 | Poems, By J. D. [i.e. John Donne] |  |
76
To Sr Henry Wootton.
Here's no more newes, then vertue, 'I may as well
Tell you Calis, or St Michaels tale for newes, as tell
That vice doth here habitually dwell.
Tell you Calis, or St Michaels tale for newes, as tell
That vice doth here habitually dwell.
Yet, as to'get stomachs, we walke up and downe,
And toyle to sweeten rest, so, may God frowne,
If, but to loth both, I haunt Court, or Towne.
And toyle to sweeten rest, so, may God frowne,
If, but to loth both, I haunt Court, or Towne.
For here no one is from the'extremitie
Of vice, by any other reason free,
But that the next to'him, still, is worse then hee.
Of vice, by any other reason free,
But that the next to'him, still, is worse then hee.
In this worlds warfare, they whom rugged Fate,
(Gods Commissary,) doth so throughly hate,
As in'the Courts Squadron to marshall their state.
(Gods Commissary,) doth so throughly hate,
As in'the Courts Squadron to marshall their state.
If they stand arm'd with seely honesty,
With wishing prayers, and neat integritie,
Like Indians 'gainst Spanish hosts they bee.
With wishing prayers, and neat integritie,
Like Indians 'gainst Spanish hosts they bee.
Suspitious boldnesse to this place belongs,
And to'have as many eares as all have tongues;
Tender to know, tough to acknowledge wrongs.
And to'have as many eares as all have tongues;
Tender to know, tough to acknowledge wrongs.
77
Beleeve mee Sir, in my youths giddiest dayes,
When to be like the Court, was a playes praise,
Playes were not so like Courts, as Courts'are like playes.
When to be like the Court, was a playes praise,
Playes were not so like Courts, as Courts'are like playes.
Then let us at these mimicke antiques jeast,
Whose deepest projects, and egregious gests
Are but dull Moralls of a game at Chests.
Whose deepest projects, and egregious gests
Are but dull Moralls of a game at Chests.
But now 'tis incongruity to smile,
Therefore I end; and bid farewell a while,
At Court, though from Court, were the better stile:
Therefore I end; and bid farewell a while,
At Court, though from Court, were the better stile:
| Poems, By J. D. [i.e. John Donne] | |