Now I have curst, let us our love revive;
In me the flame was never more alive.
I could begin again to court and praise,
And in that pleasure lengthen the short days
Of my life's lease; like painters that do take
Delight, not in made works, but whilst they make.
I could renew those times when first I saw
Love in your eyes, that gave my tongue the law
To like what you liked, and at masques or plays,
Commend the self-same actors the same ways;
Ask how you did, and often with intent
Of being officious, grow impertinent;
All which were such soft pastimes, as in these
Love was as subtly catch'd as a disease.
But, being got, it is a treasure sweet,
Which to defend, is harder than to get;
And ought not be profaned on either part,
For though 'tis got by chance, 'tis kept by art.
HAT love's a bitter sweet, I ne'er conceive,
Till the sour minute comes of taking leave,
And then I taste it: but as men drink up
In haste the bottom of a med'cined cup,
And take some sirup after; so do I,
To put all relish from my memory
Of parting, drown it, in the hope to meet
Shortly again, and make our absence sweet.
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