SIR,

I hope you are now well come to _London_, and well, and well comforted in

your Fathers health and love, and well contented that we ask you how you

doe, and tell you how we are, which yet I cannot of my self; If I knew

that I were ill, I were well; for we consist of three parts, a Soul, and

Body, and Minde: which I call those thoughts and affections and passions,

which neither soul nor body hath alone, but have been begotten by their

communication, as Musique results out of our breath and a Cornet. And of

all these the diseases are cures, if they be known. Of our souls

sicknesses, which are sinnes, the knowledge is, to acknowledge, and that

is her Physique, in which we are not dieted by drams and scruples, for we

cannot take too much. Of our bodies infirmities, though our knowledge be

partly _ab extrinseco_, from the opinion of the Physitian, and that the

subject and matter be flexible, and various; yet their rules are certain,

and if the matter be rightly applyed to the rule, our knowledge thereof is

also certain. But of the diseases of the minde, there is no _Criterium_,

no Canon, no rule; for, our own taste and apprehension and interpretation

should be the Judge, and that is the disease it self. Therefore sometimes

when I finde my self transported with jollity, and love of company, I hang

Leads at my heels; and reduce to my thoughts my fortunes, my years, the

duties of a man, of a friend, of a husband, of a Father, and all the

incumbencies of a family: when sadnesse dejects me, either I countermine

it with another sadnesse, or I kindle squibs about me again, and flie into

sportfulnesse and company: and I finde ever after all, that I am like an

exorcist, which had long laboured about one, which at last appears to have

the Mother, that I still mistake my disease. And I still vex my self with

this, because if I know it not, no body can know it. And I comfort my

self, because I see dispassioned men are subject to the like ignorances.

For divers mindes out of the same thing often draw contrary conclusions,

as _Augustine_ thought devout _Anthony_ to be therefore full of the holy

Ghost, because not being able to read, he could say the whole Bible, and

interpret it; and _Thyreus_ the Jesuit for the same reason doth thinke all

the Anabaptists to be possessed. And as often out of contrary things men

draw one conclusion: as to the _Roman_ Church, magnificence and splendor

hath ever been an argument of Gods favour, and poverty & affliction, to

the _Greek_. Out of this variety of mindes it proceeds, that though all

our souls would goe to one end, Heaven, and all our bodies must go to one

end, the earth: yet our third part the minde, which is our naturall guide

here, chooses to every man a severall way: scarce any man likes what

another doth, nor advisedly, that which himself. But Sir, I am beyond my

purpose; I meant to write a Letter, and I am fallen into a discourse, and

I do not only take you from some businesse, but I make you a new businesse

by drawing you into these meditations. In which yet let my opennesse be an

argument of such love as I would fain expresse in some worthier fashion.

[xxvi.]

_To Sir_ G. F.

_SIR_,

I writ to you once this week before; yet I write again, both because it

seems a kinde of resisting of grace, to omit any commodity of sending into

_England_, and because any Pacquet from me into _England_ should go, not

only without just fraight, but without ballast, if it had not a letter to

you. In Letters that I received from Sir H. _Wotton_ yesterday from

_Amyens_, I had one of the 8 of _March_ from you, and with it one from

M{rs} _Danterey_, of the 28 of _January_: which is a strange

disproportion. But, Sir, if our Letters come not in due order, and so make

not a certain and concurrent chain, yet if they come as Atomes, and so

meet at last, by any crooked, and casuall application, they make up, and

they nourish bodies of friendship; and in that fashion, I mean one way or

other, first or last, I hope all the Letters which have been addressed to

us by one another, are safely arrived, except perchance that pacquet by

the Cook be not, of which before this time you are cleare; for I received

(as I told you) a Letter by M. _Nat. Rich_, and if you sent none by him,

then it was that Letter, which the Cook tells you he delivered to M.

_Rich_; which, with all my criticismes, I cannot reconcile; because in

your last Letter, I find mention of things formerly written, which I have

not found. However, I am yet in the same perplexity, which I mentioned

before; which is, that I have received no syllable, neither from her self,

nor by any other, how my wife hath passed her danger, nor do I know

whether I be increased by a childe, or diminished by the losse of a wife.

I hear from _England_ of many censures of my book, of M{ris} _Drury_; if

any of those censures do but pardon me my descent in Printing any thing in

verse, (which if they do, they are more charitable then my self; for I do

not pardon my self, but confesse that I did it against my conscience, that

is, against my own opinion, that I should not have done so) I doubt not

but they will soon give over that other part of that indictment, which is

that I have said so much; for no body can imagine, that I who never saw

her, could have any other purpose in that, then that when I had received

so very good testimony of her worthinesse, and was gone down to print

verses, it became me to say, not what I was sure was just truth, but the

best that I could conceive; for that had been a new weaknesse in me, to

have praised any body in printed verses, that had not been capable of the

best praise that I could give. Presently after Easter we shall (I think)

go to _Frankford_ to be there at the election, where we shall meet Sir _H.

Wotton_ and Sir _Ro. Rich_, and after that we are determined to passe some

time, in the Palatinate. I go thither with a great deale of devotion for

me thinkes it is a new kinde of piety, that as Pilgrims went heretofore to

places which had been holy and happy, so I go to a place now, which shall

be so, and more, by the presence of the worthiest Princess of the world,

if that marriage proceed. I have no greater errand to the place then that

at my return into _England_, I may be fitter to stand in her presence, and

that after I have seen a rich and abundant Countrey, in his best seasons,

I may see that Sun which shall always keep it in that height. Howsoever we

stray, if you have leasure to write at any time, adventure by no other

way, then M. _Bruer_ [_Brewer_], at the Queens Armes, a Mercer, in

_Cheapside_. I shall omit no opportunity, of which I doubt not to finde

more then one before we go from _Paris_. Therefore give me leave to end

this, in which if you did not finde the remembrance of my humblest

services to my Lady _Bedford_, your love and faith ought to try all the

experiments of pouders, and dryings, and waterings to discover some lines

which appeared not; because it is impossible that a Letter should come

from me, with such an ungrateful silence.

_Your very true poor friend and

servant and lover_

J. Donne.

_This day begins a history, of which I doubt not but I shall write more to

you before I leave this town. Monsieur_ de Rohan, _a person for birth,

next heire to the Kingdome of_ Navar, _after the Kings children, (if the

King of_ Spaine _were weary of it) and for allyance, sonne in law to D._

Sully, _and for breeding in the wars and estate, the most renarkable man

of the Religion, being Governour of S._ Jean d'Angeli, _one of the most

important towns which they of the Religion hold for their security,

finding that some distasts between the Lieutenant and the Maior of the

town, and him, were dangerously fomented by great persons, stole from

Court, rode post to the town and removed these two persons. He sent his

secretary, and another dependent of his to give the Queen satisfaction,

who is so far from receiving it, that his messengers are committed to the_

Bastile _likely to be presently tortured; all his friends here commanded

to their houses, and the Queens companies of light horse sent already

thitherward, and foot companies preparing, which troops being sent against

a place, so much concerning those of the Religion to keep, and where they

abound in number and strength, cannot chuse but produce effects worthy

your hearing in the next Letter._

[xxvii.]

_To Sir_ H. G.

_SIR_,

Because I am in a place and season where I see every thing bud forth, I

must do so too, and vent some of my meditations to you; the rather because

all other buds being yet without taste or virtue, my Letters may be like

them. The pleasantnesse of the season displeases me. Every thing

refreshes, and I wither, and I grow older and not better, my strength

diminishes, and my load growes, and being to passe more and more stormes,

I finde that I have not only cast out all my ballast which nature and time

gives, Reason and discretion, and so am as empty and light as Vanity can

make me; but I have over fraught my self with Vice, and so am riddingly

subject to two contrary wrackes, Sinking and Oversetting, and under the

iniquity of such a disease as inforces the patient when he is almost

starved, not only to fast, but to purge. For I have much to take in, and

much to cast out; sometimes I thinke it easier to discharge my self of

vice then of vanity, as one may sooner carry the fire out of a room then

the smoake: and then I see it was a new vanity to think so. And when I

think sometimes that vanity, because it is thinne and airie, may be

expelled with vertue or businesse, or substantiall vice; I finde that I

give entrance thereby to new vices. Certainly as the earth and water, one

sad, the other fluid, make but one bodie: so to aire and Vanity, there is

but one _Centium morbi_. And that which later Physicians say of our

bodies, is fitter for our mindes: for that which they call Destruction,

which is a corruption and want of those fundamentall parts whereof we

consist, is Vice: and that _Collectio stercorum_, which is but the

excrement of that corruption, is our Vanity and indiscretion: both these

have but one root in me, and must be pulled out at once, or never. But I

am so farre from digging to it, that I know not where it is, for it is not

in mine eyes only, but in every sense, nor in my concupiscence only, but

in every power and affection. Sir, I was willing to let you see how

impotent a man you love, not to dishearten you from doing so still (for my

vices are not infectious nor wandring, they came not yesterday, nor mean

to go away to day: they Inne not, but dwell in me, and see themselves so

welcome, and find in me so good bad company of one another, that they

will not change, especially to one not apprehensive, nor easily

accessible) but I do it, that your counsell might cure me, and if you deny

that, your example shal, for I will as much strive to be like you as I

will wish you to continue good.

[xxviii.]

_To the Honourable Kt S{r}_ H. Goodere _one of the Gent. of his Majesties

privy Chamber_.

_SIR_,

You may remember that long since you delivered M{r} _Fowler_ possession of

me, but the wide distance in which I have lived from Court, makes me

reasonably fear, that now he knows not his right and power in me, though

he must of necessity have all, to whom you and I joyn in a gift of me, as

we did to him, so that perchance he hath a servant of me, which might be

passed in a book of concealment. If your leisure suffer it, I pray finde

whether I be in him still, and conserve me in his love; and so perfect

your own work, or doe it over again, and restore me to the place, which by

your favour I had in him. For M{r} _Powell_ who serves her Ma{ty} as

Clerk of her counsell, hath told me that M{r} _Fowler_ hath some purpose

to retire himself; and therefore I would fain for all my love, have so

much of his, as to finde him willing when I shall seek him at Court, to

let me understand his purpose therein; for if my means may make me

acceptable to the Queen and him, I should be very sorry he should make so

farre steps therein with any other, that I should fail in it, onely for

not having spoke to him soon enough. It were an injury to the forwardnesse

of your love to adde more; here therefore I kisse your hands, and commend

to you the truth of my love.

_Your very affectionate

servant and lover_

Jo. Donne.

_From my lodging in the_ Strand,

_whither I shall return on_ Munday,

13 June 1607.

[xxix.]

_To Sr_ H. G.