John Donne - Delphi Poets Series (19 page)

IN EUNDEM MACARONICUM

QUOT, dos haec, Linguists perfetti, Disticha fairont,
  Tot cuerdos Statesmen, hic livre fara tuus
Es sat a my l’honneur estre hic inteso; car I leave
  L’honra, de personne n’estre creduto, tibi.

EXPLICIT JOANNES DONES.

MARRIAGE SONGS

CONTENTS

EPITHALAMION ON THE LADY ELIZABETH AND COUNT PALATINE BEING MARRIED ON ST. VALENTINE’S DAY.

ECLOGUE AT THE MARRIAGE OF THE EARL OF SOMERSET.

EPITHALAMION MADE AT LINCOLN’S INN.

EPITHALAMION ON THE LADY ELIZABETH AND COUNT PALATINE BEING MARRIED ON ST. VALENTINE’S DAY.

I

HAIL Bishop Valentine, whose day this is;
    All the air is thy diocese,
    And all the chirping choristers
And other birds are thy parishioners;
    Thou marriest every year
The lyric lark, and the grave whispering dove,
The sparrow that neglects his life for love,
The household bird with the red stomacher;
    Thou makest the blackbird speed as soon,
As doth the goldfinch, or the halcyon;
The husband cock looks out, and straight is sped,
And meets his wife, which brings her feather-bed.
This day more cheerfully than ever shine;
This day, which might enflame thyself, old Valentine.

II.

Till now, thou warmd’st with multiplying loves
    Two larks, two sparrows, or two doves;
    All that is nothing unto this;
For thou this day couplest two phoenixes;
    Thou makst a taper see
What the sun never saw, and what the ark
 — Which was of fouls and beasts the cage and park —
Did not contain, one bed contains, through thee;
    Two phoenixes, whose joined breasts
Are unto one another mutual nests,
Where motion kindles such fires as shall give
Young phoenixes, and yet the old shall live;
Whose love and courage never shall decline,
But make the whole year through, thy day, O Valentine.

III.

Up then, fair phoenix bride, frustrate the sun;
    Thyself from thine affection
    Takest warmth enough, and from thine eye
All lesser birds will take their jollity.
       Up, up, fair bride, and call
Thy stars from out their several boxes, take
Thy rubies, pearls, and diamonds forth, and make
Thyself a constellation of them all;
    And by their blazing signify
That a great princess falls, but doth not die.
Be thou a new star, that to us portends
Ends of much wonder; and be thou those ends.
Since thou dost this day in new glory shine,
May all men date records from this day, Valentine.

IV.

Come forth, come forth, and as one glorious flame
    Meeting another grows the same,
    So meet thy Frederick, and so
To an inseparable union go,
    Since separation
Falls not on such things as are infinite,
Nor things, which are but one, can disunite.
You’re twice inseparable, great, and one;
    Go then to where the bishop stays,
To make you one, his way, which divers ways
Must be effected; and when all is past,
And that you’re one, by hearts and hands made fast,
You two have one way left, yourselves to entwine,
Besides this bishop’s knot, of Bishop Valentine.

V.

But O, what ails the sun, that here he stays,
    Longer to-day than other days?
    Stays he new light from these to get?
And finding here such stars, is loth to set?
    And why do you two walk,
So slowly paced in this procession?
Is all your care but to be look’d upon,
And be to others spectacle, and talk?
    The feast with gluttonous delays
Is eaten, and too long their meat they praise;
The masquers come late, and I think, will stay,
Like fairies, till the cock crow them away.
Alas! did not antiquity assign
A night as well as day, to thee, old Valentine?

VI.

They did, and night is come; and yet we see
    Formalities retarding thee.
    What mean these ladies, which — as though
They were to take a clock in pieces — go
    So nicely about the bride?
A bride, before a “ Good-night” could be said,
Should vanish from her clothes into her bed,
As souls from bodies steal, and are not spied.
    But now she’s laid; what though she be?
Yet there are more delays, for where is he?
He comes and passeth through sphere after sphere;
First her sheets, then her arms, then anywhere.
Let not this day, then, but this night be thine;
Thy day was but the eve to this, O Valentine.

VII.

Here lies a she sun, and a he moon there;
    She gives the best light to his sphere;
    Or each is both, and all, and so
They unto one another nothing owe;
    And yet they do, but are
So just and rich in that coin which they pay,
That neither would, nor needs forbear, nor stay;
Neither desires to be spared nor to spare.
    They quickly pay their debt, and then
Take no acquittances, but pay again;
They pay, they give, they lend, and so let fall
No such occasion to be liberal.
More truth, more courage in these two do shine,
Than all thy turtles have and sparrows, Valentine.

VIII.

And by this act these two phoenixes
    Nature again restorèd is;
    For since these two are two no more,
There’s but one phoenix still, as was before.
    Rest now at last, and we —
As satyrs watch the sun’s uprise — will stay
Waiting when your eyes opened let out day,
Only desired because your face we see.
    Others near you shall whispering speak,
And wagers lay, at which side day will break,
And win by observing, then, whose hand it is
That opens first a curtain, hers or his:
This will be tried to-morrow after nine,
Till which hour, we thy day enlarge, O Valentine.

ECLOGUE AT THE MARRIAGE OF THE EARL OF SOMERSET.

1613, DECEMBER 26.

ALLOPHANES  FINDING  IDIOS  IN  THE  COUNTRY  IN CHRISTMAS TIME,  REPREHENDS  HIS  ABSENCE FROM COURT, AT THE MARRIAGE OF THE EARL OF  SOMERSET;   IDIOS  GIVES AN ACCOUNT OF HIS  PURPOSE  THEREIN,  AND  OF HIS  ACTIONS THERE.

ALLOPHANES.
UNSEASONABLE man, statue of ice,
What could to countries solitude entice
Thee, in this year’s cold and decrepit time?
Nature’s instinct draws to the warmer clime
Even smaller birds, who by that courage dare
In numerous fleets sail through their sea, the air.
What delicacy can in fields appear,
Whilst Flora herself doth a frieze jerkin wear?
Whilst winds do all the trees and hedges strip
Of leaves, to furnish rods enough to whip
Thy madness from thee, and all springs by frost
Have taken cold, and their sweet murmurs lost?
If thou thy faults or fortunes wouldst lament
With just solemnity, do it in Lent.
At court the spring already advanced is,
The sun stays longer up; and yet not his
The glory is; far other, other fires.
First, zeal to prince and state, then love’s desires
Burn in one breast, and like heaven’s two great lights,
The first doth govern days, the other, nights.
And then that early light which did appear
Before the sun and moon created were,
The princes favour is diffused o’er all,
From which all fortunes, names, and natures fall.
Then from those wombs of stars, the bride’s bright eyes,
At every glance, a constellation flies,
And sows the court with stars, and doth prevent
In light and power, the all-eyed firmament.
First her eyes kindle other ladies’ eyes,
Then from their beams their jewels’ lustres rise,
And from their jewels torches do take fire,
And all is warmth, and light, and good desire.
Most other courts, alas!  are like to hell,
Where in dark places, fire without light doth dwell;
Or but like stoves; for lust and envy get
Continual, but artificial heat.
Here zeal and love grown one all clouds digest,
And make our court an everlasting east.
And canst thou be from thence?

    IDIOS.          No, I am there;
As heaven — to men disposed — is everywhere,
So are those courts, whose princes animate
Not only all their house but all their state.
Let no man think, because he’s full, he hath all.
Kings — as their pattern, God — are liberal
Not only in fullness, but capacity,
Enlarging narrow men to feel and see,
And comprehend the blessings they bestow.
So, reclused hermits oftentimes do know
More of heaven’s glory than a worldling can.
As man is of the world, the heart of man
Is an epitome of God’s great book
Of creatures, and man need no farther look;
So is the country of courts, where sweet peace doth,
As their one common soul, give life to both;
And am I then from court?

   ALLOPHANES.     Dreamer, thou art:
Think’st thou, fantastic, that thou hast a part
In the Indian fleet, because thou hast
A little spice or amber in thy taste?
Because thou art not frozen, art thou warm?
Seest thou all good, because thou seest no harm?
The earth doth in her inner bowels hold
Stuff well-disposed, and which would fain be gold;
But never shall, except it chance to lie
So upward, that heaven gild it with his eye.
As, for divine things, faith comes from above,
So, for best civil use, all tinctures move
From higher powers; from God religion springs,
Wisdom and honour from the use of kings:
Then unbeguile thyself, and know with me,
That angels, though on earth employ’d they be,
Are still in heaven, so is he still at home
That doth abroad to honest actions come.
Chide thyself then, O fool, which yesterday
Mightst have read more than all thy books bewray;
Hast thou a history, which doth present
A court, where all affections do assent
Unto the king’s, and that that king’s are just;
And where it is no levity to trust;
Where there is no ambition, but to obey;
Where men need whisper nothing, and yet may;
Where the king’s favours are so placed, that all
Find that the king therein is liberal
To them, in him, because his favours bend
To virtue, to the which they all pretend?
Thou hast no such; yet here was this, and more.
An earnest lover, wise then, and before,
Our little Cupid hath sued livery,
And is no more in his minority;
He is admitted now into that breast
Where the king’s counsels and his secrets rest.
What hast thou lost, O ignorant man?

    IDIOS.       I knew
All this, and only therefore I withdrew.
To know and feel all this, and not to have
Words to express it, makes a man a grave
Of his own thoughts; I would not therefore stay
At a great feast, having no grace to say.
And yet I ‘scaped not here; for being come
Full of the common joy, I utter’d some.
Read then this nuptial song, which was not made
Either the court or men’s hearts to invade;
But since I am dead and buried, I could frame
No epitaph, which might advance my fame
So much as this poor song, which testifies
I did unto that day some sacrifice.
  

I.

THE TIME OF THE MARRIAGE.

Thou art reprieved, old year, thou shalt not die;
  Though thou upon thy death-bed lie,
  And should’st within five days expire,
Yet thou art rescued by a mightier fire,
  Than thy old soul, the sun,
When he doth in his largest circle run.
The passage of the west or east would thaw,
And open wide their easy liquid jaw
To all our ships, could a Promethean art
Either unto the northern pole impart
The fire of these inflaming eyes, or of this loving 
      heart.
  

II.

EQUALITY OF PERSONS.

But undiscerning Muse, which heart, which eyes,
  In this new couple, dost thou prize,
  When his eye as inflaming is
As hers, and her heart loves as well as his?
  Be tried by beauty, and then
The bridegroom is a maid, and not a man;
If by that manly courage they be tried,
Which scorns unjust opinion; then the bride
Becomes a man.   Should chance or envy’s art
Divide these two, whom nature scarce did part,
Since both have the inflaming eye, and both the
  loving heart?
  

III.

RAISING OF THE BRIDEGROOM.

Though it be some divorce to think of you
  Single, so much one are you two,
  Let me here contemplate thee,
First, cheerful bridegroom, and first let me see,
  How thou prevent’st the sun,
And his red foaming horses dost outrun;
How, having laid down in thy Sovereign’s breast
All businesses, from thence to reinvest
Them when these triumphs cease, thou forward art
To show to her, who doth the like impart,
The fire of thy inflaming eyes, and of thy loving heart.
  

IV.

RAISING OF THE BRIDE.

But now to thee, fair bride, it is some wrong,
  To think thou wert in bed so long.
  Since soon thou liest down first, ‘tis fit
Thou in first rising shouldst allow for it.
  Powder thy radiant hair,
Which if without such ashes thou wouldst wear,
Thou which, to all which come to look upon,
Wert meant for Phoebus, wouldst be Phaëton.
For our ease, give thine eyes th’ unusual part
Of joy, a tear; so quench’d, thou mayst impart,
To us that come, thy inflaming eyes; to him, thy 
      loving heart.
  

V.

HER APPARELLING.

Thus thou descend’st to our infirmity,
  Who can the sun in water see.
  So dost thou, when in silk and gold
Thou cloud’st thyself; since we which do behold
  Are dust and worms, ‘tis just,
Our objects be the fruits of worms and dust.
Let every jewel be a glorious star,
Yet stars are not so pure as their spheres are;
And though thou stoop, to appear to us, in part,
Still in that picture thou entirely art,
Which thy inflaming eyes have made within his 
      loving heart.