Poems, by J.D. VVith elegies on the authors death

Letters.

HEN. GOODEERE.

ETiam vulgari linguâ scriptae testantur literae nos ami∣corum meminisse, sed alienâ, nos de illis meditari. In illis enim affulgent nobis de amicis cogitatiunculae, sed ut matu∣tinae stellae transeunt, & evanescunt: In his autē haeremus, & immoramur, & amicos uti solem ipsum permanentem nobis∣cum degentemque contemplamur; Habes cur Latinè. Ipsius etiam scribendi audi rationem. Peto consilium, in quo simul amicitiam profiteor meam, tuâmque agnosco: Etenim non li∣benter nosmetipsos exuimus, aut in ingenij prudentiaeve do∣tibus aliorum nos fatemur indigos. Nec certè quicquam quisquam (sit modò ingenuus) ei denegabit à quo consilium petiit. Quod enim divina sapientia extremum charitatis terminum posuerat, animam ponere, idem regularum Eccle∣siae tractatores (quod ipsimet Canonici crassam aequitatem vocant) de fama & honore cedendo asserunt & usurpant. Certè, non tam beneficiis obnoxii quam consiliis reddimur. Sed ad rem. Philosophentur otiosiores, aut quibus otia sua ne∣gotia appellare lubet: Nobis enim nos dudum perspicui sumus & fenestrati. Elucescit mihi nova, nec inopportuna, nec inu∣tilis (paulò quàm optaram fortassis magis inhonora) occasio extera visendi regna, liberos{que} perquam amantissimae con∣jugis charissima pignora, caetera{que} hujus aurae oblectamenta, aliquot ad annos relinquendi. De hoc ut tecum agerem te

convenire cupio: Quod (etsi nec id recusem) nollem in aedibus Barlotianis. Habeo cur abstineam. Amicitiae enim nec vete∣ris, nec ita strictae munera paulò quàm deceat imprudentiori impetu mihi videor ibi peregisse. Prandere si vacat foras, aut caenare, horulamve perdere pomeridianam, aut matuti∣nam liceat mihi illud apud Rabbinum Lincombum jam commoranti per te intelligere, & satis mihi fiet. Interim seponas ero chartulas meas, quas cum sponsione citae redhi∣bitionis (ut barbarè, sed cum ingeniosissimo Appollinari loquar) accepisti. Inter quas, si epigrammata mea Latina, & Catalogus librorum satyricus non sunt, non sunt; extremum iuditium, hoc est, manum ultimam jamjam subiturae sunt. Earum nonnullae Purgatorium suum passurae, ut correctiores emanent. Alia quorum me inscio in mundum erepserunt, exempla tamen in archetypis igne absumpta fatebuntur se à me ad Inferos damnata esse. Reliquae quae aut virgines sunt (nisi quod à multis contrectatae) aut ita infoeliciter steriles, ut ab illis nulla ingenita sunt exemplaria, penitus in anni∣hilationem (quod flagitiosissimis non minatur Deus) cor∣ruent & dilabentur. Vale & amore meo fruere quem vetat fortuna sola ne uti possis. Et nisi animo candido inge∣nuave mea libertate gaudere malis, habe tibi mancipium

JO. DONNE.

To Sir. H. G.

I Send not my Letters as tribute, nor interest, nor recompence, nor for commerce, nor as testimonialls of my love, nor provokers of yours, nor to justifie my custome of writing, nor for a vent and utterance of my meditations; For my letters are either above or under all such offices, yet I write very affectionately, and Lehide and accuse my selfe of diminishing that af∣fection which sends them, when I aske my selfe why. Only I am sure that I desire that you might have in your hands letters of mine of all kindes, as conveyan∣ces and deliverers of mee to you, whether you accept me as a friend, or as a patient, or as a penitent, or as a Bedesman, for I decline no jurisdiction, nor refuse any tenure. I would not open any doore upon you, but looke in when you open it. Angells have not, nor af∣fect not other knowledge of one another then they list to reveale to one another. It is then in this only, that friends are Angells, that they are capable and fit for such revelations when they are offered. If at any time I seeme to study you more inquisitively, it is for no other end but to know how to present you to God in my prayers, and what to aske of him for you; For even that holy exercise may not be done inopportune∣ly, no nor importunely. I finde little errour in that Grecians counsell who sayes, If thou aske any thing of God, offer no sacrifice, nor aske elegantly, nor vehe∣mently,

but remember that thou would'st not give to such an asker. Nor in his other countryman, who af∣firmes sacrifice of blood to be so unproportionable to God, that perfumes, though much more spirituall, are too grosse; Yea words which are our subtlest and de∣licatest outward creatures, being composed of thoughts and breath, are so muddy, so thicke, that our thoughts themselves are so, because (except at the first rising) they are ever leavened with passions and affections. And, that advantage of neerer familiarity with God, which the Act of incarnation gave us, is grounded upon Gods assuming us, not our going to him. And, our accesses to his presence are but his de∣scents into us. And, when we get any thing by prayer, hee gave us before hand the thing and the petition: for, I scarce thinke any ineffectuall prayer free from both sinne and the punishment of sinne: Yet as God seposed a seventh of our time for his exterior worship, and as his Christian Church early presented him a Type of the whole yeare in a Lent, and after imposed the obligation of canonique houres, constituting ther∣by morall Sabbaths every day, I am far frō dehorting those fixed devotions: But I had rather it were be∣stowed upon thanksgiving then petition, upon praise then prayer. Not that God is endeared by that, or wearied by this; All is one in the receiver, but not in the sender. And thankes doth both offices. For, no∣thing doth so innocently provoke new graces, as grati∣tude. I would also rather make short prayers then extend them, though God can neither bee surprised,

nor besieged: For, long prayers have more of the man, as ambition of eloquence, and a complacency in the worke, and more of the devill by often distractions: For, after in the beginning wee have well intreated God to hearken, we speake no more to him. Even this letter is some example of such infirmity; which being intended for a letter is extended and strayed into a Homily. And whatsoever is not what it was purpo∣sed, is worse. Therefore it shall at last end like a let∣ter by assuring you I am &c.

To Sir H. G.

SIR,

NAture hath made al bodies like, by mingling and kneading up the same elements in every one. And amōgst mē, the other nature, custōe, hath made every mind like some other. We are patternes or copies, we inform, or imitate. But as he hath not presētly attain'd to write a good hand, which hath equaled one excel∣lent master in his A, another in his B, much lesse hee which hath sought all the excellent masters, and em∣ployed all his time to exceede in one letter, because not so much an excellency of any nor every one, as an evennesse and proportion, and respect to one another gives the perfection; So is no man vertuous by parti∣cular example. Not he which doth all actions to the patterne of the most valiant, or liberall, which Histo∣ries afford: Nor he which chuses from every one their best actions, and therupon doth something like those. Perchance such may bee in via perficiendorum, which Divines allow to Monasticall life, but not Perfectorum, which, by them, is only due to prelacy; For vertue is even, and continuall, and the same, and can therefore breake no where, nor admit ends, nor beginnings; It is not only not broken, but not tyed together. He is not vertuous, out of whose actions vou can pick an ex∣cellent one. Vice and her fruits may be seene, because

they are thick bodies, but not vertue, which is all light. And vices have swellings and fits, and noise, because being extremes, they dwel far asunder, and they main∣taine both a foraine warre against vertue, and a civill against one another, and affect soveraignty, as vertue doth society. The later Physitians say, that when our naturall inborne preservative is corrupted or wa∣sted, and must be restored by alike extracted from o∣ther bodies, the chiefe care is, that the mummy have in it no excelling quality, but an equally digested tem∣per: And such is true vertue. But men who have preferred money before all, thinke they deale honou∣rably with vertue, if they compare her with money: And think, that as mony is not called base, til the allay exceed the pure; So they are vertuous enough, if they have enough to make their actions currant, which is, if either they get praise, or (in a lower abasing) if they incurre not infamy or penalty. But you know who said Angusta innocentia est ad legem bonum esse, which rule being given for positive lawes, severe mistakers apply even to Gods law, and (perchance against his commandement) binde themselves to his counsailes, beyond his lawes. But they are worse, that think that because some men formerly wastfull, live better with halfe their rents then they did with all, being now ad∣vantaged with discretion and experience, therefore our times need lesse morall vertue then the first, be∣cause we have Christianity, which is the use and appli∣cation of all vertue. As though our religion were but an art of thrift, to make a little vertue goe far. For as

plentifull springs are fittest, and best become large A∣queducts, so doth much vertue such a steward and of∣ficer as a Christian. But I must not give you a Homi∣ly for a letter. I said a great while since, that custome made men like; We who have beene accustomed to one another are like in this, that we love not businesse. This therefore shall not be to you nor me a busie let∣ter. I end with a probleme, whose errand is, to aske for his fellowes. I pray before you ingulfe your selfe in the Progresse, leave them for mee, and such other of my papers as you will lend mee till your returne. And besides this allegoricall lending, lend me truly your counsells. And love God and me, whilest I love him and you.

To Sir H. G.

SIR,

THis Teusday morning, which hath brought me to London, presents mee with all your letters. Mee thought it was a rent day, I meane such as yours, and not as mine. And yet such too, when I considered how much I ought you for them. How good a mo∣ther, how fertile and abundant the understanding is, if shee have a good father. And how well friendship performes that office. For that which is denyed in o∣ther generations is done in this of yours. For hers is superfaetation, child upon child, and, that which is more strange, twinnes at a latter conception. If in my second religion, friendship, I had a conscience, either Errantem to mistake good and bad, and indifferent, or Opinantem to be ravished by others opinions or ex∣amples, or Dubiam to adhere to neither part, or Scru∣pulosam to encline to one, but upon reasons light in themselves or indiscussed in mee (which are almost all the diseases of conscience) I might mistake your often, long, and busie letters, and feare you did but intreate me to have mercy upon you and spare you. For you know our court tooke the resolution, that it was the best way to dispatch the French Prince backe againe quickly, to receive him solemnely, ceremoniously; and expensively, when he hoped a domestique and du∣rable

entertainment. I never meant to excell you in waight nor price, but in number and bulke I thought I might: Because he may cast up a greater summe who hath but forty small moneyes, then hee with twenty Portuguesses. The memory of friends, (I meane only for letters) neither enters ordinarily into busied men, because they are ever employed within, nor into men of pleasure, because they are never at home. For these wishes therefore which you wonne out of your plea∣sure and recreation, you were as excusable to mee if you writ seldome as Sir H. Wotton is under the op∣pression of businesse or the necessity of seeming so: Or more then hee, because I hope you have both pleasure and businesse. Only to me, who have neither, this o∣mission were sinne. For though writing be not of the precepts of friendship, but of the counsells: yet, as in some cases to some men counsells become precepts, though not immediately from God, yet very roundly and quickly from his Church, (as selling and dividing goods in the first time, continence in the Romane Church, and order and decency in ours) so to mee who can doe nothing else, it seemes to binde my con∣science to write. And it is sinne to doe against the conscience, though that erre; Yet no mans letters might be better wanted then mine, since my whole let∣ter is nothing else but a confession that I should and would write. I ought you a letter in verse before by mine owne promise, & now that you thinke you have hedged in that debt by a greater by your letter in verse I thinke it now most seasonable and fashionall for mee

to breake. At least, to write presently were to accuse my selfe of not having read yours so often as such a let∣ter deserves from you to mee. To make my debt greater (for such is the desire of all, who can∣not or meane not to pay) I pray reade these two problemes: for such light flashes as these have beene my hawkings in my Surry journies. I ac∣company them with another ragge of verses, worthy of that name for the smalnesse, and age, for it hath long lyen among my other papers, and laughs at them that have adventured to you: for I thinke till now you saw it not, and neither you, nor it should repent it. Sir, if I were any thing, my love to you might multi∣ply it, and dignifie it: But infinite nothings are but one such: Yet since even Chymeraes have some name, and titles, I am also

Yours.

To S^r. H. G.

SIR,

IN the history or stile of friendship, which is best written both in deeds and words, a letter which is of a mixed nature, and hath something of both is a mixt parenthesis: It may be left out, yet it contri∣butes, though not to the beeing, yet to the verdure, and freshnesse thereof. Letters have truly the same office, as oathes. As these amongst light and empty men, are but fillings, and pauses, and interjections: but with waightier, they are sad attestations: So are letters, to some complement, and obligation to others. For mine, as I never authorized my servant to lye in my behalfe (for if it were officious in him, it might be worse in mee) so I allow my letters much lesse that ci∣vill dishonesty, both because they goe from mee more considerately, and because they are permanent, for in them I may speake to you in your chamber a yeare hence before I know not whom, and not heare my selfe. They shall therefore ever keepe the sincerity and intemeratenesse of the fountaine whence they are derived. And as wheresoever these leaves fall, the root is in my heart, so shall they, as that sucks good affections towards you there, have ever true impressi∣ons thereof. Thus much information is in very leaves, that they can tell what the tree is, and these can tell

you I am a friend and an honest man. Of what gene∣rall use, the fruit should speake, and I have none: and of what particular profit to you, your application and experimenting should tell you, and you can make none of such a nothing; Yet even of barren Sicamores, such as I, there were use, if either any light flashings, or scorching vehemencies, or sudden showers made you need so shadowie an example or Remembrancer. But (Sir) your fortune and minde do you this happy in∣jury, that they make all kinde of fruits uselesse unto you; Therefore I have placed my love wisely where I need communicate nothing.

All this, though perchance you reade it not till Michaelmas, was told you at Michin. 15. Aug. 1607.

To S^r H. G.

SIR,

IT should be no interruption to your pleasures to heare mee often say that I love you, and that you are as much my meditation as my selfe: I often com∣pare not you and mee, but the Spheare in which your resolutions are, and my wheele; both I hope concen∣trique to God: for me thinkes the new Astronomie is thus applyable well, that wee which are a little earth should rather move towards God, then that hee which is fulfilling, and can come no whither, should move towards us. To your life full of variety, no∣thing is old, nor new to mine. And as to that life, all stickings and hesitations seeme stupid and stony, so to this, all fluid slipperinesses and transitory migrations seeme giddy and feathery. In that life one is ever in the porch or posterne, going in or out, never within his house, himself: It is a garment made of remnants, a life raveld out into ends, a line discontinued, & a num∣ber of small wretched points; uselesse, because they concurre not: A life built of past & future, not propo∣sing any constant present. They have more pleasures then wee, but not more pleasure: they joy oftner, wee longer; and no man but of so much understanding as may deliver him from being a foole, would change with a mad-man, which had a better proportion of wit in his often Lucidis. You know, they which dwell farthest from the Sunne, if in any con∣venient distance, have longer dayes, better appe∣tites,

better digestion, better growth, and longer life. And all these advantages have their mindes who are well removed from the scorchings, and dazlings, and exhalings of the worlds glory; but neither of our lifes are in such extremes; for you living at Court without ambition, which would burne you, or envy which would devest others, live in the Sunne, not in the fire; and I which live in the Country without stupifying, am not in darknesse, but in shadow, which is not no light, but a pallid, watrish, and diluted one. As all sha∣dowes are of one colour if you respect the body from which they are cast (for our shadows upon clay will be dirty, and in a garden greene, and flowery,) so all rety∣rings into a shadowie life are alike from all causes, and alike subject to the barbarousnesse and insipid dulnes of the countrie: Only the employment, and that upon which you cast and bestow your pleasure, businesse, or bookes, gives it the tincture, and beauty. But truly wheresoever we are, if wee can but tell our selves truly what & where we would be, we may make any state & place such: For we are so composed, that if abundance, or glory scorch & melt us, we have an earthly cave, our bodies to go into by consideration, & coole our selves: and if we be frozen, and contracted with lower and darke fortunes, wee have within us a torch, a soule, lighter and warmer then any without: we are there∣fore our owne umbrellas, and our owne Sun••. These Sir, are the Sallads, and Onyons of Michin, sent to you with as wholsome affection as your other friends send Melons and Quelque choses from Court and London. If I present you not as good dyet

as they, I would yet say grace to theirs, and bid much good do it you. I send you, with this, a letter which I sent to the Countesse. It is not my use nor du∣ty to do so. But for your having of it, there were but two consents, and I am sure you have mine, and you are sure you have hers: I also writ to her Ladiship for the verses shee shewed in the garden, which I did not onely to extort them, nor onely to keepe my pro∣mise of writing, for that I had done in the other let∣ter, and perchance shee hath forgotten the promise, nor onely because I thinke my letters just good enough for a Progresse, but because I would write apace to her, whilst it is possible to expresse that which I yet know of her, for by this growth I see how soone she will be ineffable.

To the Countesse of Bedford.

Happiest and worthyest Lady,

I Do not remember that ever I have seen a petition in verse, I would not therefore be singular, nor adde these to your other papers. I have yet adventured so neare as to make a petitiō for verse, It is for those your Ladiship did me the honor to see in a Twicknam gar∣den, except you repēt your making & having mended your judgement by thinking worse, that is, better, be∣cause juster, of their subject. They must needs be an excellent exercise of your wit, which speake so well of so ill. I humbly begge them of your Ladiship, with two such promises, as to any other of your composi∣tions were threatnings: That I will not shew them, & that I will not beleeve them; And nothing should be so used which comes from your braine or heart. If I should confesse a fault in the boldnesse of asking them, or make a fault by doing it in a longer letter, your Ladiship might use your stile and old fashion of the Court towards mee, and pay mee with a pardon. Here therefore I humbly kisse your Ladiships faire learned, hands and wish you good wishes and speedy grants.

Your Ladiships servant JO. DONNE.

To S^r H. G.

SIR,

BEcause I am in a place and season where I see every thing bud forth, I must do so too, and vent some of my meditations to you; the rather because all other buds being yet without taste or vertue, my letters may be like them. The pleasantnes of the season displeases mee. Every thing refreshes, and I wither, and I grow older and not better. My strength diminishes, and my load growes, and being to passe more and more stormes, I finde that I have not only cast out all my bal∣last which nature and time gives, reason & discretion, & so am as empty & light as vanity can make me, but I have over-fraught my selfe with vice, and so am rid∣dingly subject to two contrary wrackes, sinking and over-setting, and under the iniquity of such a disease as enforces the patient when hee is almost starv'd, not onely to fast, but to purge; for I have much to take in, and much to cast out. Sometimes I thinke it easier to discharge my selfe of vice then of vanity, as one may sooner carry the fire out of a roome then the smoke: And then I see it was a new vanity to thinke so. And when I thinke sometimes, that vanity, because it is thinne and airy, may be expelled with vertue or busi∣nesse, or substantiall vice; I finde that I give entrance thereby to new vices. Certainly as the earth & water, one sad, the other fluid, make but one body: so to vice,

and vanity, there is but one Centrum morbi. And that which later Physitiās say of our bodies, is fitter for our mindes; for that which they call destruction, which is a corruption and want of those fundamentall parts whereof we consist, is vice: And that Collectio Ster∣corum, which is but the Excrement of that corruption, is our vanity and indiscretion. Both these have but one root in mee, and must bee pulled out at once, or never. But I am so far from digging to it, that I know not where it is. For it is not in mine eyes only, but in every sense, nor in my concupiscence only, but in eve∣ry power and affection. Sir, I was willing to let you see how impotent a man you love, not to dishearten you from doing so still (for my vices are not infecti∣ous, nor wandring, They came not yesterday, nor meane to goe away to day: They Inne not, but dwell in mee, and see themselves so welcome, and finde in mee so good bad company of one another, that they will not change, especially to one not apprehensive, nor easily accessible) but I doe it, that your counsell might cure mee, and if you deny that, your example shall, for I will as much strive to be like you as I will wish you to continue good.

To Sir H. G.

SIR,

I Hope you are now welcome to London, and well, and well comforted in your fathers health and love, and well contented that we aske you how you doe, and tell you how we are, which yet I cannot of my selfe; If I knew that I were ill, I were well; For we consist of three parts, a Soule, and Body, and Mind: which I call those thoughts and affections and passions, which neither Soule nor Body hath alone, but have beene begotten by their communication, as Musique results out of our breath and a Cornet. And of all these the diseases are cures, if they be knowne. Of our Soules sicknesses, which are sinnes, the knowledge is, to ac∣knowledge, and that is her physick, in which wee are not dieted by drams and scruples, for we cannot take too much. Of our bodies infirmities, though our knowledge be partly ab extrinseco, from the opinion of the Physitian, and that the subject and matter be flexi∣ble, and various; Yet their rules are certaine, and if the matter be rightly applyed to the rule, our know∣ledge thereof is also certaine. But of the diseases of the minde, there is no Cryterium, no Canon, no rule; for, our owne tast and apprehension & interpretation should be the judge, and that is the disease it selfe. Therefore sometimes when I finde my selfe transpor∣ted

with jollity, and love of company, I hang leads at my heeles, and reduce to my thoughts my fortunes, my yeares, the duties of a man, of a friend, of a hus∣band, of a father, and all the incumbencies of a family. When sadnesse dejects me, either I countermine it with another sadnesse, or I kindly squibs about mee againe, and flie into sportfulnesse and company. And I finde ever after all, that I am like an Exorcist, which had long laboured about one, which at last appeares to have the Mother, that I still mistake my disease. And I still vexe my selfe with this, because if I know it not, no body can know it. And I comfort my selfe because I see dispassioned men are subject to the like ignoran∣ces. For divers mindes out of the same thing often draw contrary conclusions, as Augustine thought de∣vout Anthony to bee therfore full of the holy Ghost, because, not being able to read, he could say the whole Bible, and interpret it. And Thyraeus the Jesuite for the same reason doth thinke all the Anabaptists to be possessed. And as often out of contrary things men draw one conclusion. As, To the Romane Church, Magnificence and Splendor hath ever beene an argu∣ment of Gods favour, and Poverty and Affliction, to the Greeke. Out of this variety of mindes it proceeds, that though all our Soules would goe to one end, Heaven, and all our bodies must goe to one end, the Earth: Yet our third part, the minde, which is our naturall Guide here, chuses to every man a severall way. Scarce any man likes what another doth, nor, ad∣visedly, that which himselfe. But, Sir, I am beyond my

purpose; I meant to write a letter, and I am fallen in∣to a discourse, and I doe not only take you from some businesse, but I make you a new businesse by drawing you into these meditations. In which yet let my open∣nes be an argument of such love as I would fain ex∣presse in some worthier fashion.