Though there be much merit, in the favour your brother hath done me in a
visit, yet that which doth enrich and perfect it, is, that he brought you
with him; which he doth, as well by letting me see how you do, as by
giving me occasions, and leave to talk with you by this Letter: if you
have any servant, which wishes you better then I, it must be because he is
able to put his wishes into a better frame, and expresse them better, and
understand proportion, and greatnesse better then I. I am willing to
confesse my impotencie; which is, that I know no wish good enough for you;
if any doe, my advantage is, that I can exceed his, by adding mine to it.
You must not think that I begin to think thus, when you begin to hear it,
by a Letter; As sometimes by the changing of the winde, you begin to hear
a Trumpet, which sounded long before you heard it; so are these thoughts
of you familiar and ordinary in me, though they have seldome the help of
this conveyance to your knowledge: I am loth to leave; for as long as in
any fashion, I can have your brother and you here, you make my house a
kinde of Dorvey [Dorney]; but since I cannot stay you here, I will come
thither to you; which I do, by wrapping up in this paper, the heart of
_Your most affectionate servant_
J. Donne.
[xvi.]
_To Sir_ Thomas Roe.
_SIR_,
It is an ease to your friends abroad, that you are more a man of businesse
then heretofore; for now it were an injury to trouble you with a busie
Letter. But by the same reason I were inexcusable if I should not write at
all, since the lesse, the more acceptable; therefore, Sir, though I have
no more to say, but to renew the obligations I have towards you, and to
continue my place in your love, I would not forbear to tell you so. If I
shall also tell you, that when this place affords any thing worth your
hearing, I will be your relator, I think I take so long a day, as you
would forget the debt, it appears yet to be so barren. Howsoever with
every commodity, I shall say something, though it be but a descant upon
this plain song, that I am
_Your affectionate servant_
J. Donne.
[xvii.]
_To all my friends: Sir_ H. Goodere.
_SIR_,
I am not weary of writing; it is the course but durable garment of my
love; but I am weary of wanting you. I have a minde like those bodies,
which have hot Livers, and cold stomachs; or such a distemper as travelled
me at _Paris_; a Fever, and dysentery: in which that which is physick to
one infirmity, nourishes the other. So I abhor nothing more then sadnesse,
except the ordinary remedy, change of company. I can allow my self to be
_Animal sociale_, appliable to my company, but not _gregale_, to herd my
self in every troup. It is not perfectly true which a very subtil, yet
very deep wit _Averroes_ says, that all mankinde hath but one soul, which
informes and rules us all, as one Intelligence doth the firmament and all
the Starres in it; as though a particular body were too little an organ
for a soul to play upon. And it is as imperfect which is taught by that
religion w{ch} is most accommodate to sense (I dare not say to reason
(though it have appearance of that too) because none may doubt but that
that religion is certainly best, which is reasonablest) That all mankinde
hath one protecting Angel; all Christians one other, all English one
other, all of one Corporation and every civill coagulation or society one
other; and every man one other. Though both these opinions expresse a
truth; which is, that mankinde hath very stronge bounds to cohabit and
concurre in other then mountains and hills during his life. First, common,
and mutuall necessity of one another; and therefore naturally in our
defence and subventions we first flie to our selves; next, to that which
is likest, other men. Then, naturall and inborn charity, beginning at
home, which perswades us to give, that we may receive: And legall charity,
which makes us also forgive. Then an ingraffing in one another, and
growing together by a custome of society: and last of all, strict
friendship, in which band men were so presumed to be coupled, that our
Confessor King had a law, that if a man be killed, the murderer shall pay
a sum _felago suo_, which the interpreters call, _fide ligato, et comite
vitæ_. All these bands I willingly receive, for no man is lesse of himself
then I: nor any man enough of himself. To be so, is all one with
omnipotence. And it is well marked, that in the holy Book, wheresoever
they have rendered Almighty, the word is Self-sufficient. I think
sometimes that the having a family should remove me farre from the curse
of _Væ soli_. But in so strict obligation of Parent, or Husband, or
Master, (and perchance it is so in the last degree of friendship) where
all are made one, I am not the lesse alone, for being in the midst of
them. Therefore this _oleum lætitiæ_, this balme, of our lives, this
alacrity which dignifies even our service to God, this gallant enemy of
dejection and sadnesse, (for which and wickednesse the Italian allows but
one word, _Triste_: And in full condemnation whereof it was prophesied of
our blessed Saviour, _Non erit tristis_, in his conversation) must be
sought and preserved diligently. And since it grows without us, we must be
sure to gather it from the right tree. They which place this alacrity only
in a good conscience, deal somewhat too roundly with us, for when we aske
the way, they shew us the town afar off: Will a Physitian consulted for
health and strength, bid you have good sinews and equall temper? It is
true, that this conscience is the resultance of all other particular
actions; it is our triumph and banquet in the haven; but I would come
towards that also, (as Mariners say) with a merry winde. Our nature is
Meteorique, we respect (because we partake so) both earth and heaven, for
as our bodies glorified shall be capable of spirituall joy, so our souls
demerged into those bodies, are allowed to partake earthly pleasure. Our
soul is not sent hither, only to go back again: we have some errand to do
here: nor is it sent into prison, because it comes innocent: and he which
sent it, is just. As we may not kill our selves, so we may not bury our
selves: which is done or endangered in a dull Monastique sadnesse, which
is so much worse then jolity (for upon that word I durst--------And
certainly despair is infinitely worse, then presumption: both because this
is an excesse of love, that of fear; and because this is up, that down the
hill; easier, and more stumbling. Heaven is expressed by singing, hell by
weeping. And though our blessed Saviour be never noted to have laughed,
yet his continuance [countenance] is said ever to be smiling. And that
even moderate mirth of heart, and face, and [is] all I wish to my self;
and perswade you to keep. This alacrity is not had by a general charity
and equanimity to all mankinde, for that is to seek fruit in a
wildernesse: nor from a singular friend, for that is to ketch it out of
your own pocket: but the various and abundant grace of it, is good
company. In which no rank, no number, no quality, but ill, and such a
degree of that as may corrupt and poyson the good, is exempt. For in
nearer then them, your friend, and somewhat nearer then he, in your self
you must allow some inordinatenesse of affections and passions. For it is
not true that they are not natural, but stormes and tempests of our bloud
and humours: for they are naturall, but sickly. And as the Indian priests
expressed an excellent charity, by building Hospitalls and providing
chirurgery for birds and beasts lamed by mischance, or age, or labour: so
must we, not cut off, but cure these affections, which are the bestiall
part.
[xviii.]
_To Sir_ H. Goodere.
_SIR_,
Every tuesday I make account that I turn a great hour-glass, and consider
that a weeks life is run out since I writ. But if I aske my self what I
have done in the last watch, or would do in the next, I can say nothing;
if I say that I have passed it without hurting any, so may the Spider in
my window. The primitive Monkes were excusable in their retirings and
enclosures of themselves: for even of them every one cultivated his own
garden and orchard, that is, his soul and body, by meditation, and
manufactures; and they ought the world no more since they consumed none of
her sweetnesse, nor begot others to burden her. But for me, if I were able
to husband all my time so thriftily, as not onely not to wound my soul in
any minute by actuall sinne, but not to rob and cousen her by giving any
part to pleasure or businesse, but bestow it all upon her in meditation,
yet even in that I should wound her more, and contract another
guiltinesse: As the Eagle were very unnaturall if because she is able to
do it, she should pearch a whole day upon a tree, staring in
contemplation of the majestie and glory of the Sun, and let her young
Eglets starve in the nest. Two of the most precious things which God hath
afforded us here, for the agony and exercise of our sense and spirit,
which are a thirst and inhiation after the next life, and a frequency of
prayer and meditation in this, are often envenomed, and putrefied, and
stray into a corrupt disease: for as God doth thus occasion, and
positively concurre to evill, that when a man is purposed to do a great
sin, God infuses some good thoughts which make him choose a lesse sin, or
leave out some circumstance which aggravated that; so the devill doth not
only suffer but provoke us to some things naturally good, upon condition
that we shall omit some other more necessary and more obligatory. And this
is his greatest subtilty; because herein we have the deceitfull comfort of
having done well, and can very hardly spie our errour because it is but an
insensible omission, and no accusing act. With the first of these I have
often suspected my self to be overtaken; which is, with a desire of the
next life: which though I know it is not merely out of a wearinesse of
this, because I had the same desires when I went with the tyde, and
enjoyed fairer hopes then now: yet I doubt worldly encombrances have
encreased it. I would not that death should take me asleep. I would not
have him meerly seise me, and onely declare me to be dead, but win me, and
overcome me. When I must shipwrack, I would do it in a Sea, where mine
impotencie might have some excuse; not in a sullen weedy lake, where I
could not have so much as exercise for my swimming. Therefore I would fain
do something; but that I cannot tell what, is no wonder. For to chuse, is
to do: but to be no part of any body, is to be nothing. At most, the
greatest persons, are but great wens, and excrescences; men of wit and
delightfull conversation, but as moalls for ornament, except they be so
incorporated into the body of the world, that they contribute something to
the sustentation of the whole. This I made account that I begun early,
when I understood the study of our laws: but was diverted by the worst
voluptuousnes, which is an Hydroptique immoderate desire of humane
learning and languages: beautifull ornaments to great fortunes; but mine
needed an occupation, and a course which I thought I entred well into,
when I submitted my self to such a service, as I thought might imploy[ed]
those poor advantages, which I had. And there I stumbled too, yet I would
try again: for to this hour I am nothing, or so little, that I am scarce
subject and argument good enough for one of mine own letters: yet I fear,
that doth not ever proceed from a good root, that I am so well content to
be lesse, that is dead. You, Sir, are farre enough from these descents,
your vertue keeps you secure, and your naturall disposition to mirth will
preserve you; but lose none of these holds, a slip is often as dangerous
as a bruise, and though you cannot fall to my lownesse, yet in a much
lesse distraction you may meet my sadnesse, for he is no safer which falls
from an high tower into the leads, then he which falls from thence to the
ground: make therefore to your self some mark, and go towards it
alegrement. Though I be in such a planetary and erratique fortune, that I
can do nothing constantly, yet you may finde some constancy in my constant
advising you to it.
_Your hearty true friend_
J. Donne.
_I came this evening from M._ Jones _his house in_ Essex, _where M._
Martin _hath been, and left a relation of Captain_ Whitcocks [Whitelock's]
_death, perchance it is no news to you, but it was to me; without doubt
want broke him; for when M._ Hollands _company by reason of the plague
broke, the Captain sought to be at M{ris}_ Jones _house, who on her
husbands absence declining it, he went in the night, his boy carrying his
cloakbag, on foot to the Lord of_ Sussex, _who going next day to hunt, the
Captain not then sick, told him he would see him no more. A Chaplain came
up to him, to whom he delivered an account of his understanding, and I
hope, of his beliefe, and soon after dyed; and my Lord hath buryed him
with his own Ancestors. Perchance his life needed a longer sicknesse, but
a man may go faster and safer, when he enjoys that day light of a clear
and sound understanding, then in the night or twilight of an ague or other
disease. And the grace of Almighty God doth every thing suddenly and
hastily, but depart from us, it enlightens us, warms us, heats us,
ravishes us, at once. Such a medicin, I fear, his inconsideration needed;
and I hope as confidently that he had it. As our soul is infused when it
is created, and created when it is infused, so at her going out Gods
mercy is had by asking, and that is asked by having. Lest your_ Polesworth
_carrier should cousen me, I send my man with this letter early to_
London, _whither this Tuesday all the Court come to a Christening at_
Arondell _house, and stay in town so that I will sup with the good Lady,
and write again to-morrow to you, if any thing be occasioned there, which
concerns you, and I will tell her so; next day they are to return to_
Hampton, _and upon friday the King to_ Royston.
[xix.]
_To Sir_ H. Goodere.
_SIR_,
If this which I send you inclosed give me right intelligence, I present
you a way by which you may redeem all your former wastes, and recompense
your ill fortunes, in having sometimes apprehended unsuccessfull suits,
and (that which I presume you affect most) ease your self from all future
inquisition of widowes or such businesses as aske so over industrious a
pursuit, as devest a man from his best happinesse of enjoying himself. I
give you (I think) the first knowledge, of two millions confiscated to the
Crown of England: of which I dare assure myself the coffers have yet
touched none; nor have the Commissioners for suits any thing to oppose
against a suit founded upon this confiscation, though they hold never so
strictly to their instructions. After you have served your self with a
proportion, I pray make a petition in my name for as much as you think may
be given me for my book out of this; for, but out of this, I have no
imagination. And for a token of my desire to serve him, present M.
_Fowler_ with 3 or 4000 _li._ of this since he was so resolved never to
leave his place, without a suit of that value. I wish your cousen in the
town, better provided; but if he be not, here is enough for him. And since
I am ever an affectionate servant to that journey, acquaint M. _Martin_
from me, how easie it will be to get a good part of this for _Virginia_.
Upon the least petition that M. _Brook_ can present he may make himself
whole again, of all which the Kings servants M. _Lepton_ and master
_Waterouse_, have endammaged him. Give him leave to offer to M. _Hakevill_
enough to please himself, for his _Aurum Reginæ_. And if M. _Gherard_ have
no present hopefull designe upon a worthy Widow, let him have so much of
this as will provide him that house and coach which he promised to lend
me at my return. If M. _Inago Jones_ be not satisfied for his last Maske
(because I hear say it cannot come to much) here is enough to be had: This
is but a copy, but if Sir _Ro. Cotton_ have the originall he will not deny
it you; if he hath it not, no body else hath it, nor can prevent you;
husband it well, which you may easily doe, because I assure my self none
of the children nor friends of the party condemned will crosse you or
importune the King for any part. If I get no more by it, yet it hath made
me a Letter. And Sir (to depart from this Mine) in what part of my Letters
soever you find the remembrance of my humble service to my Lord of
_Bedford_, I beseech you ever think them intended for the first, and in
that ranke present them. I have yet received but one Letter from you which
was of the 10 of _December_ by M. _Pory_, but you see that as long as
there is one egge left in the nest, I never leave laying, nor should
although you had sent none since; all at last will not amount to so good a
testimony as I would fain give how much I am
_Your affectionate servant and lover_,
J. Donne.
_Sir, I write this Letter in no very great degree of a convalescence from
such storms of a stomach colick as kept me in a continuall vomiting, so
that I know not what I should have been able to doe to dispatch this
winde, but that an honest fever came and was my physick: I tell you of it
onely lest some report should make it worse, for me thinks that they who
love to adde to news should think it a master-piece to be able to say no
worse of any ill fortune of mine then it deserves, since commonly it
deserves worse then they can say, but they did not, and I am reprieved. I
finde dying to be like those facts which denying makes felony: when a
sicknesse examines us, and we confess that we are willing to die, we
cannot, but those who are----incurre the penalty: and I may die yet, if
talking idly be an ill sign. God be with you._
[xx.]
_To the same._