rel="nofollow" href="#uac34e161-5c1d-578f-8d14-78aab6704af9">THE DISSOLUTION.
SONG: Soul's joy, now I am gone
A DIALOGUE BETWEEN SIR HENRY WOTTON AND MR. DONNE.
A VALEDICTION FORBIDDING MOURNING
AS virtuous men pass mildly away, And whisper to their souls to go, Whilst some of their sad friends do say, "Now his breath goes," and some say, "No." So let us melt, and make no noise, No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move ; 'Twere profanation of our joys To tell the laity our love. Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears ; Men reckon what it did, and meant ; But trepidation of the spheres, Though greater far, is innocent. Dull sublunary lovers' love "Whose soul is sense"cannot admit Of absence, 'cause it doth remove The thing which elemented it. But we by a love so much refined, That ourselves know not what it is, Inter-assurèd of the mind, Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss. Our two souls therefore, which are one, Though I must go, endure not yet A breach, but an expansion, Like gold to aery thinness beat. If they be two, they are two so As stiff twin compasses are two ; Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show To move, but doth, if th' other do. And though it in the centre sit, Yet, when the other far doth roam, It leans, and hearkens after it, And grows erect, as that comes home. Such wilt thou be to me, who must, Like th' other foot, obliquely run ; Thy firmness makes my circle just, And makes me end where I begun.
THE FLEA.
MARK but this flea, and mark in this, How little that which thou deniest me is ; It suck'd me first, and now sucks thee, And in this flea our two bloods mingled be. Thou know'st that this cannot be said A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead ; Yet this enjoys before it woo, And pamper'd swells with one blood made of two ; And this, alas ! is more than we would do. O stay, three lives in one flea spare, Where we almost, yea, more than married are. This flea is you and I, and this Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is. Though parents grudge, and you, we're met, And cloister'd in these living walls of jet. Though use make you apt to kill me, Let not to that self-murder added be, And sacrilege, three sins in killing three. Cruel and sudden, hast thou since Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence? Wherein could this flea guilty be, Except in that drop which it suck'd from thee? Yet thou triumph'st, and say'st that thou Find'st not thyself nor me the weaker now. 'Tis true ; then learn how false fears be ; Just so much honour, when thou yield'st to me, Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee.
THE GOOD-MORROW.
I WONDER by my troth, what thou and I Did, till we loved ? were we not wean'd till then ? But suck'd on country pleasures, childishly ? Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers' den ? 'Twas so ; but this, all pleasures fancies be ; If ever any beauty I did see, Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee. And now good-morrow to our waking souls, Which watch not one another out of fear ; For love all love of other sights controls, And makes one little room an everywhere. Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone ; Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown ; Let us possess one world ; each hath one, and is one. My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears, And true plain hearts do in the faces rest ; Where can we find two better hemispheres Without sharp north, without declining west ? Whatever dies, was not mix'd equally ; If our two loves be one, or thou and I Love so alike that none can slacken, none can die.
SONG: Go and catch a falling star
GO and catch a falling star, Get with child a mandrake root, Tell me where all past years are, Or who cleft the devil's foot, Teach me to hear mermaids singing, Or to keep off envy's stinging, And find What wind Serves to advance an honest mind. If thou be'st born to strange sights, Things invisible to see, Ride ten thousand days and nights, Till age snow white hairs on thee, Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me, All strange wonders that befell thee, And swear, No where Lives a woman true and fair. If thou find'st one, let me know, Such a pilgrimage were sweet; Yet do not, I would not go, Though at next door we might meet, Though she were true, when you met her, And last, till you write your letter, Yet she Will be False, ere I come, to two, or three.
WOMAN'S CONSTANCY.
NOW thou hast loved me one whole day, To-morrow when thou leavest, what wilt thou say ? Wilt thou then antedate some new-made vow ? Or say that now We are not just those persons which we were ? Or that oaths made in reverential fear Of Love, and his wrath, any may forswear ? Or, as true deaths true marriages untie, So lovers' contracts, images of those, Bind but till sleep, death's image, them unloose ? Or, your own end to justify, For having purposed change and falsehood, you Can have no way but falsehood to be true ? Vain lunatic, against these 'scapes I could Dispute, and conquer, if I would ; Which I abstain to do, For by to-morrow I may think so too.
THE UNDERTAKING.
I HAVE done one braver thing Than all the Worthies did ; And yet a braver thence doth spring, Which is, to keep that hid. It were
