Poems, Epithalamium 2 – Letter 1
Epithalamion made at Lincolnes Inne.
THe Sun-beames in the Eaſt are ſpred,
Leave, leave, faire Bride, your ſolitary bed,
No more ſhall you returne to it alone,
It nourſeth ſadneſſe, and your bodies print,
Like to a grave, the yielding downe doth dint;
You and your other you meet there anon;
Put forth, put forth that warme balme-breathing thigh,
Which whē next time you in theſe ſheets wil ſmother
There it muſt meet another,
Which never was, but muſt be, oft, more nigh;
Come glad from thence, goe gladder then you came,
To day put on perfection, and a womans name.
Daughters of London, you which bee
Our Golden Mines, and furniſh'd Treaſurie,
You which are Angels, yet ſtill bring with you
Thouſands of Angels on your mariage daies,
Help with your preſence, and deviſe to praiſe
Theſe rites, which alſo unto you grow due;
Conceitedly dreſſe her, and be aſſign'd,
By you, fit place for every flower and jewell,
Make her for love fit fewell
As gay as Flora, and as rich as Inde;
So may ſhee faire and rich, in nothing lame,
To day put on perfection, and a womans name.
And you frolique Patricians
Some of theſe Senators wealths deep oceans,
Ye painted courtiers, barrels of others wits,
Yee country men, who but your beaſts love none,
Yee of thoſe fellowſhips whereof hee's one,
Of ſtudy and play made ſtrange Hermaphrodits,
Here ſhine; This Bridegroom to the Temple bring
Loe, in yon path which ſtore of ſtraw'd flowers graceth,
The ſober virgin paceth;
Except my ſight faile, 'tis no other thing;
Weep not nor bluſh, here is no griefe nor ſhame,
To day put on perfection, and a womans name.
Thy two-leav'd gates faire Temple unfold,
And theſe two in thy ſacred boſome hold,
Till, myſtically joyn'd, but one they bee;
Then may thy leane and hunger-ſtarved wombe
Long time expect their bodies and their tombe,
Long after their owne parents fatten thee;
All elder claimes, and all cold barrenneſſe,
All yeelding to new loves bee far for ever,
Which might theſe two diſſever,
Alwaies, all th'other may each one poſſeſſe;
For, the beſt Bride, beſt worthy of praiſe and fame,
To day puts on perfection, and a womans name.
Winter dayes bring much delight,
Not for themſelves, but for they ſoon bring night;
Other ſweets wait thee then theſe diverſe meats,
Other diſports then dancing jollities,
Other love tricks then glancing with the eyes;
But that the Sun ſtill in our halfe Spheare ſweates;
Hee flies in winter, but he now ſtands ſtill,
Yet ſhadowes turne; Noone point he hath attain'd,
His ſteeds will bee reſtrain'd,
But gallop lively downe the Weſterne hill;
Thou ſhalt, when he hath come the worlds half frame,
To night but on perfection, and a womans name.
The amorous evening ſtarre is roſe,
Why then ſhould not our amorous ſtarre incloſe
Her ſelfe in her wiſh'd bed? Releaſe your ſtrings
Muſicians, and dancers take ſome truce
With theſe your pleaſing labours, for great uſe
As much wearineſſe as perfection brings;
You, and not only you, but all toyl'd beaſts
Reſt duly; at night all their toyles are diſpenſed;
But in their beds commenced
Are other labours, and more dainty feaſts;
She goes amaid, who, leaſt ſhe turne the ſame,
To night puts on perfection, and a womans name.
Thy virgins girdle now untie,
And in thy nuptiall bed [loves alter] lye
A pleaſing ſacrifice; now diſpoſſeſſe
Thee of theſe chaines and robes which were put on
T'adorne the day, not thee; for thou, alone,
Like vertue' and truth, art beſt in nakedneſſe;
This bed is onelyonly to virginitie
A grave, but, to a better ſtate, a cradle;
Till now thou waſt but able
To be what now thou art; then that by thee
No more be ſaid, I may bee, but, I am,
To night put on perfection, and a womans name.
Even like a faithfull man content,
That this life for a better ſhould be ſpent;
So, ſhee a mothers rich ſtile doth preferre,
And at the Bridegroomes wiſh'd approach doth lye,
Like an appointed lambe, when tenderly
The prieſt comes on his knees t'embowell her;
Now ſleep or watch with more joy; and O light
Of heaven, to morrow riſe thou hot, and early;
This Sun will love ſo dearely
Her reſt, that long, long we ſhall want her ſight;
Wonders are wrought, for ſhee which had no maime,
To night puts on perfection, and a womans name.
To the Counteſſe of Bedford.
MADAME,
I Have learn'd by thoſe lawes wherein I am a little converſant, that hee which beſtowes any coſt upon the dead, obliges him which is dead, but not the heire; I do not therefore ſend this paper to your Ladyſhip, that you ſhould thanke mee for it, or thinke that I thanke you in it; your favours and benefits to mee are ſo much above my merits, that they are even above my gratitude, if that were to be judged by words which muſt expreſſe it: But, Madame, ſince your noble brothers fortune being yours, the evidences alſo concerning it are yours, ſo his vertue being yours, the evidences concerning it, belong alſo to you, of which by your acceptance this may be one peece, in which quality I humbly preſent it, and as a teſtimony how intirely your familie poſſeſſeth
Your Ladiſhips moſt humble and thankfull ſervant JOHN DONNE.