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. 6 12 If all those glittering Monarchs that command 18 mine. 1635? Francis Quarles. THE WILL BEFORE I sigh my last gasp, let me breathe, 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; To Jesuits; to buffoons my pensiveness; 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; 18 9 My modesty I give to shoulders bare; Thou, Love, taught'st me, by making me Only to give to those that count my gifts indignity. I give my reputation to those Which were my friends; mine industry to foes; 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, Of moral counsels I to Bedlam give; Thou, Love, by making me love one portion. Therefore I'll give no more, but I'll undo 27 36 45 Then all your beauties will be no more worth And all your graces no more use shall have, 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, When I lie within my bed, And with doubts discomforted, Sweet Spirit, comfort me! When the house doth sigh and weep, Sweet Spirit, comfort me! When the artless doctor sees 8 12 16 When his potion and his pill Sweet Spirit, comfort me! When the passing bell doth toll, Sweet Spirit, comfort me! When the tapers now burn blue, And the comforters are few, 20 24 And that number more than true, When the priest his last hath pray'd, 'Cause my speech is now decay'd, Sweet Spirit, comfort me! When, God knows, I 'm toss'd about, Yet before the glass be out, Sweet Spirit, comfort me! When the tempter me pursu'th 28 32 36 40 |