LOVE TRIUMPHANT

E'EN like two little bank-dividing brooks, That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams,

And having ranged and search'd a thousand nooks,

Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames, Where in a greater current they conjoin: So I my Best-Belovèd's am; so He is mine.

E'en so we met; and after long pursuit,

E'en so we join'd: we both became entire;

No need for either to renew a suit,

For I was flax and he was flames of fire: Our firm-united souls did more than twine; So I my Best-Belovèd's am; so He is mine.

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If all those glittering Monarchs that command
The servile quarters of this earthly ball,
Should tender, in exchange, their shares of land,
I would not change my fortunes for them all:
Their wealth is but a counter to my coin:
The world's but theirs; but my Beloved 's

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mine.

1635?

Francis Quarles.

THE WILL

BEFORE I sigh my last gasp, let me breathe,
Great Love, some legacies: here I bequeathe
Mine eyes to Argus, if mine eyes can see;
If they be blind, then, Love, I give them thee;
My tongue to Fame; to embassadors mine ears;
To women or the sea, my tears;

Thou, Love, hast taught me heretofore

By making me serve her who had twenty more, That I should give to none, but such as had too much before.

My constancy I to the planets give;

My truth to them who at the court do live;
Mine ingenuity and openness,

To Jesuits; to buffoons my pensiveness;
My silence to any, who abroad have been;

My money to a Capuchin:

Thou, Love, taught'st me, by appointing me To love there, where no love received can he, Only to give to such as have an incapacity.

My faith I give to Roman Catholics;
All my good works unto the schismatics
Of Amsterdam; my best civility
And courtship to an University;

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My modesty I give to shoulders bare;
My patience let gamesters share:

Thou, Love, taught'st me, by making me
Love her that holds my love disparity,

Only to give to those that count my gifts indignity.

I give my reputation to those

Which were my friends; mine industry to foes;
To schoolmen I bequeathe my doubtfulness;
My sickness to physicians, or excess;
To Nature all that I in rhyme have writ;
And to my company my wit:

Thou, Love, by making me adore

Her, who begot this love in me before, Taught'st me to make, as though I gave, when I do but restore.

To him, for whom the passing-bell next tolls,
I give my physic-books; my written rolls

Of moral counsels I to Bedlam give;
My brazen medals unto them which live
In want of bread; to them which pass among
All foreigners, mine English tongue:

Thou, Love, by making me love one
Who thinks her friendship a fit portion
For younger lovers, dost my gifts thus dispro-

portion.

Therefore I'll give no more, but I'll undo
The world by dying; because Love dies too.

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Then all your beauties will be no more worth
Than gold in mines, where none doth draw it
forth;

And all your graces no more use shall have,
Than a sun-dial in a grave:

Thou, Love, taught'st me, by making me Love her, who doth neglect both me and thee, To invent and practise this one way to annihilate all three.

1633.

54

Dr. John Donne.

LITANY TO THE HOLY SPIRIT

IN the hour of my distress,

When temptations me oppress,
And when I my sins confess,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When I lie within my bed,
Sick in heart and sick in head,

And with doubts discomforted,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the house doth sigh and weep,
And the world is drown'd in sleep,
Yet mine eyes the watch do keep,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the artless doctor sees
No one hope, but of his fees,
And his skill runs on the lees.
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

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When his potion and his pill
Has, or none, or little skill,
Meet for nothing, but to kill;

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the passing bell doth toll,
And the Furies in a shoal
Come to fright a parting soul,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the tapers now burn blue,

And the comforters are few,

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And that number more than true,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the priest his last hath pray'd,
And I nod to what is said,

'Cause my speech is now decay'd,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When, God knows, I 'm toss'd about,
Either with despair or doubt;

Yet before the glass be out,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the tempter me pursu'th
With the sins of all my youth,
And half damns me with untruth,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

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