Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

John Donne (1572–1631). The Poems of John Donne. 1896.

Epigrams

BOTH robb’d of air, we both lie in one ground;

Both whom one fire had burnt, one water drown’d.

Two, by themselves, each other, love and fear,

Slain, cruel friends, by parting have join’d here.

By children’s births, and death, I am become

So dry, that I am now mine own sad tomb.

Out of a fired ship, which by no way

But drowning could be rescued from the flame,

Some men leap’d forth, and ever as they came

Near the foes’ ships, did by their shot decay;

So all were lost, which in the ship were found,

They in the sea being burnt, they in the burnt ship drowned.

Under an undermined and shot-bruised wall

A too-bold captain perish’d by the fall,

Whose brave misfortune happiest men envied,

That had a town for tomb, his bones to hide.

I am unable, yonder beggar cries,

To stand, or move; if he say true, he lies.

Your mistress, that you follow whores, still taxeth you;

’Tis strange that she should thus confess it, though ’t be true.

Thy sins and hairs may no man equal call;

For, as thy sins increase, thy hairs do fall.

If in his study he hath so much care

To hang all old strange things, let his wife beware.

Thy father all from thee, by his last will,

Gave to the poor; thou hast good title still.

Thy flattering picture, Phryne, is like thee,

Only in this, that you both painted be.

Philo with twelve years’ study hath been grieved

To be understood; when will he be believed?

Klockius so deeply hath sworn ne’er more to come

In bawdy house, that he dares not go home.

Why this man gelded Martial I muse,

Except himself alone his tricks would use,

As Katherine, for the court’s sake, put down stews.

Like Esop’s fellow-slaves, O Mercury,

Which could do all things, thy faith is; and I

Like Esop’s self, which nothing. I confess

I should have had more faith, if thou hadst less.

Thy credit lost thy credit. ’Tis sin to do,

In this case, as thou wouldst be done unto,

To believe all. Change thy name; thou art like

Mercury in stealing, but liest like a Greek.

Compassion in the world again is bred;

Ralphius is sick, the broker keeps his bed.