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 Than gold in mines, where none doth draw it forth. And all your graces no more use shall have Than a sun-dial in a grave; Thou love taught'st me, by making me Love her, who doth neglect both me and thee, To invent, and practise this one way to annihilate all three. 558 POEMS NOT IN THE EDITION OF 1633. MADAM, TO THE LADY MAGDALEN HERBERT, With the Poem following. Your favours to me are everywhere; I use them, and have them. I enjoy them at London, and leave them there; and yet find them at Mitcham. Such riddles as these become things inexpressible; and such is your goodness. I was almost sorry to find your servant here this day, because I was loth to have any witness of my not coming home last night, and indeed of my coming this morning; but my not coming was excusable, because earnest business detained me; and my coming this day is by the example of your St. Mary Magdalen, who rose early upon Sunday, to seek that which she loved most; and so did I. And, from her and myself, I return such thanks as are due to one to whom we owe all the good opinion, that they whom we need must have of us. By this messenger, and on this good day, I commit the enclosed holy hymns and sonnets (which for the matter, not the workmanship, have yet escaped the fire) to your judgment, and to your protection too, if you think them worthy of it; and I have appointed this enclosed sonnet to usher them to your happy hand. Your unworthiest servant, unless your accepting him to be so, Mitcham, July 11, 1607. have mended him, JOHN DONNE. TO THE LADY MAGDALEN HERBERT; OF ST. MARY MAGDALEN. HER of your name, whose fair inheritance Bethina was, and jointure Magdalo; An active faith so highly did advance, That she once knew more than the church did know, The resurrection; so much good there is Delivered of her, that some fathers be Loth to believe one woman could do this; But think these Magdalens were two or three. The latter half; and in some recompence ON THE BLESSED VIRGIN MARY. IN that, O Queen of Queens! thy birth was free To match thee like thy birth's nobility, He thee his spirit for thy spouse did leave, By whom thou did'st his only Son conceive, And so wast link'd to all the Trinity. Cease then, O Queens! that earthly crowns do wear, To glory in the pomp of earthly things: If men such high respects unto you bear, Which daughters, wives, and mothers, are of kings, What honour can unto that queen be done Who had your God for father, spouse, and son? ELEGY ON MRS. BOULSTRED. DEATH! be not proud: thy hand gave not this blow; Sin was her captive, whence thy power doth flow: The executioner of wrath thou art, But to destroy the just is not thy part. Thy coming terror, anguish, grief, denounces; The clearer soul was called to endless rest: (Not by the thundering voice wherewith God threats, But as with crowned saints in heaven he treats) The door 'twixt heaven and it, when life did knock. A better witness than thou art, assures Go then to people curst before they were, Which our face not for her, but our harm, wears. The mourning livery given by grace, not thee, Which wills our souls in these streams washt should be; And on our hearts, her memory's best tomb, In this her epitaph doth write thy doom. Blind were those eyes saw not how bright did shine, Deaf were the ears not charmed with that sweet sound Weep not, nor grudge, then, to have lost her sight, ON HIMSELF. My fortune and my choice this custom break, Heav'n, when the trumpet's air shall them exhale. MADAM, ELEGY. That I might make your cabinet my tomb, My fortune and my will this custom break, When we are senseless grown, to make stones speak; ODE. VENGEANCE will sit above our faults; but till We see her not, nor them. Thus blind, yet still Unhappy he whom youth makes not beware Enough we labour under age and care: In number the errors of the last place are Yet we, that should the ill we now begin As soon repent, (Strange thing!) perceive not; our faults are not seen, But past us; neither felt, but only in The punishment. But we know ourselves least; mere outward shows Our minds so store, That our souls, no more than our eyes, disclose But form and colour: only he who knows Himself, knows more. VOL. VI. 20 |