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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=37480" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Elegy I: Jealousy</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fond woman, which would'ſt have thy huſband die,<br>And yet complain'ſt of his great jealouſie;<br>If ſwolne with poyſon, hee lay in his laſt bed,<br>His body with a ſere-barke covered,<br>Drawing his breath, as quick and ſhort, as can<br>The nimbleſt crocheting Muſitian,<br>Ready with loathſome vomiting to ſpue<br>His Soule out of one hell, into a new,<br>Made deafe with his poore kindreds howling cries,<br>Begging with few feign'd teares great legacies,<br>Thou would'ſt not weep, but jolly, 'and frolicke bee,<br>As a ſlave, which to morrow ſhould be free.<br>Yet weep'ſt thou, when thou ſeeſt him hungerly<br>Swallow his owne death, hearts-bane jealouſie?<br>O give him many thanks, he is courteous,<br>That in ſuſpecting kindly warneth us.<br>Wee muſt not, as we us'd, flout openly,<br>In ſcoffing ridles, his deformitie;<br>Nor at his boord together being fatt,<br>With words, nor touch, ſcarce lookes, adulterate.<br>Nor when he ſwolne, and pamper'd with great fare,<br>Sits downe and ſnorts, cag'd in his basket chaire,<br>Muſt wee uſurpe his owne bed any more,<br>Nor kiſſe and play in his houſe, as before.<br>Now I ſee many dangers; for it is<br>His realme, his caſtle, and his dioceſſe.<br>But if, as envious men, which would revile<br>Their Prince, or coyne his gold, themſelves exile<br>Into another countrie, 'and doe it there,<br>Wee play 'in another houſe, what ſhould we feare?<br>There we will scorn his houſhold policies,<br>His ſeely plots, and penſionary ſpies,<br>As the inhabitants of Thames right ſide<br>Do Londons Major, or Germans the Pope's pride.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Donne">John Donne</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=37480" data-title="Elegy I: Jealousy de John Donne" data-description="Fond woman, which would'ſt have thy huſband die,/And yet complain'ſt of his great jealouſie;/If ſwolne with poyſon, hee lay in his laſt bed,/His body with a ſere-barke covered,/Drawing his breath, as quick and ſhort, as can/The nimbleſt ..."></div>
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