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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419757" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Satire I</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Away thou fondling motley humorist, <br>Leave mee, and in this standing woodden chest, <br>Consorted with these few bookes, let me lye <br>In prison, and here be coffin'd, when I dye; <br>Here are Gods conduits, grave Divines; and here <br>Natures Secretary, the Philosopher; <br>And jolly Statesmen, which teach how to tie <br>The sinewes of a cities mistique bodie; <br>Here gathering Chroniclers, and by them stand <br>Giddie fantastique Poets of each land. <br>Shall I leave all this constant company, <br>And follow headlong, wild uncertaine thee? <br>First sweare by thy best love in earnest <br>(If thou which lov'st all, canst love any best) <br>Thou wilt not leave mee in the middle street <br>Though some more spruce companion thou dost meet, <br>Not though a Captaine do come in thy way <br>Bright parcell gilt, with forty dead mens pay, <br>Nor though a briske perfum'd piert Courtier <br>Deigne with a nod, thy courtesie to answer, <br>Nor come a velvet Justice with a long <br>Great traine of blew coats, twelve, or fourteen strong, <br>Wilt thou grin or fawne on him, or prepare <br>A speech to court his beautious sonne and heire. <br>For better or worse take mee, or leave mee: <br>To take, and leave mee is adultery. <br>Oh monstrous, superstitious puritan, <br>Of refin'd manners, yet ceremoniall man, <br>That when thou meet'st one, with enquiring eyes <br>Dost search, and like a needy broker prize <br>The silke, and gold he weares, and to that rate <br>So high or low, dost raise thy formall hat: <br>That wilt consort none, untill thou have knowne <br>What lands hee hath in hope, or of his owne, <br>As though all thy companions should make thee <br>Jointures, and marry thy deare company. <br>Why should'st thou (that dost not onely approve, <br>But in ranke itchie lust, desire, and love <br>The nakednesse and barenesse to enjoy, <br>Of thy plumpe muddy whore, or prostitute boy) <br>Hate vertue, though shee be naked, and bare? <br>At birth, and death, our bodies naked are; <br>And till our Soules be unapparrelled <br>Of bodies, they from blisse are banished. <br>Mans first blest state was naked, when by sinne <br>Hee lost that, yet hee'was cloath'd but in beasts skin, <br>And in this course attire, which I now weare, <br>With God, and with the Muses I conferre. <br>But since thou like a contrite penitent, <br>Charitably warn'd of thy sinnes, dost repent <br>These vanities, and giddinesses, loe <br>I shut my chamber doore, and 'Come, lets goe.' <br>But sooner may a cheape whore, that hath beene <br>Worne by as many severall men in sinne, <br>As are black feathers, or musk-colour hose, <br>Name her childs right true father, 'mongst all those: <br>Sooner may one guesse, who shall beare away <br>Th'Infant of London, Heire to'an India: <br>And sooner may a gulling weather-Spie <br>By drawing forth heavens Scheame tell certainly <br>What fashion'd hats, or ruffles, or suits next yeare <br>Our subtile-witted antique youths will weare; <br>Then thou, when thou depart'st from mee, canst show <br>Whither, why, when, or with whom thou wouldst go. <br>But how shall I be pardon'd my offence <br>That thus have sinn'd against my conscience? <br>Now we are in the street; He first of all <br>Improvidently proud, creepes to the wall, <br>And so imprison'd, and hem'd in by mee <br>Sells for a little state his libertie; <br>Yet though he cannot skip forth now to greet <br>Every fine silken painted foole we meet, <br>He them to him with amorous smiles allures, <br>And grins, smacks, shrugs, and such an itch endures, <br>As prentises, or schoole-boyes which doe know <br>Of some gay sport abroad, yet dare not goe. <br>And as fidlers stop low'st, at highest sound, <br>So to the most brave, stoops hee nigh'st the ground. <br>But to a grave man, he doth move no more <br>Then the wise politique horse would heretofore, <br>Or thou O Elephant or Ape wilt doe, <br>When any names the King of Spaine to you. <br>Now leaps he upright, joggs me,'and cryes, 'Do'you see <br>Yonder well favour'd youth?' 'Which?' 'Oh, 'tis hee <br>That dances so divinely.' 'Oh,' said I, <br>'Stand still, must you dance here for company?' <br>Hee droopt, wee went, till one (which did excell <br>Th'Indians, in drinking his Tobacco well) <br>Met us; they talk'd; I whisper'd, 'Let us goe, <br>'T may be you smell him not, truely I doe.' <br>He heares not mee, but, on the other side <br>A many-colour'd Peacock having spide, <br>Leaves him and mee; I for my lost sheep stay; <br>He followes, overtakes, goes on the way, <br>Saying, 'Him whom I last left, all repute <br>For his device, in hansoming a sute, <br>To judge of lace, pinke, panes, print, cut and plight, <br>Of all the Court, to have the best conceit.' <br>'Our dull Comedians want him, let him goe; <br>But Oh, God strengthen thee, why stoop'st thou so?' <br>'Why? he hath travail'd.' 'Long?' 'No, but to me' <br>(Which understand none,) 'he doth seeme to be <br>Perfect French, and Italian.' I reply'd, <br>'So is the Poxe.' He answer'd not, but spy'd <br>More men of sort, of parts, and qualities; <br>At last his Love he in a windowe spies, <br>And like light dew exhal'd, he flings from mee <br>Violently ravish'd to his lechery. <br>Many were there, he could command no more; <br>He quarrell'd, fought, bled; and turn'd out of dore <br>Directly came to mee hanging the head, <br>And constantly a while must keepe his bed.</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=419757" data-title="Satire I de John Donne" data-description="Away thou fondling motley humorist, 
Leave mee, and in this standing woodden chest, 
Consorted with these few bookes, let me lye 
In prison, and here be coffin'd, when I dye; 
Here are Gods conduits, grave Divines; and here 
Natures Secretary, the..."></div>
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