I make accompt that this book hath enough performed that which it
undertook, both by argument and example. It shall therefore the lesse need
to be it self another example of the Doctrine. It shall not therefore kill
it self; that is, not bury it self; for if it should do so, those reasons,
by which that act should be defended or excused were also lost with it.
Since it is content to live, it cannot chuse a wholsomer aire then your
Library, where Authors of all complexions are presented. If any of them
grudge this book a room, and suspect it of new or dangerous doctrine, you
who know us all, can best moderate. To those reasons which I know your
love to me will make in my favour and discharge, you may adde this, that
though this doctrine hath not been taught nor defended by writers, yet
they, most of any sort of men in the world, have practised it.
_Your very true and earnest freind
and servant and lover_
J. Donne.
[viii.]
_To S{r}_ Robert Carre _now Earle of_ Ankerum, _with my Book_ Biathanatos
_at my going into_ Germany.
_SIR_,
I had need do somewhat towards you above my promises; How weak are my
performances, when even my promises are defective? I cannot promise, no
not in mine own hopes, equally to your merit towards me. But besides the
Poems, of which you took a promise, I send you another Book to which
there belongs this History. It was written by me many years since; and
because it is upon a misinterpretable subject, I have always gone so near
suppressing it, as that it is onely not burnt: no hand hath passed upon it
to copy it, nor many eyes to read it: onely to some particular friends in
both Universities, then when I writ it, I did communicate it: And I
remember, I had this answer, That certainly, there was a false thread in
it, but not easily found: Keep it, I pray, with the same jealousie; let
any that your discretion admits to the sight of it, know the date of it;
and that it is a Book written by _Jack Donne_, and not by D[r]. _Donne_:
Reserve it for me, if I live, and if I die, I only forbid it the Presse,
and the Fire: publish it not, but yet burn it not; and between those, do
what you will with it. Love me still, thus farre, for your own sake, that
when you withdraw your love from me, you will finde so many unworthinesses
in me, as you grow ashamed of having had so long, and so much, such a
thing as
_Your poor servant in Chr. Jes._
J. Donne.
[ix.]
_To the Countesse of_ Bedford.