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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419685" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Elegy XVI: The Expostulation</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">TO make the doubt clear, that no woman's true,<br>Was it my fate to prove it strong in you?<br>Thought I, but one had breathèd purest air ;<br>And must she needs be false, because she's fair?<br>Is it your beauty's mark, or of your youth,<br>Or your perfection, not to study truth?<br>Or think you heaven is deaf, or hath no eyes?<br>Or those it hath smile at your perjuries?<br>Are vows so cheap with women, or the matter<br>Whereof they're made, that they are writ in water,<br>And blown away with wind? Or doth their breath<br>Both hot and cold, at once make life and death?<br>Who could have thought so many accents sweet<br>Form'd into words, so may sighs should meet<br>As from our hearts, so many oaths, and tears<br>Sprinkled among, all sweeten'd by our fears,<br>And the divine impression of stolen kisses,<br>That seal'd the rest, should now prove empty blisses?<br>Did you draw bonds to forfeit? sign to break?<br>Or must we read you quite from what you speak,<br>And find the truth out the wrong way? or must<br>He first desire you false, would wish you just?<br>O ! I profane ! though most of women be<br>This kind of beast, my thoughts shall except thee,<br>My dearest love ; though froward jealousy<br>With circumstance might urge thy inconstancy,<br>Sooner I'll think the sun will cease to cheer<br>The teeming earth, and that forget to bear ;<br>Sooner that rivers will run back, or Thames<br>With ribs of ice in June will bind his streams ;<br>Or nature, by whose strength the world endures,<br>Would change her course, before you alter yours.<br>But O ! that treacherous breast, to whom weak you<br>Did drift our counsels, and we both may rue,<br>Having his falsehood found too late ; 'twas he<br>That made me cast you guilty, and you me ;<br>Whilst he, black wretch, betray'd each simple word<br>We spake, unto the cunning of a third.<br>Cursed may he be, that so our love hath slain,<br>And wander on the earth, wretched as Cain,<br>Wretched as he, and not deserve least pity.<br>In plaguing him, let misery be witty ;<br>Let all eyes shun him, and he shun each eye,<br>Till he be noisome as his infamy ;<br>May he without remorse deny God thrice,<br>And not be trusted more on his soul's price ;<br>And, after all self-torment, when he dies,<br>May wolves tear out his heart, vultures his eyes,<br>Swine eat his bowels, and his falser tongue<br>That utter'd all, be to some raven flung ;<br>And let his carrion corse be a longer feast<br>To the king's dogs, than any other beast.<br>Now have I cursed, let us our love revive ;<br>In me the flame was never more alive.<br>I could begin again to court and praise,<br>And in that pleasure lengthen the short days<br>Of my life's lease ; like painters that do take<br>Delight, not in made work, but whiles they make.<br>I could renew those times, when first I saw<br>Love in your eyes, that gave my tongue the law<br>To like what you liked ; and at masks and plays<br>Commend the self-same actors, the same ways ;<br>Ask how you did, and often with intent<br>Of being officious, be impertinent ;<br>All which were such soft pastimes, as in these<br>Love was as subtly catch'd as a disease.<br>But being got, it is a treasure sweet,<br>Which to defend is harder than to get ;<br>And ought not be profaned, on either part,<br>For though 'tis got by chance, 'tis kept by art.</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=419685" data-title="Elegy XVI: The Expostulation de John Donne" data-description="TO make the doubt clear, that no woman's true,
Was it my fate to prove it strong in you?
Thought I, but one had breathèd purest air ;
And must she needs be false, because she's fair?
Is it your beauty's mark, or of your youth,
Or your perfection,..."></div>
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