'Tis love, but, with such fatall weaknesse made,
That it deftroyes it selfe with its owne shade.
That it deftroyes it selfe with its owne shade.
John Donne
_), _L74_:
An Elegie, complayning a want of complement in his mistrisse,
at his leave-taking. _A10_: Elegia Vicesima Septima. To S^{r}
Thomas Roe. 1603. _S_
_Thom_: _B_, _L74_, _O'F_,_S_: _Tom_: _1635-69_]
[5 tooke _A10_, _B_, _L74_, _O'F_, _S_: take _1635-69_]
[14 I would _1635-69_: it will _A10_, _L74_, _S_]
[17 goes now so _Ed_: goe now so _B_: growes now so _1635-69_,
_O'F_: now goes thus _A10_, _L74_, _S_]
[21 favours, not their _B_, _L74_, _S_: favour, not the
_1635-69_]
[22 enough: _Ed_: enough, _1635-69_]
[23 had had] had not had _1635-69_, _O'F_]
[24 hate;] hate _1635_: hate, _1639-69_
now, _Ed_: now _1635-69_: not _A10_, _B_, _L74_, _S_]
[26 out:] out. _1635_]
[28 Which (which I dare foresee) nought _A10_, _B_, _L74_,
_S_: Which (I dare foresay) nothing _1635-69_]
[Willing, _Ed_: Willing _1635-69_: Willing; _A10_]
II.
_To the Countesse of Huntington. _
That unripe side of earth, that heavy clime
That gives us man up now, like _Adams_ time
Before he ate; mans shape, that would yet bee
(Knew they not it, and fear'd beasts companie)
So naked at this day, as though man there 5
From Paradise so great a distance were,
As yet the newes could not arrived bee
Of _Adams_ tasting the forbidden tree;
Depriv'd of that free state which they were in,
And wanting the reward, yet beare the sinne. 10
But, as from extreme hights who downward looks,
Sees men at childrens shapes, Rivers at brookes,
And loseth younger formes; so, to your eye,
These (Madame) that without your distance lie,
Must either mist, or nothing seeme to be, 15
Who are at home but wits mere _Atomi_.
But, I who can behold them move, and stay,
Have found my selfe to you, just their midway;
And now must pitty them; for, as they doe
Seeme sick to me, just so must I to you. 20
Yet neither will I vexe your eyes to see
A sighing Ode, nor crosse-arm'd Elegie.
I come not to call pitty from your heart,
Like some white-liver'd dotard that would part
Else from his slipperie soule with a faint groane, 25
And faithfully, (without you smil'd) were gone.
I cannot feele the tempest of a frowne,
I may be rais'd by love, but not throwne down.
Though I can pittie those sigh twice a day,
I hate that thing whispers it selfe away. 30
Yet since all love is fever, who to trees
Doth talke, doth yet in loves cold ague freeze.
'Tis love, but, with such fatall weaknesse made,
That it deftroyes it selfe with its owne shade.
Who first look'd sad, griev'd, pin'd, and shew'd his paine, 35
Was he that first taught women, to disdaine.
As all things were one nothing, dull and weake,
Vntill this raw disordered heape did breake,
And severall desires led parts away,
Water declin'd with earth, the ayre did stay, 40
Fire rose, and each from other but unty'd,
Themselves unprison'd were and purify'd:
So was love, first in vast confusion hid,
An unripe willingnesse which nothing did,
A thirst, an Appetite which had no ease, 45
That found a want, but knew not what would please.
What pretty innocence in those dayes mov'd?
Man ignorantly walk'd by her he lov'd;
Both sigh'd and enterchang'd a speaking eye,
Both trembled and were sick, both knew not why. 50
That naturall fearefulnesse that struck man dumbe,
Might well (those times consider'd) man become.
As all discoverers whose first assay
Findes but the place, after, the nearest way:
So passion is to womans love, about, 55
Nay, farther off, than when we first set out.
It is not love that sueth, or doth contend;
Love either conquers, or but meets a friend.
Man's better part consists of purer fire,
And findes it selfe allow'd, ere it desire. 60
Love is wise here, keepes home, gives reason sway,
And journeys not till it finde summer-way.
A weather-beaten Lover but once knowne,
Is sport for every girle to practise on.
Who strives through womans scornes, women to know, 65
Is lost, and seekes his shadow to outgoe;
It must bee sicknesse, after one disdaine,
Though he be call'd aloud, to looke againe.
Let others sigh, and grieve; one cunning sleight
Shall freeze my Love to Christall in a night. 70
I can love first, and (if I winne) love still;
And cannot be remov'd, unlesse she will.
It is her fault if I unsure remaine,
Shee onely can untie, and binde againe.
The honesties of love with ease I doe, 75
But am no porter for a tedious woo.
An Elegie, complayning a want of complement in his mistrisse,
at his leave-taking. _A10_: Elegia Vicesima Septima. To S^{r}
Thomas Roe. 1603. _S_
_Thom_: _B_, _L74_, _O'F_,_S_: _Tom_: _1635-69_]
[5 tooke _A10_, _B_, _L74_, _O'F_, _S_: take _1635-69_]
[14 I would _1635-69_: it will _A10_, _L74_, _S_]
[17 goes now so _Ed_: goe now so _B_: growes now so _1635-69_,
_O'F_: now goes thus _A10_, _L74_, _S_]
[21 favours, not their _B_, _L74_, _S_: favour, not the
_1635-69_]
[22 enough: _Ed_: enough, _1635-69_]
[23 had had] had not had _1635-69_, _O'F_]
[24 hate;] hate _1635_: hate, _1639-69_
now, _Ed_: now _1635-69_: not _A10_, _B_, _L74_, _S_]
[26 out:] out. _1635_]
[28 Which (which I dare foresee) nought _A10_, _B_, _L74_,
_S_: Which (I dare foresay) nothing _1635-69_]
[Willing, _Ed_: Willing _1635-69_: Willing; _A10_]
II.
_To the Countesse of Huntington. _
That unripe side of earth, that heavy clime
That gives us man up now, like _Adams_ time
Before he ate; mans shape, that would yet bee
(Knew they not it, and fear'd beasts companie)
So naked at this day, as though man there 5
From Paradise so great a distance were,
As yet the newes could not arrived bee
Of _Adams_ tasting the forbidden tree;
Depriv'd of that free state which they were in,
And wanting the reward, yet beare the sinne. 10
But, as from extreme hights who downward looks,
Sees men at childrens shapes, Rivers at brookes,
And loseth younger formes; so, to your eye,
These (Madame) that without your distance lie,
Must either mist, or nothing seeme to be, 15
Who are at home but wits mere _Atomi_.
But, I who can behold them move, and stay,
Have found my selfe to you, just their midway;
And now must pitty them; for, as they doe
Seeme sick to me, just so must I to you. 20
Yet neither will I vexe your eyes to see
A sighing Ode, nor crosse-arm'd Elegie.
I come not to call pitty from your heart,
Like some white-liver'd dotard that would part
Else from his slipperie soule with a faint groane, 25
And faithfully, (without you smil'd) were gone.
I cannot feele the tempest of a frowne,
I may be rais'd by love, but not throwne down.
Though I can pittie those sigh twice a day,
I hate that thing whispers it selfe away. 30
Yet since all love is fever, who to trees
Doth talke, doth yet in loves cold ague freeze.
'Tis love, but, with such fatall weaknesse made,
That it deftroyes it selfe with its owne shade.
Who first look'd sad, griev'd, pin'd, and shew'd his paine, 35
Was he that first taught women, to disdaine.
As all things were one nothing, dull and weake,
Vntill this raw disordered heape did breake,
And severall desires led parts away,
Water declin'd with earth, the ayre did stay, 40
Fire rose, and each from other but unty'd,
Themselves unprison'd were and purify'd:
So was love, first in vast confusion hid,
An unripe willingnesse which nothing did,
A thirst, an Appetite which had no ease, 45
That found a want, but knew not what would please.
What pretty innocence in those dayes mov'd?
Man ignorantly walk'd by her he lov'd;
Both sigh'd and enterchang'd a speaking eye,
Both trembled and were sick, both knew not why. 50
That naturall fearefulnesse that struck man dumbe,
Might well (those times consider'd) man become.
As all discoverers whose first assay
Findes but the place, after, the nearest way:
So passion is to womans love, about, 55
Nay, farther off, than when we first set out.
It is not love that sueth, or doth contend;
Love either conquers, or but meets a friend.
Man's better part consists of purer fire,
And findes it selfe allow'd, ere it desire. 60
Love is wise here, keepes home, gives reason sway,
And journeys not till it finde summer-way.
A weather-beaten Lover but once knowne,
Is sport for every girle to practise on.
Who strives through womans scornes, women to know, 65
Is lost, and seekes his shadow to outgoe;
It must bee sicknesse, after one disdaine,
Though he be call'd aloud, to looke againe.
Let others sigh, and grieve; one cunning sleight
Shall freeze my Love to Christall in a night. 70
I can love first, and (if I winne) love still;
And cannot be remov'd, unlesse she will.
It is her fault if I unsure remaine,
Shee onely can untie, and binde againe.
The honesties of love with ease I doe, 75
But am no porter for a tedious woo.
