TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

WILLIAM LORD CRAVEN,

BARON OF HAMSTED-MARSHAM.

MY LORD,

MANY of these poems have, for several impressions, wandered up and down, trusting (as well as they might) upon the author's reputation: neither do they now complain of any injury, but what may proceed either from the kindness of the printer, or the courtesy of the reader; the one, by adding something too much, lest any spark of this sacred fire might perish undiscerned; the other, by putting such an estimation upon the wit and fancy they find here, that they are content to use it as their own; as if a man should dig out the stones of a royal amphitheatre, to build a stage for a country show. Amongst all the monsters this unlucky age has teemed with, I find none so prodigious as the poets of these later times, wherein men, as if they would level understandings too, as well as estates, acknowledging no inequality of parts and judgments, pretend as indifferently to the chair of wit as to the pulpit, and conceive themselves no less inspired with the spirit of poetry, than with that of religion: so it is not only the noise of drums and trumpets which have drowned the Muse's harmony, or the fear that the church's ruin will destroy the priests' likewise, that now frights them from this country, where they have been so ingeniously received; but these rude pretenders to excellencies they unjustly own, who, profanely rushing into Minerva's temple, with noisome airs blast the laurel, which thunder cannot hurt. In this sad condition, these learned sisters are fled over to beg your lordship's protection, who have been so certain a patron both to arts and arms, and who, in this general confusion, have so entirely preserved your honour, that in your lordship we may still read a most perfect character of what England was in all her pomp and greatness. So that although these poems were formerly written upon several occasions to several persons, they now unite themselves, and are become one pyramid to set your lordship's statue upon; where you may stand, like armed Apollo, the defender of the Muses, encouraging the poets now alive to celebrate your great acts, by affording your countenance to his poems, that wanted only so noble a subject.

My Lord,

your most humble servant,

JOHN DONNE

DONNE, the delight of Phoebus, and each Muse,
Who, to thy one, all other brains refuse;
Whose ev'ry work of thy most early wit,

Came forth example, and remain so yet:
Longer a knowing, than most wits do live;

And which no' affection praise enough can give!
To it thy language, letters, arts, best life,
Which might with half mankind maintain a strife;
All which I mean to praise, and yet I would;
But leave, because I cannot as I should!

BEN JONSON..

LOVE'S USURY.

For every hour that thou wilt spare me now,
I will allow,

Usurious god of love, twenty to thee,

When with my brown my grey hairs equal be;
Till then, Love, let my body range, and let
Me travail, sojourn, snatch, plot, have, forget,
Resume my last years' relict: think that yet
We' had never met.

Let me think any rival's letter mine,

And at next nine

Keep midnight's promise; mistake by the way
The maid, and tell the lady of that delay,
Only let me love none, no not the sport,
From country grass to comfitures of court,
Or city's quelque-choses, let not report
My mind transport.

This bargain's good; if, when I' am old, I be
Inflam'd by thee,

If thine own honour, or my shame, or pain,
Thou covet most, at that age thou shalt gain,
Do thy will then, then subject and degree,
And fruit of love, Love, I submit to thee;
Spare me till then, I'll bear it, though she be
One that loves me.

CANONIZATION.

For God's sake hold your tongue, and let me
Or chide my palsy, or my gout,

For loving, and for saying so

In whining poetry;

But where 's that wise man, that would not be I,
If she would not deny?

Then as th' Earth's inward narrow crooked lanes
Do purge sea water's fretful salt away,

I thought, if I could draw my pains
Through rhyme's vexation, I should them allay.
Grief brought to number cannot be so fierce,
For he tames it, that fetters it in verse.
But when I have done so,

Some man, his art or voice to show,
Doth set and sing my pain,

And, by delighting many, frees again
Grief, which verse did restrain.
love,To love and grief tribute of verse belongs,
But not of such as pleases, when 't is read,
Both are increased by such songs:
For both their triumphs so are published,
And I, which was two fools, do so grow three:
Who are a little wise, the best fools be.

My five grey hairs, or ruin'd fortunes flout;
With wealth your state, your mind with arts improve,
Take you a course, get you a place,
Observe his honour or his grace,
Or the king's real or his stampted face
Contemplate; what you will, approve,
So you will let me love.

Alas, alas! who's injur'd by my love?

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

Call's what you will, we are made such by love;
Call her one, me another fly;

W are tapers too, and at our own cost die;
And we in us find th' eagle and the dove;
The phenix 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.
And if unfit for tomb or hearse
Our legend be, it will be fit for verse;
And if no piece of chronicle we prove,
VOL V.

LOVER'S INFINITENESS.

If yet I have not all thy love,
Dear, I shall never have it all,

I cannot breathe one other sigh, to move;
Nor can entreat one other tear to fall;
And all my treasure, which should purchase thee,
Sighs, tears, and oaths, and letters I have spent ;
Yet no more can be due to me,

Than at the bargain made was meant:
If then thy gift of love was partial,

That some for me, some should to others fall,

Dear, I shall never have it all.

Or, if then thou giv'st me all,

All was but all, which thou hadst then:

But if in thy heart since there be, or shall

New love created be by other men,

Which have their stocks entire, and can in tears,
In sighs, in oaths, in letters outbid me,
This new love may beget new fears,
For this love was not vow'd by thee.
And yet it was thy gift being general;

The ground, thy heart, is mine, whatever shall
Grow there, dear, I should have it all.

K