_SIR_,
All our moralities are but our out-works, our Christianity is our Citadel;
a man who considers duty but the dignity of his being a man, is not easily
beat from his outworks, but from his Christianity never; and therefore I
dare trust you, who contemplates them both. Every distemper of the body
now, is complicated with the spleen, and when we were young men we scarce
ever heard of the spleen. In our declinations now, every accident is
accompanied with heavy clouds of melancholy; and in our youth we never
admitted any. It is the spleen of the minde, and we are affected with
vapors from thence; yet truly, even this sadnesse that overtakes us, and
this yeelding to the sadnesse, is not so vehement a poison (though it be
no Physick neither) as those false waies, in which we sought our comforts
in our looser daies. You are able to make rules to your self, and our
B[lessed] Saviour continue to you an ability to keep within those rules.
And this particular occasion of your present sadnesse must be helped by
the rule, for, for examples you will scarce finde any, scarce any that is
not encombred and distressed in his fortunes. I had locked my self, sealed
and secured my self against all possibilities of falling into new debts,
and in good faith, this year hath thrown me 400{l} lower then when I
entred this house. I am a Father as well as you, and of children (I humbly
thank God) of as good dispositions; and in saying so, I make account that
I have taken my comparison as high as I could goe; for in good faith, I
beleeve yours to be so: but as those my daughters (who are capable of such
considerations) cannot but see my desire to accommodate them in this
world, so I think they will not murmure if heaven must be their Nunnery,
and they associated to the B. virgins there: I know they would be content
to passe their lives in a Prison, rather then I should macerate my self
for them, much more to suffer the mediocrity of my house, and my means,
though that cannot preferre them: yours are such too, and it need not that
patience, for your fortune doth not so farre exercise their patience. But
to leave all in Gods hands, from whose hands nothing can be wrung by
whining but by praying, nor by praying without the _Fiat voluntas tua_.
Sir, you are used to my hand, and, I think have leisure to spend some time
in picking out sense, in ragges; else I had written lesse, and in longer
time. Here is room for an _Amen_; the prayer----so I am going to my
bedside to make for all you and all yours, with
_Your true friend and servant in Chr. Jesus_
J. Donne.
[xliv.]
A. V. _Merced_.
_SIR_,
I write not to you out of my poor Library, where to cast mine eye upon
good Authors kindles or refreshes sometimes meditations not unfit to
communicate to near friends; nor from the high way, where I am contracted,
and inverted into my self; which are my two ordinary forges of Letters to
you. But I write from the fire side in my Parler, and in the noise of
three gamesome children; and by the side of her, whom because I have
transplanted into a wretched fortune, I must labour to disguise that from
her by all such honest devices, as giving her my company, and discourse,
therefore I steal from her, all the time which I give this Letter, and it
is therefore that I take so short a list, and gallop so fast over it. I
have not been out of my house since I received your pacquet. As I have
much quenched my senses, and disused my body from pleasure, and so tried
how I can indure to be mine own grave, so I try now how I can suffer a
prison. And since it is but to build one wall more about our soul, she is
still in her own Center, how many circumferences soever fortune or our own
perversnesse cast about her. I would I could as well intreat her to go
out, as she knows whither to go. But if I melt into a melancholy whilest I
write, I shall be taken in this manner: and I sit by one too tender
towards these impressions, and it is so much our duty, to avoid all
occasions of giving them sad apprehensions, as S. _Hierome_ accuses _Adam_
of no other fault in eating the Apple, but that he did it _Ne
contristaretur delicias suas_. I am not carefull what I write, because the
inclosed Letters may dignifie this ill favoured bark, and they need not
grudge so course a countenance, because they are now to accompany
themselves, my man fetched them, and therefore I can say no more of them
then themselves say. M{ris} _Meauly_ intreated me by her Letter to hasten
hers, as I think, for by my troth I cannot read it. My Lady was
dispatching in so much haste for _Twicknam_, as she gave no word to a
Letter which I sent with yours; of Sir _Tho. Bartlet_, I can say nothing,
nor of the plague, though your Letter bid me: but that he diminishes, the
other increases, but in what proportion I am not clear. To them at
_Hammersmith_, and M{ris} _Herbert_ I will do your command. If I have been
good in hope, or can promise any little offices in the future probably, it
is comfortable, for I am the worst present man in the world; yet the
instant, though it be nothing, joynes times together, and therefore this
unprofitableness, since I have been, and will still indevour to be so,
shall not interrupt me now from being
_Your servant and lover_
J. Donne.
[xlv.]
_To the best Knight Sir_ H. Wootton.
_SIR_,
When I saw your good Countesse last, she let me think that her message by
her foot-man would hasten you up. And it furthered that opinion in me,
when I knew how near M. _Mathews_ day of departing this kingdome was. To
counterpoyse both these, I have a little Letter from you brought to me to
_Micham_ yesterday, but left at my lodging two days sooner: and because
that speaks nothing of your return, I am content to be perplexed in it:
and as in all other, so in this perplexity to do that which is safest. To
me it is safest to write, because it performes a duty, and leaves my
conscience well: and though it seem not safest for the Letter, which may
perish, yet I remember that in the Crociate [Crusade] for the warres in
the _Holy Land_, and so in all Pilgrimages enterprised in devotion, he
which dies in the way, enjoys all the benefit and indulgences which the
end did afford. Howsoever, all that can encrease my merit; for, as where
they immolate men, it is a scanter devotion, to sacrifice one of many
slaves or of many children, or an onely child, then to beget and bring up
one purposely to sacrifice it, so if I ordain this Letter purposely for
destruction, it is the largest expressing of that kinde of piety, and I am
easie to beleeve (because I wish it) your hast hither: Not that I can fear
any slacknesse in that business which drew you down, because your fortune
and honour are a paire of good spurs to it; but here also you have both
true businesse and many _Quasi negotia_, which go two and two to a
businesse; which are visitations, and such, as though they be not full
businesses, yet are so near them that they serve as for excuses, in
omissions of the other. As when abjuration was in use in this land, the
State and law was satisfied if the abjuror came to the sea side, and waded
into the sea, when windes and tydes resisted, so we think our selves
justly excusable to our friends and our selves, if when we should do
businesse, we come to the place of businesse, as Courts and the houses of
great Princes and officers. I do not so much intimate your infirmity in
this, as frankly confesse mine own. The master of Latine language says,
_Oculi & aures aliorum te speculantur & custodiunt_. So those two words
are synonimous, & only the observation of others upon me, is my
preservation from extream idlenesse, else I professe, that I hate
businesse so much, as I am sometimes glad to remember that the _Roman
Church_ reads that verse _A negotio perambulante in tenebris_, which we
reade from the pestilence walking by night, so equall to me do the plague
and businesse deserve avoiding, but you will neither beleeve that I abhor
businesse, if I enlarge this Letter, nor that I would afford you that ease
which I affect. Therefore returne to your pleasures.
_Your unprofitablest friend_
J. Donne.
March 14. 1607[8].
_It is my third Letter: which I tell you, because I found not M{r}_
Rogers, _but left the Letter which I sent last, with a stranger at_
Cliffords Inne.
[xlvi.]
_To Sir_ H. G.