I,
haplesse
soule, that never knew a frend
But to bewayle his too untimely end, 50
Whose hopes (cropt in the bud) have never come
But to sitt weeping on a sencelesse tombe,
That hides not dust enough to count the teares
Which I have fruitlesse spent in so few yeares,
I that have trusted those that would have given 55
For our deare Saviour and the Sonne of heaven
Ten times the valew Judas had of yore,
Onely to sell him for three peeces more;
I that have lov'd and trusted thus in vaine
Yet weepe for thee, and till the clowdes shall daigne 60
To throw on Egipt more then Nile ere sweld,
These teares of mine shalbee unparellell'd.
But to bewayle his too untimely end, 50
Whose hopes (cropt in the bud) have never come
But to sitt weeping on a sencelesse tombe,
That hides not dust enough to count the teares
Which I have fruitlesse spent in so few yeares,
I that have trusted those that would have given 55
For our deare Saviour and the Sonne of heaven
Ten times the valew Judas had of yore,
Onely to sell him for three peeces more;
I that have lov'd and trusted thus in vaine
Yet weepe for thee, and till the clowdes shall daigne 60
To throw on Egipt more then Nile ere sweld,
These teares of mine shalbee unparellell'd.
John Donne
_: your power _A11_: you
have power _Grosart and Chambers_]
[33 For (And) as by the springhead a man may (men often) know
_L77_, _TCD_, _and other MSS. _]
[34 streame . . . runs _L77_, _&c. _]
[44 did] shall _TCD and other MSS. _]
[47 sticks] strikes _Grosart and Chambers_]
[49 direct _L77_, _TCD_, _&c. _: ayme _A11_, _Grosart_, _and
Chambers_]
_Fragment of an Elegy. _
And though thy glasse a burning one become
And turne us both to ashes on her urne,
Yet to our glory till the later day
Our dust shall daunce like attomes in her ray.
And when the world shall in confusion burne, 5
And Kinges and peasantes scramble at an urne,
Like tapers new blowne out wee happy then
Will at her beames catch fire and live againe.
But this is sence, and some one may-be glad
That I so good a cause of sorrow had, 10
Will with all those whome I affect may dye
So I might please him with an elegie.
O let there never line of witt be read
To please the living that doth speake thee dead;
Some tender-harted mother good and mild, 15
Who on the deare grave of her tender child
So many sad teares hath beene knowne to rayne
As out of dust would mould him up againe,
And with hir plaintes enforce the wormes to place
Themselves like veynes so neatly on his face, 20
And every lymne, as if that they wer striving
To flatter hir with hope of his reviving:
Shee should read this, and hir true teares alone
Should coppy forth these sad lines on the stone
Which hides thee dead, and every gentle hart 25
That passeth by should of his teares impart
So great a portion, that if after times
Ruine more churches for the Clergyes crimes,
When any shall remove thy marble hence,
Which is lesse stone then hee that takes it thence, 30
Thou shalt appeare within thy tearefull cell
Much like a faire nymph bathing in a well.
But when they find thee dead so lovely fair,
Pitty and sorrow then shall straight repaire
And weepe beside thy grave with cipresse cround, 35
To see the secound world of beauty dround,
And add sufficient teares as they condole
'Twould make thy body swimme up to thy soule.
Such eyes should read the lines are writ of thee;
But such a losse should have no elegie 40
To palliate the wound wee tooke in hir,
Who rightly greeves admittes no comforter.
He that had tane to heart thy parting hence
Should have beene chain'd to Bedlam two houres thence,
And not a frind of his ere shed a teare 45
To see him for thy sake distracted there,
But hugge himselfe for loving such as hee
That could runne mad with greefe for loosing thee.
I, haplesse soule, that never knew a frend
But to bewayle his too untimely end, 50
Whose hopes (cropt in the bud) have never come
But to sitt weeping on a sencelesse tombe,
That hides not dust enough to count the teares
Which I have fruitlesse spent in so few yeares,
I that have trusted those that would have given 55
For our deare Saviour and the Sonne of heaven
Ten times the valew Judas had of yore,
Onely to sell him for three peeces more;
I that have lov'd and trusted thus in vaine
Yet weepe for thee, and till the clowdes shall daigne 60
To throw on Egipt more then Nile ere sweld,
These teares of mine shalbee unparellell'd.
He that hath lov'd, enjoy'd, and then beene crost,
Hath teares at will to mourne for what he lost;
He that hath trusted and his hope appeares 65
Wrong'd but by death may soone dissolve in teares;
But hee unhappy man whose love and trust
Nere met fruition nor a promise just,
For him (unlesse like thee hee deadly slepe)
'Tis easier to runn mad then 'tis to weepe; 70
And yet I can. Fall then yee mournefull showers,
And as old time leades on the winged howers,
Bee you their minutes, and let men forgett
To count their ages from the plague of sweat,
From eighty eight, the Poulder-plot, or when 75
Men were affrayd to talke of it againe;
And in their numerations be it sayd
Thus old was I when such a teare was shed,
And when that other fell a comett rose
And all the world tooke notice of my woes. 80
Yet finding them past cure, as doctores fly
Their patientes past all hope of remedy,
No charitable soule will once impart
One word of comfort to so sicke a heart;
But as a hurt deare beaten from the heard, 85
Men of my shadow allmost now affeard
Fly from my woes, that whilome wont to greet mee,
And well nigh thinke it ominous to meete mee.
Sad lines go yee abroad; go saddest muse,
And as some nations formerly did use 90
To lay their sicke men in the street, that those,
Who of the same disease had scapt the throwes,
Might minister releefe as they went by
To such as felt the selfsame malady,
So haplesse lynes fly through the fairest land, 95
And if ye light into some blessed hand,
That hath a heart as merry as the shine
Of golden dayes, yet wrong'd as much as mine,
Pitty may lead that happy man to mee,
And his experience worke a remedy 100
To those sad fittes which (spight of nature's lawes)
Torture a poore hart that out-lives the cause.
But this must never bee, nor is it fitt
An ague or some sickenes lesse then itt
Should glory in the death of such as hee, 105
That had a heart of flesh and valued thee.
Brave Roman, I admire thee that would'st dy
At no lesse rate then for an empery.
Some massy diamond from the center drawne,
For which all Europ wer an equall pawne, 110
Should (beaten into dust) bee drunke by him
That wanted courage good enough to swimme
Through seas of woes for thee, and much despise
To meet with death at any lower prize,
Whilst greefe alone workes that effect in mee, 115
And yet no greefe but for the losse of thee.
Fortune now doe thy worst, for I have gott
By this her death so strong an antidote,
That all thy future crosses shall not have
More then an angry smile, nor shall the grave 120
Glory in my last day: these lines shall give
To us a second life, and we will live
To pull the distaffe from the hand of fate;
And spinn our own thrides for so long a date,
That death shall never seize uppon our fame 125
Till this shall perish in the whole world's frame.
[Fragment of an Elegy. _From_ _P_, _where it appears as
portion of an 'heroical epistle' from Lady Penelope Rich to
Sir Philip Sidney_: _punctuation Ed. _]
<_Farewel, ye guilded follies. _>
Farewel ye guilded follies, pleasing troubles,
Farewel ye honour'd rags, ye glorious bubbles;
Fame's but a hollow echo, gold pure clay,
Honour the darling but of one short day.
Beauty (th'eyes idol) but a damasked skin, 5
State but a golden prison, to keepe in
And torture free-born minds; imbroidered trains
Meerly but Pageants, proudly swelling vains,
And blood ally'd to greatness, is a loane
Inherited, not purchased, not our own. 10
Fame, honor, beauty, state, train, blood and birth,
Are but the fading blossomes of the earth.
I would be great, but that the Sun doth still
Level his rayes against the rising hill:
I would be high, but see the proudest Oak 15
Most subject to the rending Thunder-stroke;
I would be rich, but see men too unkind
Dig in the bowels of the richest mine;
I would be wise, but that I often see
The Fox suspected whilst the Ass goes free; 20
I would be fair, but see the fair and proud
Like the bright sun, oft setting in a cloud;
I would be poor, but know the humble grass
Still trampled on by each unworthy Asse:
Rich, hated; wise, suspected; scorn'd, if poor; 25
Great, fear'd; fair, tempted; high, stil envied more:
I have wish'd all, but now I wish for neither,
Great, high, rich, wise, nor fair, poor I'l be rather.
have power _Grosart and Chambers_]
[33 For (And) as by the springhead a man may (men often) know
_L77_, _TCD_, _and other MSS. _]
[34 streame . . . runs _L77_, _&c. _]
[44 did] shall _TCD and other MSS. _]
[47 sticks] strikes _Grosart and Chambers_]
[49 direct _L77_, _TCD_, _&c. _: ayme _A11_, _Grosart_, _and
Chambers_]
_Fragment of an Elegy. _
And though thy glasse a burning one become
And turne us both to ashes on her urne,
Yet to our glory till the later day
Our dust shall daunce like attomes in her ray.
And when the world shall in confusion burne, 5
And Kinges and peasantes scramble at an urne,
Like tapers new blowne out wee happy then
Will at her beames catch fire and live againe.
But this is sence, and some one may-be glad
That I so good a cause of sorrow had, 10
Will with all those whome I affect may dye
So I might please him with an elegie.
O let there never line of witt be read
To please the living that doth speake thee dead;
Some tender-harted mother good and mild, 15
Who on the deare grave of her tender child
So many sad teares hath beene knowne to rayne
As out of dust would mould him up againe,
And with hir plaintes enforce the wormes to place
Themselves like veynes so neatly on his face, 20
And every lymne, as if that they wer striving
To flatter hir with hope of his reviving:
Shee should read this, and hir true teares alone
Should coppy forth these sad lines on the stone
Which hides thee dead, and every gentle hart 25
That passeth by should of his teares impart
So great a portion, that if after times
Ruine more churches for the Clergyes crimes,
When any shall remove thy marble hence,
Which is lesse stone then hee that takes it thence, 30
Thou shalt appeare within thy tearefull cell
Much like a faire nymph bathing in a well.
But when they find thee dead so lovely fair,
Pitty and sorrow then shall straight repaire
And weepe beside thy grave with cipresse cround, 35
To see the secound world of beauty dround,
And add sufficient teares as they condole
'Twould make thy body swimme up to thy soule.
Such eyes should read the lines are writ of thee;
But such a losse should have no elegie 40
To palliate the wound wee tooke in hir,
Who rightly greeves admittes no comforter.
He that had tane to heart thy parting hence
Should have beene chain'd to Bedlam two houres thence,
And not a frind of his ere shed a teare 45
To see him for thy sake distracted there,
But hugge himselfe for loving such as hee
That could runne mad with greefe for loosing thee.
I, haplesse soule, that never knew a frend
But to bewayle his too untimely end, 50
Whose hopes (cropt in the bud) have never come
But to sitt weeping on a sencelesse tombe,
That hides not dust enough to count the teares
Which I have fruitlesse spent in so few yeares,
I that have trusted those that would have given 55
For our deare Saviour and the Sonne of heaven
Ten times the valew Judas had of yore,
Onely to sell him for three peeces more;
I that have lov'd and trusted thus in vaine
Yet weepe for thee, and till the clowdes shall daigne 60
To throw on Egipt more then Nile ere sweld,
These teares of mine shalbee unparellell'd.
He that hath lov'd, enjoy'd, and then beene crost,
Hath teares at will to mourne for what he lost;
He that hath trusted and his hope appeares 65
Wrong'd but by death may soone dissolve in teares;
But hee unhappy man whose love and trust
Nere met fruition nor a promise just,
For him (unlesse like thee hee deadly slepe)
'Tis easier to runn mad then 'tis to weepe; 70
And yet I can. Fall then yee mournefull showers,
And as old time leades on the winged howers,
Bee you their minutes, and let men forgett
To count their ages from the plague of sweat,
From eighty eight, the Poulder-plot, or when 75
Men were affrayd to talke of it againe;
And in their numerations be it sayd
Thus old was I when such a teare was shed,
And when that other fell a comett rose
And all the world tooke notice of my woes. 80
Yet finding them past cure, as doctores fly
Their patientes past all hope of remedy,
No charitable soule will once impart
One word of comfort to so sicke a heart;
But as a hurt deare beaten from the heard, 85
Men of my shadow allmost now affeard
Fly from my woes, that whilome wont to greet mee,
And well nigh thinke it ominous to meete mee.
Sad lines go yee abroad; go saddest muse,
And as some nations formerly did use 90
To lay their sicke men in the street, that those,
Who of the same disease had scapt the throwes,
Might minister releefe as they went by
To such as felt the selfsame malady,
So haplesse lynes fly through the fairest land, 95
And if ye light into some blessed hand,
That hath a heart as merry as the shine
Of golden dayes, yet wrong'd as much as mine,
Pitty may lead that happy man to mee,
And his experience worke a remedy 100
To those sad fittes which (spight of nature's lawes)
Torture a poore hart that out-lives the cause.
But this must never bee, nor is it fitt
An ague or some sickenes lesse then itt
Should glory in the death of such as hee, 105
That had a heart of flesh and valued thee.
Brave Roman, I admire thee that would'st dy
At no lesse rate then for an empery.
Some massy diamond from the center drawne,
For which all Europ wer an equall pawne, 110
Should (beaten into dust) bee drunke by him
That wanted courage good enough to swimme
Through seas of woes for thee, and much despise
To meet with death at any lower prize,
Whilst greefe alone workes that effect in mee, 115
And yet no greefe but for the losse of thee.
Fortune now doe thy worst, for I have gott
By this her death so strong an antidote,
That all thy future crosses shall not have
More then an angry smile, nor shall the grave 120
Glory in my last day: these lines shall give
To us a second life, and we will live
To pull the distaffe from the hand of fate;
And spinn our own thrides for so long a date,
That death shall never seize uppon our fame 125
Till this shall perish in the whole world's frame.
[Fragment of an Elegy. _From_ _P_, _where it appears as
portion of an 'heroical epistle' from Lady Penelope Rich to
Sir Philip Sidney_: _punctuation Ed. _]
<_Farewel, ye guilded follies. _>
Farewel ye guilded follies, pleasing troubles,
Farewel ye honour'd rags, ye glorious bubbles;
Fame's but a hollow echo, gold pure clay,
Honour the darling but of one short day.
Beauty (th'eyes idol) but a damasked skin, 5
State but a golden prison, to keepe in
And torture free-born minds; imbroidered trains
Meerly but Pageants, proudly swelling vains,
And blood ally'd to greatness, is a loane
Inherited, not purchased, not our own. 10
Fame, honor, beauty, state, train, blood and birth,
Are but the fading blossomes of the earth.
I would be great, but that the Sun doth still
Level his rayes against the rising hill:
I would be high, but see the proudest Oak 15
Most subject to the rending Thunder-stroke;
I would be rich, but see men too unkind
Dig in the bowels of the richest mine;
I would be wise, but that I often see
The Fox suspected whilst the Ass goes free; 20
I would be fair, but see the fair and proud
Like the bright sun, oft setting in a cloud;
I would be poor, but know the humble grass
Still trampled on by each unworthy Asse:
Rich, hated; wise, suspected; scorn'd, if poor; 25
Great, fear'd; fair, tempted; high, stil envied more:
I have wish'd all, but now I wish for neither,
Great, high, rich, wise, nor fair, poor I'l be rather.
