 | Poems, By J. D. [i.e. John Donne] |  |
To M.T. W.
Pregnant again with th'old twins Hope, and Feare,
Oft have I askt for thee, both how and where
Thou wert, and what my hopes of letters were;
Oft have I askt for thee, both how and where
Thou wert, and what my hopes of letters were;
As in our streets sly beggers narrowly
Watch motions of the givers hand or eye,
And evermore conceive some hope thereby.
Watch motions of the givers hand or eye,
And evermore conceive some hope thereby.
96
And now thy Almes is given, thy letter'is read,
The body risen againe, the which was dead,
And thy poore starveling bountifully fed.
The body risen againe, the which was dead,
And thy poore starveling bountifully fed.
After this banquet my Soule doth say grace,
And praise thee for'it, and zealously imbrace
Thy love, though I thinke thy love in this case
To be as gluttons, which say 'midst their meat,
They love that best of which they most do eat.
And praise thee for'it, and zealously imbrace
Thy love, though I thinke thy love in this case
To be as gluttons, which say 'midst their meat,
They love that best of which they most do eat.
At once, from hence, my lines and I depart,
I to my soft still walks, they to my Heart;
I to the Nurse, they to the child of Art;
I to my soft still walks, they to my Heart;
I to the Nurse, they to the child of Art;
Yet as a firme house, though the Carpenter
Perish, doth stand: as an Embassadour
Lyes safe, how e'r his king be in danger:
Perish, doth stand: as an Embassadour
Lyes safe, how e'r his king be in danger:
So, though I languish, prest with Malancholy,
My verse, the strict Map of my misery,
Shall live to see that, for whose want I dye.
My verse, the strict Map of my misery,
Shall live to see that, for whose want I dye.
Therefore I envie them, and doe repent,
That from unhappy mee, things happy'are sent;
Yet as a Picture, or bare Sacrament,
Accept these lines, and if in them there be
Merit of love bestow that love on mee.
That from unhappy mee, things happy'are sent;
Yet as a Picture, or bare Sacrament,
Accept these lines, and if in them there be
Merit of love bestow that love on mee.
| Poems, By J. D. [i.e. John Donne] | |