Poems, Letters
Letters.
HEN. GOODEERE.
ETiam vulgari linguâ ſcriptae teſtantur literae nos amicorum meminiſſe, ſed alienâ, nos de illis meditari. In illis enim affulgent nobis de amicis cogitatiunculae, ſed ut matutinae ſtellae tranſeunt, & evaneſcunt: In his autē haeremus, & immoramur, & amicos uti ſolem ipſum permanentem nobiſcum degentemque contemplamur; Habes cur Latinè. Ipſius etiam ſcribendi audi rationem. Peto conſilium, in quo ſimul amicitiam profiteor meam, tuâmque agnoſco: Etenim non libenter noſmetipſos exuimus, aut in ingenij prudentiaeve dotibus aliorum nos fatemur indigos. Nec certè quicquam quiſquam (ſit modò ingenuus) ei denegabit à quo conſilium petiit. Quod enim divina ſapientia extremum charitatis terminum poſuerat, animam ponere, idem regularum Eccleſiae tractatores (quod ipſimet Canonici craſſam aequitatem vocant) de fama & honore cedendo aſſerunt & uſurpant. Certè, non tam beneficiis obnoxii quam conſiliis reddimur. Sed ad rem. Philoſophentur otioſiores, aut quibus otia ſua negotia appellare lubet: Nobis enim nos dudum perſpicui ſumus & feneſtrati. Eluceſcit mihi nova, nec inopportuna, nec inutilis (paulò quàm optaram fortaſsis magis inhonora) occaſio extera viſendi regna, liberoſ que perquam amantiſsimae conjugis chariſsima pignora, caetera que hujus aurae oblectamenta, aliquot ad annos relinquendi. De hoc ut tecum agerem te convenire cupio: Quod (etſi nec id recuſem) nollem in aedibus Barlotianis. Habeo cur abſtineam. Amicitiae enim nec veteris, nec ita ſtrictae munera paulò quàm deceat imprudentiori impetu mihi videor ibi peregiſſe. Prandere ſi vacat foras, aut caenare, horulamve perdere pomeridianam, aut matutinam liceat mihi illud apud Rabbinum Lincombum jam commoranti per te intelligere, & ſatis mihi fiet. Interim ſeponas ero chartulas meas, quas cum ſponſione citae redhibitionis (ut barbarè, ſed cum ingenioſiſſimo Appollinari loquar) accepiſti. Inter quas, ſi epigrammata mea Latina, & Catalogus librorum ſatyricus non ſunt, non ſunt; extremum iuditium, hoc eſt, manum ultimam jamjam ſubiturae ſunt. Earum nonnullae Purgatorium ſuum paſſurae, ut correctiores emanent. Alia quorum me inſcio in mundum erepſerunt, exempla tamen in archetypis igne abſumpta fatebuntur ſe à me ad Inferos damnata eſſe. Reliquae quae aut virgines ſunt (niſi quod à multis contrectatae) aut ita infoeliciter ſteriles, ut ab illis nulla ingenita ſunt exemplaria, penitus in annihilationem (quod flagitioſiſsimis non minatur Deus) corruent & dilabentur. Vale & amore meo fruere quem vetat fortuna ſola ne uti poſsis. Et niſi animo candido ingenuave mea libertate gaudere malis, habe tibi mancipium
JO. DONNE.
To Sir. H. G.
I Send not my Letters as tribute, nor intereſt, nor recompence, nor for commerce, nor as teſtimonialls of my love, nor provokers of yours, nor to juſtifie my cuſtome of writing, nor for a vent and utterance of my meditations; For my letters are either above or under all ſuch offices, yet I write very affectionately, and Lehide and accuſe my ſelfe of diminiſhing that affection which ſends them, when I aske my ſelfe why. Only I am ſure that I deſire that you might have in your hands letters of mine of all kindes, as conveyances and deliverers of mee to you, whether you accept me as a friend, or as a patient, or as a penitent, or as a Bedeſman, for I decline no juriſdiction, nor refuſe any tenure. I would not open any doore upon you, but looke in when you open it. Angells have not, nor affect not other knowledge of one another then they liſt to reveale to one another. It is then in this only, that friends are Angells, that they are capable and fit for ſuch revelations when they are offered. If at any time I ſeeme to ſtudy you more inquiſitively, it is for no other end but to know how to preſent you to God in my prayers, and what to aske of him for you; For even that holy exerciſe may not be done inopportunely, no nor importunely. I finde little errour in that Grecians counſell who ſayes, If thou aske any thing of God, offer no ſacrifice, nor aske elegantly, nor vehemently, but remember that thou would'ſt not give to ſuch an asker. Nor in his other countryman, who affirmes ſacrifice of blood to be ſo unproportionable to God, that perfumes, though much more ſpirituall, are too groſſe; Yea words which are our ſubtleſt and delicateſt outward creatures, being compoſed of thoughts and breath, are ſo muddy, ſo thicke, that our thoughts themſelves are ſo, becauſe (except at the firſt riſing) they are ever leavened with paſſions and affections. And, that advantage of neerer familiarity with God, which the Act of incarnation gave us, is grounded upon Gods aſſuming us, not our going to him. And, our acceſſes to his preſence are but his deſcents into us. And, when we get any thing by prayer, hee gave us before hand the thing and the petition: for, I ſcarce thinke any ineffectuall prayer free from both ſinne and the puniſhment of ſinne: Yet as God ſepoſed a ſeventh of our time for his exterior worſhip, and as his Chriſtian Church early preſented him a Type of the whole yeare in a Lent, and after impoſed the obligation of canonique houres, conſtituting therby morall Sabbaths every day, I am far frō dehorting thoſe fixed devotions: But I had rather it were beſtowed upon thanksgiving then petition, upon praiſe then prayer. Not that God is endeared by that, or wearied by this; All is one in the receiver, but not in the ſender. And thankes doth both offices. For, nothing doth ſo innocently provoke new graces, as gratitude. I would alſo rather make ſhort prayers then extend them, though God can neither bee ſurpriſed, nor beſieged: For, long prayers have more of the man, as ambition of eloquence, and a complacency in the worke, and more of the devill by often diſtractions: For, after in the beginning wee have well intreated God to hearken, we ſpeake no more to him. Even this letter is ſome example of ſuch infirmity; which being intended for a letter is extended and ſtrayed into a Homily. And whatſoever is not what it was purpoſed, is worſe. Therefore it ſhall at laſt end like a letter by aſſuring you I am &c.
To Sir H. G.
SIR,
NAture hath made al bodies like, by mingling and kneading up the ſame elements in every one. And amōgſt mē, the other nature, cuſtōe, hath made every mind like ſome other. We are patternes or copies, we inform, or imitate. But as he hath not preſētly attain'd to write a good hand, which hath equaled one excellent maſter in his A, another in his B, much leſſe hee which hath ſought all the excellent maſters, and employed all his time to exceede in one letter, becauſe not ſo much an excellency of any nor every one, as an evenneſſe and proportion, and reſpect to one another gives the perfection; So is no man vertuous by particular example. Not he which doth all actions to the patterne of the moſt valiant, or liberall, which Hiſtories afford: Nor he which chuſes from every one their beſt actions, and therupon doth ſomething like thoſe. Perchance ſuch may bee in via perficiendorum, which Divines allow to Monaſticall life, but not Perfectorum, which, by them, is only due to prelacy; For vertue is even, and continuall, and the ſame, and can therefore breake no where, nor admit ends, nor beginnings; It is not only not broken, but not tyed together. He is not vertuous, out of whoſe actions vou can pick an excellent one. Vice and her fruits may be ſeene, becauſe they are thick bodies, but not vertue, which is all light. And vices have ſwellings and fits, and noiſe, becauſe being extremes, they dwel far aſunder, and they maintaine both a foraine warre againſt vertue, and a civill againſt one another, and affect ſoveraignty, as vertue doth ſociety. The later Phyſitians ſay, that when our naturall inborne preſervative is corrupted or waſted, and muſt be reſtored by alike extracted from other bodies, the chiefe care is, that the mummy have in it no excelling quality, but an equally digeſted temper: And ſuch is true vertue. But men who have preferred money before all, thinke they deale honourably with vertue, if they compare her with money: And think, that as mony is not called baſe, til the allay exceed the pure; So they are vertuous enough, if they have enough to make their actions currant, which is, if either they get praiſe, or (in a lower abaſing) if they incurre not infamy or penalty. But you know who ſaid Anguſta innocentia eſt ad legem bonum eſſe, which rule being given for poſitive lawes, ſevere miſtakers apply even to Gods law, and (perchance againſt his commandement) binde themſelves to his counſailes, beyond his lawes. But they are worſe, that think that becauſe ſome men formerly waſtfull, live better with halfe their rents then they did with all, being now advantaged with diſcretion and experience, therefore our times need leſſe morall vertue then the firſt, becauſe we have Chriſtianity, which is the uſe and application of all vertue. As though our religion were but an art of thrift, to make a little vertue goe far. For as plentifull ſprings are fitteſt, and beſt become large Aqueducts, ſo doth much vertue ſuch a ſteward and officer as a Chriſtian. But I muſt not give you a Homily for a letter. I ſaid a great while ſince, that cuſtome made men like; We who have beene accuſtomed to one another are like in this, that we love not buſineſſe. This therefore ſhall not be to you nor me a buſie letter. I end with a probleme, whoſe errand is, to aske for his fellowes. I pray before you ingulfe your ſelfe in the Progreſſe, leave them for mee, and ſuch other of my papers as you will lend mee till your returne. And beſides this allegoricall lending, lend me truly your counſells. And love God and me, whileſt I love him and you.
To Sir H. G.
SIR,
THis Teuſday morning, which hath brought me to London, preſents mee with all your letters. Mee thought it was a rent day, I meane ſuch as yours, and not as mine. And yet ſuch too, when I conſidered how much I ought you for them. How good a mother, how fertile and abundant the underſtanding is, if ſhee have a good father. And how well friendſhip performes that office. For that which is denyed in other generations is done in this of yours. For hers is ſuperfaetation, child upon child, and, that which is more ſtrange, twinnes at a latter conception. If in my ſecond religion, friendſhip, I had a conſcience, either Errantem to miſtake good and bad, and indifferent, or Opinantem to be raviſhed by others opinions or examples, or Dubiam to adhere to neither part, or Scrupuloſam to encline to one, but upon reaſons light in themſelves or indiſcuſſed in mee (which are almoſt all the diſeaſes of conſcience) I might miſtake your often, long, and buſie letters, and feare you did but intreate me to have mercy upon you and ſpare you. For you know our court tooke the reſolution, that it was the beſt way to diſpatch the French Prince backe againe quickly, to receive him ſolemnely, ceremoniouſly; and expenſively, when he hoped a domeſtique and durable entertainment. I never meant to excell you in waight nor price, but in number and bulke I thought I might: Becauſe he may caſt up a greater ſumme who hath but forty ſmall moneyes, then hee with twenty Portugueſſes. The memory of friends, (I meane only for letters) neither enters ordinarily into buſied men, becauſe they are ever employed within, nor into men of pleaſure, becauſe they are never at home. For theſe wiſhes therefore which you wonne out of your pleaſure and recreation, you were as excuſable to mee if you writ ſeldome as Sir H. Wotton is under the oppreſſion of buſineſſe or the neceſſity of ſeeming ſo: Or more then hee, becauſe I hope you have both pleaſure and buſineſſe. Only to me, who have neither, this omiſſion were ſinne. For though writing be not of the precepts of friendſhip, but of the counſells: yet, as in ſome caſes to ſome men counſells become precepts, though not immediately from God, yet very roundly and quickly from his Church, (as ſelling and dividing goods in the firſt time, continence in the Romane Church, and order and decency in ours) ſo to mee who can doe nothing elſe, it ſeemes to binde my conſcience to write. And it is ſinne to doe againſt the conſcience, though that erre; Yet no mans letters might be better wanted then mine, ſince my whole letter is nothing elſe but a confeſſion that I ſhould and would write. I ought you a letter in verſe before by mine owne promiſe, & now that you thinke you have hedged in that debt by a greater by your letter in verſe I thinke it now moſt ſeaſonable and faſhionall for mee to breake. At leaſt, to write preſently were to accuſe my ſelfe of not having read yours ſo often as ſuch a letter deſerves from you to mee. To make my debt greater (for ſuch is the deſire of all, who cannot or meane not to pay) I pray reade theſe two problemes: for ſuch light flaſhes as theſe have beene my hawkings in my Surry journies. I accompany them with another ragge of verſes, worthy of that name for the ſmalneſſe, and age, for it hath long lyen among my other papers, and laughs at them that have adventured to you: for I thinke till now you ſaw it not, and neither you, nor it ſhould repent it. Sir, if I were any thing, my love to you might multiply it, and dignifie it: But infinite nothings are but one ſuch: Yet ſince even Chymeraes have ſome name, and titles, I am alſo
Yours.
To Sr. H. G.
SIR,
IN the hiſtory or ſtile of friendſhip, which is beſt written both in deeds and words, a letter which is of a mixed nature, and hath ſomething of both is a mixt parentheſis: It may be left out, yet it contributes, though not to the beeing, yet to the verdure, and freſhneſſe thereof. Letters have truly the ſame office, as oathes. As theſe amongſt light and empty men, are but fillings, and pauſes, and interjections: but with waightier, they are ſad atteſtations: So are letters, to ſome complement, and obligation to others. For mine, as I never authorized my ſervant to lye in my behalfe (for if it were officious in him, it might be worſe in mee) ſo I allow my letters much leſſe that civill diſhoneſty, both becauſe they goe from mee more conſiderately, and becauſe they are permanent, for in them I may ſpeake to you in your chamber a yeare hence before I know not whom, and not heare my ſelfe. They ſhall therefore ever keepe the ſincerity and intemerateneſſe of the fountaine whence they are derived. And as whereſoever theſe leaves fall, the root is in my heart, ſo ſhall they, as that ſucks good affections towards you there, have ever true impreſſions thereof. Thus much information is in very leaves, that they can tell what the tree is, and theſe can tell you I am a friend and an honeſt man. Of what generall uſe, the fruit ſhould ſpeake, and I have none: and of what particular profit to you, your application and experimenting ſhould tell you, and you can make none of ſuch a nothing; Yet even of barren Sicamores, ſuch as I, there were uſe, if either any light flaſhings, or ſcorching vehemencies, or ſudden ſhowers made you need ſo ſhadowie an example or Remembrancer. But (Sir) your fortune and minde do you this happy injury, that they make all kinde of fruits uſeleſſe unto you; Therefore I have placed my love wiſely where I need communicate nothing.
All this, though perchance you reade it not till Michaelmas, was told you at Michin. 15. Aug. 1607.
To Sr H. G.
SIR,
IT ſhould be no interruption to your pleaſures to heare mee often ſay that I love you, and that you are as much my meditation as my ſelfe: I often compare not you and mee, but the Spheare in which your reſolutions are, and my wheele; both I hope concentrique to God: for me thinkes the new Aſtronomie is thus applyable well, that wee which are a little earth ſhould rather move towards God, then that hee which is fulfilling, and can come no whither, ſhould move towards us. To your life full of variety, nothing is old, nor new to mine. And as to that life, all ſtickings and heſitations ſeeme ſtupid and ſtony, ſo to this, all fluid ſlipperineſſes and tranſitory migrations ſeeme giddy and feathery. In that life one is ever in the porch or poſterne, going in or out, never within his houſe, himſelf: It is a garment made of remnants, a life raveld out into ends, a line diſcontinued, & a number of ſmall wretched points; uſeleſſe, becauſe they concurre not: A life built of paſt & future, not propoſing any conſtant preſent. They have more pleaſures then wee, but not more pleaſure: they joy oftner, wee longer; and no man but of ſo much underſtanding as may deliver him from being a foole, would change with a mad-man, which had a better proportion of wit in his often Lucidis. You know, they which dwell fartheſt from the Sunne, if in any convenient diſtance, have longer dayes, better appetites, better digeſtion, better growth, and longer life. And all theſe advantages have their mindes who are well removed from the ſcorchings, and dazlings, and exhalings of the worlds glory; but neither of our lifes are in ſuch extremes; for you living at Court without ambition, which would burne you, or envy which would deveſt others, live in the Sunne, not in the fire; and I which live in the Country without ſtupifying, am not in darkneſſe, but in ſhadow, which is not no light, but a pallid, watriſh, and diluted one. As all ſhadowes are of one colour if you reſpect the body from which they are caſt (for our ſhadows upon clay will be dirty, and in a garden greene, and flowery,) ſo all retyrings into a ſhadowie life are alike from all cauſes, and alike ſubject to the barbarouſneſſe and inſipid dulnes of the countrie: Only the employment, and that upon which you caſt and beſtow your pleaſure, buſineſſe, or bookes, gives it the tincture, and beauty. But truly whereſoever we are, if wee can but tell our ſelves truly what & where we would be, we may make any ſtate & place ſuch: For we are ſo compoſed, that if abundance, or glory ſcorch & melt us, we have an earthly cave, our bodies to go into by conſideration, & coole our ſelves: and if we be frozen, and contracted with lower and darke fortunes, wee have within us a torch, a ſoule, lighter and warmer then any without: we are therefore our owne umbrellas, and our owne Sun…. Theſe Sir, are the Sallads, and Onyons of Michin, ſent to you with as wholſome affection as your other friends ſend Melons and Quelque choſes from Court and London. If I preſent you not as good dyet as they, I would yet ſay grace to theirs, and bid much good do it you. I ſend you, with this, a letter which I ſent to the Counteſſe. It is not my uſe nor duty to do ſo. But for your having of it, there were but two conſents, and I am ſure you have mine, and you are ſure you have hers: I alſo writ to her Ladiſhip for the verſes ſhee ſhewed in the garden, which I did not onelyonly to extort them, nor onelyonly to keepe my promiſe of writing, for that I had done in the other letter, and perchance ſhee hath forgotten the promiſe, nor onelyonly becauſe I thinke my letters juſt good enough for a Progreſſe, but becauſe I would write apace to her, whilſt it is poſſible to expreſſe that which I yet know of her, for by this growth I ſee how ſoone ſhe will be ineffable.
To the Counteſſe of Bedford.
Happieſt and worthyeſt Lady,
I Do not remember that ever I have ſeen a petition in verſe, I would not therefore be ſingular, nor adde theſe to your other papers. I have yet adventured ſo neare as to make a petitiō for verſe, It is for thoſe your Ladiſhip did me the honor to ſee in a Twicknam garden, except you repēt your making & having mended your judgement by thinking worſe, that is, better, becauſe juſter, of their ſubject. They muſt needs be an excellent exerciſe of your wit, which ſpeake ſo well of ſo ill. I humbly begge them of your Ladiſhip, with two ſuch promiſes, as to any other of your compoſitions were threatnings: That I will not ſhew them, & that I will not beleeve them; And nothing ſhould be ſo uſed which comes from your braine or heart. If I ſhould confeſſe a fault in the boldneſſe of asking them, or make a fault by doing it in a longer letter, your Ladiſhip might uſe your ſtile and old faſhion of the Court towards mee, and pay mee with a pardon. Here therefore I humbly kiſſe your Ladiſhips faire learned, hands and wiſh you good wiſhes and ſpeedy grants.
Your Ladiſhips ſervant JO. DONNE.
To Sr H. G.
SIR,
BEcauſe I am in a place and ſeaſon where I ſee every thing bud forth, I muſt do ſo too, and vent ſome of my meditations to you; the rather becauſe all other buds being yet without taſte or vertue, my letters may be like them. The pleaſantnes of the ſeaſon diſpleaſes mee. Every thing refreſhes, and I wither, and I grow older and not better. My ſtrength diminiſhes, and my load growes, and being to paſſe more and more ſtormes, I finde that I have not only caſt out all my ballaſt which nature and time gives, reaſon & diſcretion, & ſo am as empty & light as vanity can make me, but I have over-fraught my ſelfe with vice, and ſo am riddingly ſubject to two contrary wrackes, ſinking and over-ſetting, and under the iniquity of ſuch a diſeaſe as enforces the patient when hee is almoſt ſtarv'd, not onelyonly to faſt, but to purge; for I have much to take in, and much to caſt out. Sometimes I thinke it eaſier to diſcharge my ſelfe of vice then of vanity, as one may ſooner carry the fire out of a roome then the ſmoke: And then I ſee it was a new vanity to thinke ſo. And when I thinke ſometimes, that vanity, becauſe it is thinne and airy, may be expelled with vertue or buſineſſe, or ſubſtantiall vice; I finde that I give entrance thereby to new vices. Certainly as the earth & water, one ſad, the other fluid, make but one body: ſo to vice, and vanity, there is but one Centrum morbi. And that which later Phyſitiās ſay of our bodies, is fitter for our mindes; for that which they call deſtruction, which is a corruption and want of thoſe fundamentall parts whereof we conſiſt, is vice: And that Collectio Stercorum, which is but the Excrement of that corruption, is our vanity and indiſcretion. Both theſe have but one root in mee, and muſt bee pulled out at once, or never. But I am ſo far from digging to it, that I know not where it is. For it is not in mine eyes only, but in every ſenſe, nor in my concupiſcence only, but in every power and affection. Sir, I was willing to let you ſee how impotent a man you love, not to diſhearten you from doing ſo ſtill (for my vices are not infectious, nor wandring, They came not yeſterday, nor meane to goe away to day: They Inne not, but dwell in mee, and ſee themſelves ſo welcome, and finde in mee ſo good bad company of one another, that they will not change, eſpecially to one not apprehenſive, nor eaſily acceſſible) but I doe it, that your counſell might cure mee, and if you deny that, your example ſhall, for I will as much ſtrive to be like you as I will wiſh you to continue good.
To Sir H. G.
SIR,
I Hope you are now welcome to London, and well, and well comforted in your fathers health and love, and well contented that we aske you how you doe, and tell you how we are, which yet I cannot of my ſelfe; If I knew that I were ill, I were well; For we conſiſt of three parts, a Soule, and Body, and Mind: which I call thoſe thoughts and affections and paſſions, which neither Soule nor Body hath alone, but have beene begotten by their communication, as Muſique reſults out of our breath and a Cornet. And of all theſe the diſeaſes are cures, if they be knowne. Of our Soules ſickneſſes, which are ſinnes, the knowledge is, to acknowledge, and that is her phyſick, in which wee are not dieted by drams and ſcruples, for we cannot take too much. Of our bodies infirmities, though our knowledge be partly ab extrinſeco, from the opinion of the Phyſitian, and that the ſubject and matter be flexible, and various; Yet their rules are certaine, and if the matter be rightly applyed to the rule, our knowledge thereof is alſo certaine. But of the diſeaſes of the minde, there is no Cryterium, no Canon, no rule; for, our owne taſt and apprehenſion & interpretation ſhould be the judge, and that is the diſeaſe it ſelfe. Therefore ſometimes when I finde my ſelfe tranſported with jollity, and love of company, I hang leads at my heeles, and reduce to my thoughts my fortunes, my yeares, the duties of a man, of a friend, of a huſband, of a father, and all the incumbencies of a family. When ſadneſſe dejects me, either I countermine it with another ſadneſſe, or I kindly ſquibs about mee againe, and flie into ſportfulneſſe and company. And I finde ever after all, that I am like an Exorciſt, which had long laboured about one, which at laſt appeares to have the Mother, that I ſtill miſtake my diſeaſe. And I ſtill vexe my ſelfe with this, becauſe if I know it not, no body can know it. And I comfort my ſelfe becauſe I ſee diſpaſſioned men are ſubject to the like ignorances. For divers mindes out of the ſame thing often draw contrary concluſions, as Auguſtine thought devout Anthony to bee therfore full of the holy Ghoſt, becauſe, not being able to read, he could ſay the whole Bible, and interpret it. And Thyraeus the Jeſuite for the ſame reaſon doth thinke all the Anabaptiſts to be poſſeſſed. And as often out of contrary things men draw one concluſion. As, To the Romane Church, Magnificence and Splendor hath ever beene an argument of Gods favour, and Poverty and Affliction, to the Greeke. Out of this variety of mindes it proceeds, that though all our Soules would goe to one end, Heaven, and all our bodies muſt goe to one end, the Earth: Yet our third part, the minde, which is our naturall Guide here, chuſes to every man a ſeverall way. Scarce any man likes what another doth, nor, adviſedly, that which himſelfe. But, Sir, I am beyond my purpoſe; I meant to write a letter, and I am fallen into a diſcourſe, and I doe not only take you from ſome buſineſſe, but I make you a new buſineſſe by drawing you into theſe meditations. In which yet let my opennes be an argument of ſuch love as I would fain expreſſe in ſome worthier faſhion.