SIR,

It should be no interruption to your pleasures, to hear me often say that

I love you, and that you are as much my meditation as my self: I often

compare not you and me, but the sphear in which your resolutions are, and

my wheel; both I hope concentrique to God: for methinks the new Astronomie

is thus appliable well, that we which are a little earth, should rather

move towards God, then that he which is fulfilling, and can come no

whither, should move towards us. To your life full of variety, nothing is

old, nor new to mine; and as to that life, all stickings and hesitations

seem stupid and stony, so to this, all fluid slipperinesses, and

transitory migrations seem giddie and featherie. In that life one is ever

in the porch or postern, going in or out, never within his house himself:

It is a garment made of remnants, a life raveld out into ends, a line

discontinued, and a number of small wretched points, uselesse, because

they concurre not: A life built of past and future, not proposing any

constant present; they have more pleasures then we, but not more pleasure;

they joy oftner, we longer; and no man but of so much understanding as may

deliver him from being a fool, would change with a mad-man, which had a

better proportion of wit in his often _Lucidis_. You know, they which

dwell farthest from the Sun, if in any convenient distance, have longer

daies, better appetites, better digestion, better growth, and longer life:

And all these advantages have their mindes who are well removed from the

scorchings, and dazlings, and exhalings of the worlds glory: but neither

of our lives are in such extremes; for you living at Court without

ambition, which would burn you, or envy, which would devest others, live

in the Sun, not in the fire: And I which live in the Country without

stupefying, am not in darknesse, but in shadow which is not no light, but

a pallid, waterish, and diluted one. As all shadows are of one colour, if

you respect the body from which they are cast (for our shadows upon clay

will be dirty, and in a garden green, and flowery) so all retirings into a

shadowy life are alike from all causes, and alike subject to the

barbarousnesse and insipid dulnesse of the Country; onely the emploiment,

and that upon which you cast and bestow your pleasure, businesse, or

books, gives it the tincture, and beauty. But truly wheresoever we are, if

we can but tell our selves truly what and where we would be, we may make

any state and place such; for we are so composed, that if abundance, or

glory scorch and melt us, we have an earthly cave, our bodies, to go into

by consideration, and cool our selves: and if we be frozen, and contracted

with lower and dark fortunes, we have within us a torch, a soul, lighter

and warmer then any without: we are therefore our own umbrella's, and our

own suns. These, Sir, are the sallads and onions of _Micham_, sent to you

with as wholesome affection as your other friends send Melons and

Quelque-choses from Court and _London_. If I present you not as good diet

as they, I would yet say grace to theirs, and bid much good do it you. I

send you, with this, a Letter which I sent to the Countesse. It is not my

use nor duty to doe so, but for your having of it, there were but two

consents, and I am sure you have mine, and you are sure you have hers. I

also writ to her La{p} for the verses she shewed in the garden, which I

did not onely to extort them, nor onely to keep my promise of writing, for

that I had done in the other Letter, and perchance she hath forgotten the

promise; nor onely because I think my Letters just good enough for a

progresse, but because I would write apace to her, whilest it is possible

to expresse that which I yet know of her, for by this growth I see how

soon she will be ineffable.

[xxii.]

_SIR_,

Though my friendship be good for nothing else, it may give you the profit

of a tentation, or of an affliction: It may excuse your patience; and

though it cannot allure, it shall importune you. Though I know you have

many worthy friends of all rankes, yet I adde something, since I which am

of none, would fain be your friend too. There is some of the honour and

some of the degrees of a Creation, to make a friendship of nothing. Yet,

not to annihilate my self utterly (for though it seem humblenesse, yet it

is a work of as much almightinesse, to bring a thing to nothing, as from

nothing) though I be not of the best stuffe for friendship, which men of

warm and durable fortunes only are, I cannot say, that I am not of the

best fashion, if truth and honesty be that; which I must ever exercise,

towards you, because I learned it of you: for the conversation with worthy

men, and of good example, though it sow not vertue in us, yet produceth

and ripeneth it. Your mans haste, and mine to _Micham_ cuts off this

Letter here, yet, as in littell paterns torn from a whole piece, this may

tell you what all I am. Though by taking me before my day (which I

accounted Tuesday) I make short payment of this duty of Letters, yet I

have a little comfort in this, that you see me hereby, willing to pay

those debts which I can, before my time.

_Your affectionate friend_

J. Donne.

_First Saturday in_

March. 1607.

_You forget to send me the Apology; and many times, I think it an injury

to remember one of a promise, lest it confesse a distrust. But of the

book, by occasion of reading the Deans answer to it, I have sometimes some

want._

[xxiii.]

_To the Countesse of_ Bedford.

_Happiest and worthiest Lady_,

I do not remember that ever I have seen a petition in verse, I would not

therefore be singular, nor adde these to your other papers. I have yet

adventured so near as to make a petition for verse, it is for those your

Ladiship did me the honour to see in _Twicknam_ garden, except you repent

your making; and having mended your judgement by thinking worse, that is,

better, because juster, of their subject. They must needs be an excellent

exercise of your wit, which speaks so well of so ill: I humbly beg them of

your Ladiship, with two such promises, as to any other of your

compositions were threatenings: that I will not shew them, and that I will

not beleeve them; and nothing should be so used that comes from your brain

or heart. If I should confesse a fault in the boldnesse of asking them, or

make a faulte by doing it in a longer Letter, your Ladiship might use

your style and old fashion of the Court towards me, and pay me with a

Pardon. Here therefore I humbly kisse your Ladiships fair learned hands,

and wish you good wishes and speedy grants.

_Your Ladiships servant_

J. Donne.

[xxiv.]

_To the Honourable Knight Sir_ H. Goodere.

Because things be conserved by the same means, which established them, I

nurse that friendship by Letters, which you begot so: though you have

since strengthened it by more solid aliment and real offices. In these

Letters from the Country there is this merit, that I do otherwise

unwillingly turn mine eye or thoughts from my books, companions in whom

there is no falshood nor forwardnesse: which words, I am glad to observe

that the holy Authours often joyne as expressers and relatives to one

another, because else out of a naturall descent to that unworthy fault of

frowardnesse, furthered with that incommodity of a little thinne house; I

should have mistaken it to be a small thing, which now I see equalled

with the worst. If you have laid my papers and books by, I pray let this

messenger have them, I have determined upon them. If you have not, be

content to do it, in the next three or four days. So, Sir, I kisse your

hands; and deliver to you an intire and clear heart; which shall ever when

I am with you be in my face and tongue, and when I am from you, in my

Letters, for I will never draw Curtain between you and it.

_Yours very affectionately_

J. Donne.

_From your house at_

Micham _friday morning_.

_When you are sometimes at M._ Sackvills, _I pray aske if he have this

book_, Baldvinus de officio pii hominis in controversiis; _it was written

at the conference at_ Poissy, _where_ Beza _was, and he answered it; I

long for it_.

[xxv.]

_To Sir_ H. G.