From A Satire Written To King James I
Did I not know a great man's power and might
In spite of innocence can smother right,
Colour his villainies to get esteem,
And make the honest man the villain seem?
I know it, and the world doth know 'tis true,
Yet I protest if such a man I knew,
That might my country prejudice or thee
Were he the greatest or the proudest he,
That breathes this day; if so it might be found
That any good to either might redound,
I unappalled, dare in such a case
Rip up his foulest crimes before his face,
Though for my labour I were sure to drop
Into the mouth of ruin without hope.
poem by George Wither
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Related quotes
Upon The Thief
The thief, when he doth steal, thinks he doth gain;
Yet then the greatest loss he doth sustain.
Come, thief, tell me thy gains, but do not falter.
When summ'd, what comes it to more than the halter?
Perhaps, thou'lt say, The halter I defy;
So thou may'st say, yet by the halter die.
Thou'lt say, Then there's an end; no, pr'ythee, hold,
He was no friend of thine that thee so told.
Hear thou the Word of God, that will thee tell,
Without repentance thieves must go to hell.
But should it be as thy false prophet says,
Yet nought but loss doth come by thievish ways.
All honest men will flee thy company,
Thou liv'st a rogue, and so a rogue will die.
Innocent boldness thou hast none at all,
Thy inward thoughts do thee a villain call.
Sometimes when thou liest warmly on thy bed,
Thou art like one unto the gallows led.
Fear, as a constable, breaks in upon thee,
Thou art as if the town was up to stone thee.
If hogs do grunt, or silly rats do rustle,
Thou art in consternation, think'st a bustle
By men about the door, is made to take thee,
And all because good conscience doth forsake thee.
Thy case is most deplorably so bad,
Thou shunn'st to think on't, lest thou should'st be mad.
Thou art beset with mischiefs every way,
The gallows groaneth for thee every day.
Wherefore, I pr'ythee, thief, thy theft forbear,
Consult thy safety, pr'ythee, have a care.
If once thy head be got within the noose,
'Twill be too late a longer life to choose.
As to the penitent thou readest of,
What's that to them who at repentance scoff.
Nor is that grace at thy command or power,
That thou should'st put it off till the last hour.
I pr'ythee, thief, think on't, and turn betime;
Few go to life who do the gallows climb.
poem by John Bunyan
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Wow What A Friend I Have Found
i travel around the world
looking for a true and faithful friend
but unfortunately for me i found none
i travel from country to country looking
for a trusting friend but found no such friend
i decided to visit all 196 countries in this
world and see if i can find a true friend
but it seems all the friends i found either
leave me with broken heart or make fun of me
i decided to be on my own
until you came along
wow what a great friend i have found!
This friend i have found won't make fun
of me neither live me with broken heart
wow this is the greatest moment of my life
i have found a true, faithful and trusting friend!
i have found the greatest friend ever
what a great friend i have found!
poem by Esther Obeng
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The Great Gift Of Youth
The great gift of youth is a thing to enjoy
And the crimes of the man are not the crimes of the boy
That all children are innocent to all children apply
And why we lose our innocence don't ask me why?
That time changes us as people does seem sad to say
We lose our youthful innocence as we grow old and gray
And some even become more hardened with the passing of time
Lose respect for self and others and turn to crime.
Any crime against children cannot be seen as small
And the abuse of a child one of the greatest crimes of all
Any crime against a child a hard crime to forgive
Those who commit such crimes with their sins have to live.
It's praises the singers and Songwriters sing
For the great gift of youth is a marvellous thing
And sad to say some children at a young age have innocence stole
From them by damaged adults who lack in self control.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Sonnet 59: Dear, Why Make You More
Dear, why make you more of a dog than me?
If he do love, I burn, I burn in love;
If he wait well, I never thence would move;
If he be fair, yet but a dog can be.
Little he is, so little worth is he;
He barks, my songs thine own voice oft doth prove:
Bidden perhaps he fetcheth thee a glove,
But I unbid, fetch ev'n my soul to thee.
Yet while I languish, him that bosom clips,
That lap doth lap, nay lets in spite of spite
This sour-breath'd mate taste of those sugar'd lips.
Alas, if you grant only such delight
To witless thngs, then Love I hope (since wit
Becomes a clog) will soon ease me of it.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter CXXVI: Ruin
Do not ruin a good story
Do not ruin a perfect plan
Do not ruin a flawless lie
Do not ruin a great sacrifice
Do not ruin a hard work
Do not ruin a long trust
Do not ruin a magical moment
Do not ruin a golden opportunity
Do not ruin the current mood
Do not ruin an innocent dream
Do not ruin a sweet memory
Do not ruin a fair game
Do not ruin a mutual agreement
Do not ruin a smiling face
Do not ruin the flowing river
Do not ruin the sequence order
Do not ruin the standard procedure
Do not ruin the prepared show
Do not ruin a complete circle
Do not ruin a final ending
Do not ruin the leisure time
Do not ruin the aiming shot
Do not ruin the hidden purpose
Do not ruin a genius idea
Do not ruin the dead price
Do not ruin a determined mind
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Cloten: Sirrah, if thou wouldst not be a villain, but do me true service, undergo those employments wherein I should have cause to use thee with a serious industry, that is, what villany soe'er I bid thee do, to perform it directly and truly, I would think thee an honest man.
line from Cymbeline, Act III, Scene 5, script by William Shakespeare (1611)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Welcome Vicissitude
In spite of big bribes given to me,
I understand this is just temporary.
Mindfulness! it brightens my brain.
Dare to welcome any gain.
In spite of being destroyed in soil,
I can stand with stars in my eyes.
Mindfulness! it's my secret suit.
Dare to welcome any lose.
In spite of pukka popularity,
I understand this won't be eternally.
Mindfulness! it directs not to be vain.
Dare to welcome any fame.
In spite of lowest position,
I can stand with brave actions.
Mindfulness! it shows how to maintain.
Dare to welcome any defame.
In spite of speaking in honor of me,
I understand I shouldn't respond conceitedly.
Mindfulness! it's the best way to face.
Dare to welcome any praise.
In spite of gossip to me,
I can stand without depravity.
Mindfulness! it's trump card for my aim.
Dare to welcome any blame.
In spite of typical tycoon,
I understand all will dissolve soon.
Mindfulness! it's my fortune-calculator.
Dare to welcome any pleasure.
In spite of abysmal poverty,
I can stand with honesty.
Mindfulness! it guides me to tame.
Dare to welcome any pain.
poem by Aung Si Myanmar
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A Praise of his Lady
GIVE place, you ladies, and begone!
Boast not yourselves at all!
For here at hand approacheth one
Whose face will stain you all.
The virtue of her lively looks
Excels the precious stone;
I wish to have none other books
To read or look upon.
In each of her two crystal eyes
Smileth a naked boy;
It would you all in heart suffice
To see that lamp of joy.
I think Nature hath lost the mould
Where she her shape did take;
Or else I doubt if Nature could
So fair a creature make.
She may be well compared
Unto the Phoenix kind,
Whose like was never seen or heard,
That any man can find.
In life she is Diana chaste,
In troth Penelopey;
In word and eke in deed steadfast.
--What will you more we say?
If all the world were sought so far,
Who could find such a wight?
Her beauty twinkleth like a star
Within the frosty night.
Her rosial colour comes and goes
With such a comely grace,
More ruddier, too, than doth the rose,
Within her lively face.
At Bacchus' feast none shall her meet,
Ne at no wanton play,
Nor gazing in an open street,
Nor gadding as a stray.
The modest mirth that she doth use
Is mix'd with shamefastness;
All vice she doth wholly refuse,
And hateth idleness.
O Lord! it is a world to see
How virtue can repair,
And deck in her such honesty,
Whom Nature made so fair.
Truly she doth so far exceed
Our women nowadays,
As doth the jeliflower a weed;
And more a thousand ways.
How might I do to get a graff
Of this unspotted tree?
--For all the rest are plain but chaff,
Which seem good corn to be.
This gift alone I shall her give;
When death doth what he can,
Her honest fame shall ever live
Within the mouth of man.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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A Song Bewailing The Time Of Christmas, So Much Decayed In England
Christmas is my name, for have I gone, have I gone, have I gone,
Have I gone without regard;
Whereas great men by flocks they be flown to Londonward
Where in pomp and pleasure do waste
That which Christmas had wont to feast,
Welladay!
Houses where music was wonted to ring,
Nothing but bats and owls now do sing.
Welladay, welladay, welladay, where should I stay?
Christmas bread and beef is turned into stones, into stones, into stones,
Into stones and silken rags.
And Lady Money, it doth sleep, it doth sleep, it doth sleep,
It doth sleep in misers' bags.
Where many gallants once abound,
Nought but a dog and shepherd is found,
Welladay!
Places where Christmas revels did keep
Are now become habitations for sheep.
Welladay, welladay, welladay, where should I stay?
Pan, the shepherds' god, doth deface, doth deface, doth deface,
Doth deface Lady Ceres' crown;
And tillages doth decay, doth decay, doth decay,
Doth decay in every town;
Landlords their rents so highly enhance
That Piers the ploughman barefoot doth dance,
Welladay!
Farmers that Christmas would entertain
Hath scarcely withal themselves to maintain.
Welladay, welladay, welladay, where should I stay?
Go to the Protestant, he'll protest, he'll protest, he'll protest,
He will protest and boldly boast;
And to the Puritan, he is so hot, he is so hot, he is so hot,
He is so hot he will burn the roast.
The Catholic good deeds will not scorn,
Nor will he see poor Christmas forlorn,
Welladay!
Since holiness no good deeds will do,
Protestants had best turn Papists too.
Welladay, welladay, welladay, where should I stay?
Pride and luxury doth devour, doth devour, doth devour,
Doth devour housekeeping quite,
And beggary doth beget, doth beget, doth beget,
Doth beget in many a knight.
Madam, forsooth, in coach must she reel
Although she wear her hose out at heel,
Welladay!
And on her back were that for her weed
That would both me and many other feed,
Welladay, welladay, welladay, where should I stay?
Briefly for to end, here I find, here I find, here I find,
Here I find such great vacation
That some great houses do seem to have, seem to have, seem to have,
For to have some great purgation:
With purging pills such effects they have showed
That out of doors their owners they have spewed.
Welladay!
And when Christmas goes by and calls,
Nothing but solitude and naked walls.
Welladay, welladay, welladay, where should I stay?
Philomel's cottages are turned into gold, into gold,
Into gold for harboring Joan;
And great men's houses up for to hold, up for to hold,
Up for to hold, make great men moan;
But in the city they say they do live
Where gold by handfuls away they do give,
Welladay!
And, therefore, thither I purpose to pass,
Hoping at London to find the Golden Ass.
I'll away, I'll away, I'll away, I'll no longer stay.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Preparatory Meditations - Second Series: 146
(Canticles 6:13. Return, oh Shulamite, Return, Return)
My dear, dear Lord, I know not what to say:
Speech is too coarse a web for me to clothe
My love to Thee in or it to array
Or make a mantle. Would'st Thou not such loathe?
Thy love to me's too great for me to shape
A vesture for the same at any rate.
When as Thy love doth touch my heart down-tossed
It tremblingly runs, seeking Thee its all,
And as a child when it his nurse hath lost
Runs seeking her, and after her doth call.
So when Thou hid'st from me, I seek and sigh.
Thou sayest, 'Return, return, Oh Shulamite.'
Rent out on use Thy love, Thy love I pray.
My love to Thee shall be Thy rent, and I
Thee use on use, int'rest on int'rest pay.
There's none extortion in such usury.
I'll pay Thee use on for 't and therefore
Thou shalt become the greatest usurer.
But yet the principal I'll ne'er restore.
The same is Thine and mine. We shall not jar.
And so this blessed usury shall be
Most profitable both to Thee and me.
And shouldst Thou hide Thy shining face most fair
Away from me. And in a sinking wise
My trembling beating heart brought nigh t' despair
Should cry to Thee and in a trembling guise,
Lord, quicken it. Drop in its ears delight,
Saying, 'Return, return, my Shulamite.'
poem by Edward Taylor
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A Rainbow Coloured God
God gave us colours in our daily routine,
A clear blue sky the grass so green,
The colours of the mammals, all the life in the seas,
Our rainforest habitat they're all there to please.
Our colour's a gift which we can use and enjoy,
Yet it's also an issue we can use to destroy,
This subject is unique to the human race,
That we can judge another by the colour on their face.
Racism is prevalent wherever you travel,
It's a problem the scientists have failed to unravel,
We claim to love colour but that's strictly not true,
If you're the wrong shade there could be trouble for you.
We claim to be intelligent yet nuance is still used,
As a reason for hatred an excuse to be abused,
If only we could accept that we are what we are,
Racism would die we'd be on an equal par.
We must fight back or our cultures they'll smother,
There's no colour on earth is superior to another,
Under all our skins we're exactly the same,
We're all trying to survive in life's great game.
There are evil people who'll use our colour to fight,
They don't give a damn if they're wrong or right,
The only message they are trying to convey,
Is you'll do what you're told you do not have a say.
They claim their saviour inspires hostile intent,
That's a message that's certainly not heaven sent,
The good Lord above wants us all to believe,
These people are evil they are trying to deceive.
Religion and colour are attributes to cherish,
Treat them with contempt and we'll all surely perish,
Our creators teachings are of peace not war,
Killing and maiming we all know he'd abhor.
When the racists are judged they'll be held to account,
Those crimes they committed they will never surmount,
The God who presides over them what colour will he be,
What will he look like very soon they will see.
There's none of them know but they're in for a shock,
As they all stand silent to be judged in his dock,
From out of the shadows the good Lord did appear,
He said let me make it abundantly clear.
I created you in my image in different shades,
Your abuse of my colours now that's what really degrades,
The racists from every culture stood rooted and overawed,
for standing there in judgement was,
‘' A Rainbow Coloured God ‘'
Honest Men
Were just a stones throw
From burning hellfire
Does anybody know,
Where did all the heroes go?
Weve had our fill of
This gallery of scoundrels,
The leaders of the world,
Those power hungry liars
Rise up and sound the sirens,
Send out the searching powers,
All we need is a few good men
Send the s.o.s. and red alerts
All across the universe
Calling your honest men?
S.o.s. emergency,
Sinking fast and getting worse.
Wheres your honest men?
In some village, far away,
Or in a little town pub.
High on a mountain top
There must be an honest man
Calling all honest men
Throw out the tyrants,
The aged fat cats
Outlived their usefulness
They have led us to this mess
Make them answer,
Hold them to their promises,
And throw them in the street
If they wont tell the truth
S.o.s. and red alert
All across the universe,
Calling all honest men
S.o.s. emergency,
Sinking fast and getting worse,
Wheres your honest men?
To your stations,
Man the ramparts,
The barricades
We need new heroes urgently
We need a few good honest men
Calling all honest men
Calling all honest men
Call to him
He lives next door,
Across the street
On the upper floor.
Its our only hope we need him now
Send the s.o.s. and red alert,
All across the universe,
Calling all honest men
S.o.s. emergency,
Sinking fast and getting worse,
Wheres your honest men
Strike a blow,
Save the ship,
We need a few good honest men
Calling all honest men
Calling all honest men
Calling all honest men
S.o.s. across the universe
Wheres your honest
We need your honest
Calling all honest men
Calling out all over the world,
Wheres your honest men
Looking out all over the world,
We need your honest men
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Those Who Commit Crimes Against Children
Those who commit crimes against children will surely be made to pay
If the Law does not catch them then Karma will one day
Self esteem they do erode and self confidence destroy
In the mind of their young victim the innocent girl or boy.
The abuse of children by an adult surely a crime of shame
Not many worse crimes than it that one could wish to name
Their innocence stolen from them in their most vulnerable years
For the victims of child abuse humanity sheds tears.
The abuse of a child on human innocence an attack
And innocence when stolen cannot be given back
Some of those who commit such crimes as children may have known abuse
But that for their behaviour not a good enough excuse.
Any crime against a child is a hard crime to forgive
And those guilty of child abuse with their sins have to live
And though on another human being one ought not to wish ill
If the Law does not punish them then Karma surely will.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Beautiful Stranger
I cannot know what country owns thee now,
With France's forest lilies on thy brow.
When England knew thee thou wert passing fair;
I never knew a foreign face so rare.
The world of waters rolls and rushes bye,
Nor lets me wander where thy vallies lie.
But surely France must be a pleasant place
That greets the stranger with so fair a face;
The English maiden blushes down the dance,
But few can equal the fair maid of France.
I saw thee lovely and I wished thee mine,
And the last song I ever wrote is thine.
Thy country's honour on thy face attends;
Men may be foes but beauty makes us friends.
poem by John Clare
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The Artist. (Sonnet I.)
Nothing the greatest artist can conceive
That every marble block doth not confine
Within itself; and only its design
The hand that follows intellect can achieve.
The ill I flee, the good that I believe,
In thee, fair lady, lofty and divine,
Thus hidden lie; and so that death be mine
Art, of desired success, doth me bereave.
Love is not guilty, then, nor thy fair face,
Nor fortune, cruelty, nor great disdain,
Of my disgrace, nor chance, nor destiny,
If in thy heart both death and love find place
At the same time, and if my humble brain,
Burning, can nothing draw but death from thee.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Innocence Lost
I can't relive my life
I can't retrace my tracks
I can't undo what's done
There is no going back
I chased a selfish dream
Did not survey the cost
Illusions disappeared
I've found my innocence lost
Some say it's lessons learned
Some say it's a living life
I say it's choices made
Knowing wrong from right
One night I fought to sleep
In my slumber I turned and tossed
I woke to a cloudy day
And found my innocence lost
Innocent child is a beautiful thing
Secure in her father's arms
Sleeps while a mother sings
There's no way to know
All the harm this world can bring
I miss my innocence
Oh, to be innocent
My heavenly Father
The well of eternal love
That overflows with grace
I can completely trust
My broken heart repaired
And all my sin forgot
I can be pure again
In spite of my innocence lost
In his eyes I'm a newborn child
Cuz I accept his love
I have a newfound hope
Though I've found my innocence lost
I can be pure again
I've found my innocence lost
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Book Of Hafis - The Unlimited
THAT thou can't never end, doth make thee great,
And that thou ne'er beginnest, is thy fate.
Thy song is changeful as yon starry frame,
End and beginning evermore the same;
And what the middle bringeth, but contains
What was at first, and what at last remains.
Thou art of joy the true and minstrel-source,
From thee pours wave on wave with ceaseless force.
A mouth that's aye prepared to kiss,
A breast whence flows a loving song,
A throat that finds no draught amiss,
An open heart that knows no wrong.
And what though all the world should sink!
Hafis, with thee, alone with thee
Will I contend! joy, misery,
The portion of us twain shall be;
Like thee to love, like thee to drink,--
This be my pride,--this, life to me!
Now, Song, with thine own fire be sung,--
For thou art older, thou more young!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Of Justice
'Tis the first sanction Nature gave to man,
Each other to assist in what they can;
Just or unjust, this law for ever stands;
All things are good by law which she commands;
The first step, man t'wards Christ must justly live,
Who t'us himself, and all we have, did give;
In vain doth man the name of just expect,
If his devotions he to God neglect;
So must we rev'rence God, as first to know
Justice from Him, not from ourselves, doth flow;
God those accepts who to mankind are friends,
Whose justice far as their own power extends;
In that they imitate the power Divine;
The sun alike on good and bad doth shine;
And he that doth no good, although no ill,
Does not the office of the just fulfil.
Virtue doth man to virtuous actions steer,
'Tis not enough that he should vice forbear;
We live not only for ourselves to care,
Whilst they that want it are denied their share.
Wise Plato said, the world with men was stored,
That succour each to other might afford;
Nor are those succours to one sort confined,
But sev'ral parts to sev'ral men consign'd;
He that of his own stores no part can give,
May with his counsel or his hands relieve.
If Fortune make thee powerful, give defence
'Gainst fraud and force, to naked innocence:
And when our Justice doth her tributes pay,
Method and order must direct the way.
First to our God we must with rev'rence bow;
The second honour to our prince we owe;
Next to wives, parents, children, fit respect,
And to our friends and kindred, we direct;
Then we must those who groan beneath the weight
Of age, disease, or want, commiserate.
'Mongst those whom honest lives can recommend,
Our Justice more compassion should extend;
To such, who thee in some distress did aid,
Thy debt of thanks with int'rest should be paid:
As Hesiod sings, spread waters o'er thy field,
And a most just and glad increase 'twill yield.
But yet take heed, lest doing good to one,
Mischief and wrong be to another done;
Such moderation with thy bounty join,
That thou may'st nothing give that is not thine;
That liberality's but cast away,
Which makes us borrow what we cannot pay.
And no access to wealth let rapine bring;
Do nothing that's unjust to be a king.
Justice must be from violence exempt,
But fraud's her only object of contempt.
Fraud in the fox, force in the lion dwells;
But Justice both from human hearts expels;
But he's the greatest monster (without doubt)
Who is a wolf within, a sheep without.
Nor only ill injurious actions are,
But evil words and slanders bear their share.
Truth Justice loves, and truth injustice fears,
Truth above all things a just man reveres.
Though not by oaths we God to witness call,
He sees and hears, and still remembers all;
And yet our attestations we may wrest
Sometimes to make the truth more manifest;
If by a lie a man preserve his faith,
He pardon, leave, and absolution hath;
Or if I break my promise, which to thee
Would bring no good, but prejudice to me.
All things committed to thy trust conceal,
Nor what's forbid by any means reveal.
Express thyself in plain, not doubtful words,
That ground for quarrels or disputes affords:
Unless thou find occasion, hold thy tongue;
Thyself or others careless talk may wrong.
When thou art called into public power,
And when a crowd of suitors throng thy door,
Be sure no great offenders 'scape their dooms;
Small praise from lenity and remissness comes;
Crimes pardon'd, others to those crimes invite,
Whilst lookers-on severe examples fright.
When by a pardon'd murd'rer blood is spilt,
The judge that pardon'd hath the greatest guilt;
Who accuse rigour, make a gross mistake;
One criminal pardon'd may an hundred make;
When justice on offenders is not done,
Law, government, and commerce, are o'erthrown;
As besieged traitors with the foe conspire,
T' unlock the gates, and set the town on fire.
Yet lest the punishment th'offence exceed,
Justice with weight and measure must proceed:
Yet when pronouncing sentence, seem not glad,
Such spectacles, though they are just, are sad;
Though what thou dost thou ought'st not to repent,
Yet human bowels cannot but relent:
Rather than all must suffer, some must die;
Yet Nature must condole their misery.
And yet, if many equal guilt involve,
Thou may'st not these condemn, and those absolve.
Justice, when equal scales she holds, is blind;
Nor cruelty, nor mercy, change her mind.
When some escape for that which others die,
Mercy to those, to these is cruelty.
A fine and slender net the spider weaves,
Which little and light animals receives;
And if she catch a common bee or fly,
They with a piteous groan and murmur die;
But if a wasp or hornet she entrap,
They tear her cords like Samson, and escape;
So like a fly the poor offender dies,
But like the wasp, the rich escapes and flies.
Do not, if one but lightly thee offend,
The punishment beyond the crime extend;
Or after warning the offence forget;
So God himself our failings doth remit.
Expect not more from servants than is just,
Reward them well, if they observe their trust;
Nor them with cruelty or pride invade,
Since God and Nature them our brothers made;
If his offence be great, let that suffice;
If light, forgive, for no man's always wise.
poem by John Denham
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What Does It Take To Be A Leader
What does it take to be a leader you ask someone other than me
For in most in positions of power a hunger for power I do see
I speak in the tongue of a cynic yet would it not be fair to say
That one only becomes the Leader of a Country by being ambitious in a big way
Those who do need power in a big way are only out for their own fame
The Presidents never become Presidents without wishing for to make for themselves a name
Perhaps it is all about ego this great human lust for renown
A rare breed indeed quiet achievers though a few do live in every town
One never becomes Prime Minister or President of A Country without for the top job having the need
For surely one never does become a leader without desperately wanting to lead
'Tis tough at the top some will tell you but those at the top at the top fight to stay
The lust for power and success at it's greatest in the competitive Human World of today
So many look up to their leaders and the praises of their leaders do sing
But many with power do crave more power for power can be an addictive thing.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Elegy II: The Anagram
Marry, and love thy Flavia, for, ſhee
Hath all things, whereby others beautious bee,
For, though her eyes be ſmall, her mouth is great,
Though they be Ivory, yet her teeth be jeat,
Though they be dimme, yet ſhe is light enough,
And though her harſh haire fall, her skinne is rough;
What though her cheeks be yellow, her haire's red,
Give her thine, and ſhe hath a maydenhead.
Theſe things are beauties elements, where theſe
Meet in one, that one muſt, as perfect, pleaſe.
If red and white and each good quality
Be in thy wench, ne'r aske where it doth lye.
In buying things perfum'd, we aske; if there
Be muske and amber in it, but not where.
Though all her parts be not in th'uſuall place,
She'hath yet an Anagram of a good face.
If we might put the letters but one way,
In the leane dearth of words, what could wee ſay?
When by the Gamut ſome Muſitions make
A perfect ſong, others will undertake,
By the ſame Gamut chang'd, to equall it.
Things ſimply good, can never be unfit;
She's faire as any, if all be like her,
And if none bee, then ſhe is ſingular.
All love is wonder; if wee juſtly doe
Account her wonderfull, why not lovely too?
Love built on beauty, ſoone as beauty, dies,
Chuſe this face, chang'd by no deformities;
Women are like Angels; the faire be
Like thoſe which fell to worſe; but ſuch as ſhee,
Like to good Angels, nothing can impaire:
'Tis leſſe griefe to be foule, then to'have beene faire.
For one nights revels, ſilke and gold we chuſe,
But, in long journeyes, cloth, and leather uſe.
Beauty is barren oft; beſt huſbands ſay
There is beſt land, where there is fouleſt way.
Oh what a ſoveraigne Plaiſter will ſhee bee
If thy paſt ſinnes have taught thee jealouſie!
Here needs no ſpies, nor eunuches; her commit
Safe to thy foes; yea, to a Marmoſit.
When Belgiaes citties, the round countries drowne,
That durty fouleneſſe guards, and armes the towne:
So doth her face guard her; and ſo, for thee,
Which, forc'd by buſineſſe, abſent oft muſt bee,
Shee, whoſe face, like clouds, turnes the day to night,
Who, mightier thē the ſea, makes Moores ſeem white,
Who, though ſeaven yeares, ſhe in the Stews had laid,
A Nunnery durſt receive, and thinke a maid,
And though in childbeds labour ſhe did lie,
Midwifes would ſweare, 'twere but a tympanie,
Whom, if ſhee accuſe her ſelfe, I credit leſſe
Then witches, which impoſſibles confeſſe.
One like none, and lik'd of none, fitteſt were,
For, things in faſhion every man will weare.
poem by John Donne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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