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THE  LIFE  AND   LETTERS 


OF 


JOHN     DONNE 


JOHN    DONNE 

From  the  original  painting  in  the  Deanery  of  Sf  Pauls. 


THE  i  TERS 


El  D  G( 


VOL.    II 


THE  LIFE  AND  LETTERS 


OF 


JOHN    DONNE 


DEAN  OF  ST.  PAUL'S 


NOW  FOR  THE  FIRST  TIME  REVISED  AND  COLLECTED   BY 

EDMUND  GOSSE 

HON.   M.A.  OF  TRINITY  COLLEGE,   CAMBRIDGE 
HON.    LL.D.    OF    THE    UNIVERSITY    OF    ST.    ANDREWS 


WITH  PORTRAITS,  ETC. 


IN  TWO  VOLUMES 

VOL.    II 


7/ 

LONDON 

WILLIAM     HEINEMANN 
1899 


PR 


v.Jt 


rights,  including  translation,  reserved 


CONTENTS 

OF  VOLUME  II 

PAGE 

CHAPTER  X 

LAST    YEARS    AS    A    LAYMAN    (1612-1615)  ...  I 

CHAPTER  XI 

EARLY    YEARS    IN    THE    CHURCH    (1615-1617)  .          .        55 


CHAPTER  XII 

sT*S     INN THE 

(1617-1621)      .        .        .        .        .        .  •  ,  97 


READER     AT     LINCOLN^     INN THE      GERMAN      TOUR 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MADE    DEAN    OF    ST.    PAUL'S    (1621-1624)  .          .          .      145 

CHAPTER  XIV 
ST.  DUNSTAN'S  IN  THE  WEST  (1624-1627)     .       .       -    199 

CHAPTER  XV 

LAST    YEARS  '(1628-1631) 251 


vi  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

CHAPTER  XVI 
POSTHUMOUS    ACTIVITY 293 

CHAPTER  XVII 

THE    INFLUENCE    OF    DONNE 327 

APPENDICES 355 

INDEX 379 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

OF  VOLUME  II 

PAGE 

PORTRAIT  OF  JOHN  DONNE,  FROM  THE  PAINTING  IN  THE  DEANERY  OF 
ST.  PAUL'S  ......  Frontispiece. 

PORTRAIT  OF  DONNE,  ENGRAVED  BY  LOMBART,  AFTER  A  CONTEMPORARY 

PAINTING    .......  To  face  page       80 

PORTRAIT  OF  DONNE  AT  THE  AGE  OF  42,  FROM  THE  SER 
MONS  OF  1640      .......  „  144 

THE  MONUMENT  TO  DONNE  IN  ST.  PAUL'S.     (2  Views.)  „  280 

FRONTISPIECE  OF  "  DEATH'S  DUEL,"  1632       ...  „  300 

PORTRAIT    OF    DONNE'S    DAUGHTER,   MARGARET,    LADY 

BOWLES „  376 


LAST  YEARS  AS  A  LAYMAN 
1612-1615 


VOL.   II. 


CHAPTER  X 

LAST  YEARS  AS  A  LAYMAN 
1612-1615 

WE  have  now  to  traverse  a  period  in  the  life  of  Donne 
which  was  transitional,  and  in  its  nature  unsatisfactory. 
Of  these  years  nothing  was  known  to  Walton,  and  we  can 
understand  that  Donne  would  not  speak  much  of  them, 
or  even,  perhaps,  recollect  their  existence.  Yet  they  were 
of  extreme  importance  in  his  career;  they  formed  the  bridge 
between  his  old  life  and  his  new.  He  seemed  in  the  course 
of  them  to  be  further  than  ever  from  taking  orders  in  the 
Church  of  England ;  from  the  majority  of  his  writings  of 
this  period,  whether  public  or  private,  the  possible  divine 
seems  to  be  rigorously  excluded;  and  yet  circumstances 
were  so  closing  around  him  as  to  make  his  ultimate  destina 
tion  an  inevitable  one.  He  was  in  his  fortieth  year  when 
he  returned  from  the  Low  Countries,  and  although  his 
gifts  and  charms  were  acknowledged  in  a  widening  circle 
of  friends,  there  was  a  curious  fatality  by  which  a  pro 
fessional  use  of  them  was  always  frustrated.  He  was 
ambitious,  he  was  eager  to  be  independent,  he  was  justly 
confident  in  his  marvellous  powers,  and  yet  at  the  age 
of  forty,  Donne,  perhaps  the  most  brilliantly  equipped 
mind  in  his  Majesty's  dominions,  was  nobody  and  nothing 
still. 

His  financial  position,  however,  though  precarious, 
must  at  this  time  have  been  more  than  easy.  He  was  still, 
it  is  to  be  supposed,  being  paid  that  liberal  quarterly  allow 
ance  from  Sir  George  More  which  Sir  Francis  Wooley  had 
lived  just  long  enough  to  secure  him.  He  was  still  freely 
entertained  in  apartments  within  Drury  House,  under  the 


4  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

charge  of  a  Lady  Bartlet,  doubtless  the  widow  of  his  friend 
Sir  Thomas  Bartlet,  in  the  service  of  Sir  Robert  Drury. 
The  mode  in  which  this  Lady  Bartlet  is  repeatedly  men 
tioned  gives  the  impression  that  she  superintended  the  wants 
of  the  household,  thus  relieving  Mrs.  Donne,  whose  weak 
constitution  would  be  sufficiently  bowed  down  by  the  weight 
of  her  army  of  children.  We  find  that  Donne  is  constantly 
travelling ;  he  is  now  at  Bath,  now  at  Windsor,  now  in  the 
Isle  of  Wight.  He  is  waited  on  by  a  French  man-servant 
of  his  own.  He  moves,  with  none  of  the  old  sense  of  em 
barrassment,  among  people  of  wealth  and  ostentatious  expen 
diture.  All  this  means  comfort,  and  even  luxury ;  and  we 
may  put  wholly  aside  the  impression  that  Donne,  in  these 
latest  years  of  his  life  as  a  layman,  was  in  want  of  any  of 
the  agreeable  concomitants  of  fortune. 

Yet  he  knew  that  it  all  rested  on  the  most  fragile  basis. 
His  apartments  might  be  sumptuous,  but  his  tenure  of 
them  depended  on  the  whim  of  Sir  Robert  Drury  ;  his  wife's 
allowance  might  be  liberal,  but  it  depended  on  the  very 
uncertain  fortunes  of  a  fashionable  and  reckless  old  spend 
thrift.  If  the  present  was  comfortable,  the  future  must 
have  filled  the  mind  of  Donne  with  alarm.  The  deaths  of 
two  persons  might  at  any  moment  throw  him  penniless  on 
the  street,  and  consequently  his  one  obsession  was  how  to 
obtain  a  place  at  court  or  some  species  of  "  preferment." 
The  letters  which  we  shall  presently  print  give  melancholy 
testimony  to  the  degree  in  which  this  anxiety  coloured  his 
life  at  this  time,  and  excluded  higher  considerations.  We 
find  him  gay  and  sociable  in  his  own  chosen  company,  where 
his  wit  took  fire,  and  where  he  became  the  centre  of  a  circle 
of  vivacity  and  joy ;  but  from  these  happy  seasons  at  the 
feet  of  Lady  Bedford,  or  surrounded  by  the  graceful  and 
brilliant  little  court  which  she  gathered  in  the  mazes  of 
her  garden  at  Twickenham,  Donne  would  return  intensely 
dejected  to  the  wife  dragged  down  by  a  multitude  of 
children,  and  to  the  dependent  existence  in  a  wing  of 
Drury  House. 

It  may  be  well  to  take  this  opportunity  of  recording 
the  elements  of  Donne's  family.     When  he  came  back  from 


LAST    YEARS   AS   A    LAYMAN  5 

Brussels  in  the  autumn  of  1612  his  wife  met  him  with 
seven  children.  Of  these  Constance,  the  eldest,  was  but 
nine  years  old ;  John,  his  father's  future  editor,  was  eight ; 
George  was  seven,  Francis  five,  Lucy  four;  Bridget  was 
not  yet  three,  and  Mary  was  in  her  second  year.  Always 
ailing  and  depressed,  though  sublimely  tender  and  loyal, 
Mrs.  Donne  was,  as  it  were,  crushed  beneath  this  army  of 
irresponsible  babies,  to  whom  indeed  she  was  presently  to 
succumb.  The  family  seems,  however,  to  have  got  through 
the  remainder  of  1612  and  the  early  part  of  1613  with 
tolerable  success ;  but  in  July  1613  Donne  was  stricken  by 
serious  illness,  and  1614  was  one  of  the  darkest  years  of 
their  existence.  The  poet  was  attacked  again  and  again  by 
a  combination  of  gastric  and  rheumatic  disorders,  and  was 
threatened  later  on  with  blindness.  Mrs.  Donne's  health 
gave  way  still  further,  after  the  birth  of  yet  another  son, 
Nicholas,  who  was  baptized  at  St.  Clement  Danes  on  the 
3rd  of  August  1613.  Sickness  fell  upon  the  children  one 
after  another;  on  the  i8th  of  May  1614  Mary  was  buried 
at  St.  Clement  Danes,  and  Francis  on  the  loth  of  November 
following.  Nicholas  is  mentioned  no  more,  and  probably 
died  in  the  course  of  the  fatal  year.  Nothing  could  be  more 
wretched  than  the  picture  which  we  rather  divine  than  see 
of  the  melancholy  fortune  of  the  Donnes  in  1614. 

We  are  going,  however,  a  little  too  far  ahead.  When 
Donne  returned  with  the  Drurys  to  England  in  the  autumn 
of  1612,  the  principal  object  of  public  interest  was  the 
success  of  the  negotiations  with  the  Elector  Palatine  and 
his  approaching  marriage  with  the  Princess  Elizabeth.  Sir 
Robert  Drury's  part  in  all  this,  however,  can  scarcely  have 
been  even  that  of  the  fly  on  the  wheel,  although  he  and 
Donne  may  possibly  have  been  in  the  Palatinate  when  the 
ambassadors  of  the  Princes  of  the  Protestant  German  Union 
made  their  formal  request  in  England  for  the  hand  of  the 
Princess,  and  signed  the  marriage  contract  in  May  1612,  a 
few  days  before  the  death  of  Salisbury.  They  may,  more 
over,  have  been  empowered  to  precede  the  Elector  Palatine 
as  a  sort  of  intellectual  guard  of  honour,  when  he  sailed 
over  to  England  in  September  to  greet  his  affianced  bride. 


6  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

But  it  is  much  more  probable  that  the  vanity  of  Sir  Robert 
Drury  exaggerated  his  own  importance  on  this  occasion. 
Still  Donne  appears  to  have  been  in  some  way  authorised 
to  celebrate  the  approaching  nuptials ;  he  retained,  as  we 
know  from  his  later  expressions,  much  of  the  esteem  with 
which  the  Princess  had  learned  to  regard  him  during  the 
time  she  spent  as  the  ward  of  Lord  Harington. 

The  sudden  illness  of  the  Prince  of  Wales,  who  died  of 
typhoid  fever  on  the  6th  of  November,  diverted  every  one's 
thoughts  and  postponed  the  marriage  of  the  Princess  Eliza 
beth.  This  promising  lad  of  eighteen  was  the  most  popular 
person  in  England,  and  his  death  was  mourned  as  a  national 
disaster.  Whether  Donne  had  known  him  personally  is 
uncertain.  There  exists,  among  the  papers  of  the  Marquis 
of  Bath,  a  didactic  epistle  in  which  Donne,  having  dedicated 
a  book  to  the  King,  sends  a  copy  of  it  to  Prince  Henry. 
This  book  was  manifestly  the  Pseudo-Martyr  of  1610, 
but  there  is  no  evidence  that  the  Prince  of  Wales,  whose 
mind  by  no  means  ran  in  the  same  channel  as  his  father's, 
was  attracted  by  this  rather  ponderous  piece  of  controver 
sial  literature.  Donne  was  somewhat  behind-hand  in 
lamenting  the  popular  prince,  but  his  elegy  was  added  in 
1613  to  a  third  edition  of  Joshua  Sylvester's  Lachrymx 
Lachrymarum,  or  the  Spirit  of  Tears  distilled  for  the  untimely 
death  of  the  incomparable  Prince  Panaretus.  The  "  Sundry 
Funeral  Elegies  "  have  the  air  of  being  written  in  competi 
tion  by  a  group  of  friends,  and  their  authors  are,  indeed, 
mainly  men  whose  names  occur  repeatedly  in  this  narrative  ; 
besides  Donne  himself,  we  meet  with  Sir  William  Corn- 
wallis,  Sir  Edward  Herbert,  Sir  Henry  Goodyer,  George 
Gerrard,  Joseph  Hall,  and  Henry  Holland.  Donne's  lament 
runs  to  about  one  hundred  lines ;  it  is  the  most  obscure, 
frigid,  and  affected  that  he  ever  composed,  and  is  not 
animated  by  one  touch  of  sincere  emotion.  Ben  Jonson 
told  Drummond  that  Donne,  having  read  Herbert's  elegy, 
which  is  obscure  enough,  tried  in  his  own  to  be  still  more 
obscure.  If  so,  he  may  be  congratulated  on  having  occa 
sionally  reached  in  it  an  opacity  and  density  which  are  not 
likely  ever  to  be  surpassed.  The  conceits  on  this  occasion 


LAST    YEARS   AS   A   LAYMAN  7 

are  not  even  in  themselves  amusing,  unless  it  be  that  which 
celebrates  the  extraordinary  intelligence  of  the  Prince  by 
saying  that  when  other  princes  angled  for  his  wit  in  conver 
sation  they 

"  Met  a  torpedo,  and  were  stupified." 

The  one  personal  touch  in  this  very  bad  poem  occurs  near 
its  close,  where  Donne  proclaims  his  fealty  to  the  Princess 
Elizabeth,  whose  passionate  love  for  her  brother  had  defied 
the  doctors,  and  had  awakened  a  thrill  of  sympathy  through 
out  the  country.  Donne  exclaims — 

"  O  may  I,  since  I  lire,  but  see  or  hear 
That  she-intelligence  which  moved  this  sphere," 

and  this  he  was  presently  to  succeed  in  doing. 

The  title  of  this  lugubrious  collection  of  elegies  is 
executed  in  white  letters  on  a  black  ground :  the  poems 
are  printed  within  a  black  border,  displaying  figures  of 
Death  on  either  side ;  the  left-hand  pages  are  wholly  black, 
having  only  the  Prince's  arms.  An  elegy  on  Sir  William 
Sidney  concludes  the  volume,  which  offers  us  a  very  curious 
example  of  the  bad  taste  of  the  age. 

We  have  now  to  print  certain  undated  letters  which 
appear  to  belong  to  the  close  of  1612.  It  is  even  pos 
sible  that  the  earliest  of  these  was  written  from  the  Low 
Countries  as  a  kind  of  circular  missive,  to  ensure  a  general 
welcome  in  September. 

"  'To  all  my  friends :  Sir  H.  GOODYER.* 

"  SIR, — I  am  not  weary  of  writing ;  it  is  the  coarse 
but  durable  garment  of  my  love ;  but  I  am  weary  of  want 
ing  you.  I  have  a  mind  like  those  bodies  which  have  hot 
livers  and  cold  stomachs ;  or  such  a  distemper  as  travelled 
me  at  Paris ;  a  fever  and  dysentery :  in  which,  that  which 
is  physic  to  one  infirmity,  nourishes  the  other.  So  I  abhor 
nothing  more  than  sadness,  except  the  ordinary  remedy, 
change  of  company. 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


8  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

"  I  can  allow  myself  to  be  animal  sociale,  appliable  to 
my  company,  but  notgregale,  to  herd  myself  in  every  troop. 
It  is  not  perfectly  true  which  a  very  subtle,  yet  very  deep 
wit,  Averroes,  says,  that  all  mankind  hath  but  one  soul, 
which  informs  and  rules  us  all,  as  one  intelligence  doth  the 
firmament  and  all  the  stars  in  it;  as  though  a  particular 
body  were  too  little  an  organ  for  a  soul  to  play  upon.  And 
it  is  as  imperfect  which  is  taught  by  that  religion  which  is 
most  accommodate  to  sense  (I  dare  not  say  to  reason,  though 
it  have  appearance  of  that  too,  because  none  may  doubt  but 
that  that  religion  is  certainly  best  which  is  reasonablest). 
That  all  mankind  hath  one  protecting  angel ;  all  Christians 
one  other,  all  English  one  other,  all  of  one  corporation 
and  every  civil  coagulation  or  society  one  other ;  and  every 
man  one  other.  Though  both  these  opinions  express 
a  truth,  which  is,  that  mankind  hath  very  strong  bounds 
to  cohabit  and  concur  in  other  than  mountains  and  hills 
during  his  life.  First,  common  and  mutual  necessity  of 
one  another;  and  therefore  naturally  in  our  defence  and 
subventions  we  first  fly  to  ourselves;  next,  to  that  which 
is  likest  other  men.  Then,  natural  and  inborn  charity, 
beginning  at  home,  which  persuades  us  to  give  that  we 
may  receive  :  and  legal  charity,  which  makes  us  also  forgive. 
Then  an  ingraffing  in  one  another,  and  growing  together 
by  a  custom  of  society ;  and  last  of  all,  strict  friendship,  in 
which  band  men  were  so  presumed  to  be  coupled,  that 
our  Confessor  King  had  a  law,  that  if  a  man  be  killed,  the 
murderer  shall  pay  a  sum  felago  suo,  which  the  interpreters 
call,  fide  ligato,  et  comite  vite. 

"  All  these  bands  I  willingly  receive,  for  no  man  is  less 
of  himself  than  I,  nor  any  man  enough  of  himself.  To 
be  so  is  all  one  with  omnipotence.  And  it  is  well  marked, 
that  in  the  holy  Book,  wheresoever  they  have  rendered 
Almighty,  the  word  is  self-sufficient.  I  think  sometimes 
that  the  having  a  family  should  remove  me  far  from  the  curse 
of  v<e  soli.  But  in  so  strict  obligation  of  parent,  or  husband, 
or  master  (and  perchance  it  is  so  in  the  last  degree  of  friend 
ship),  where  all  are  made  one,  I  am  not  the  less  alone  for 
being  in  the  midst  of  them.  Therefore  this  oleum 


\ 


LAST    YEARS   AS   A    LAYMAN 


this  balm  of  our  lives,  this  alacrity  which  dignifies  even 
our  service  to  God,  this  gallant  enemy  of  dejection  and 
sadness  (for  which  and  wickedness  the  Italian  allows  but 
one  word,  triste :  and  in  full  condemnation  whereof  it  was 
prophesied  of  our  blessed  Saviour,  non  erit  tristis^  in  His 
conversation),  must  be  sought  and  preserved  diligently. 
And  since  it  grows  without  us,  we  must  be  sure  to  gather 
it  from  the  right  tree. 

"  They  which  place  this  alacrity  only  in  a  good  con 
science  deal  somewhat  too  roundly  with  us,  for  when  we 
ask  the  way  they  show  us  the  town  afar  off.  Will  a 
physician  consulted  for  health  and  strength  bid  you  have 
good  sinews  and  equal  temper  ?  It  is  true  that  this  con 
science  is  the  resultance  of  all  other  particular  actions ;  it  is 
our  triumph  and  banquet  in  the  haven ;  but  I  would  come 
towards  that  also  (as  mariners  say),  with  a  merry  wind. 
Our  nature  is  meteoric,  we  respect  (because  we  partake  so) 
both  earth  and  heaven;  for  as  our  bodies  glorified  shall 
be  capable  of  spiritual  joy,  so  our  souls  demerged  into 
those  bodies  are  allowed  to  partake  earthly  pleasure. 
Our  soul  is  not  sent  hither,  only  to  go  back  again  :  we 
have  some  errand  to  do  here ;  nor  is  it  sent  into  prison 
because  it  comes  innocent,  and  He  which  sent  it  is  just. 

"  As  we  may  not  kill  ourselves,  so  we  may  not  bury 
ourselves :  which  is  done  or  endangered  in  a  dull  monastic 
sadness,  which  is  so  much  worse  than  jollity  (for  upon  that 

word  I  durst  

And  certainly  despair  is  infinitely  worse  than 

presumption :  both  because  this  is  an  excess  of  love,  that 
of  fear ;  and  because  this  is  up,  that  down  the  hill ;  easier, 
and  more  stumbling.  Heaven  is  expressed  by  singing,  hell 
by  weeping.  And  though  our  Blessed  Saviour  be  never 
noted  to  have  laughed,  yet  His  countenance  is  said  ever  to 
be  smiling.  And  that  even  moderate  mirth  of  heart,  and 
face,  is  ail  I  wish  to  myself,  and  persuade  you  to  keep. 

"  This  alacrity  is  not  had  by  a  general  charity  and 
equanimity  to  all  mankind,  for  that  is  to  seek  fruit  in 
a  wilderness  :  nor  from  a  singular  friend,  for  -  that  is  to 
fetch  it  out  of  your  own  pocket ;  but  the .  various  and 


io  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

abundant  grace  of  it  is  good  company.  In  which  no  rank, 
no  number,  no  quality,  but  ill,  and  such  a  degree  of  that 
as  may  corrupt  and  poison  the  good,  is  exempt.  For  in 
nearer  than  them,  your  friend,  and  somewhat  nearer  than 
he,  in  yourself  you  must  allow  some  inordinateness  of 
affections  and  passions.  For  it  is  not  true  that  they  are 
not  natural,  but  storms  and  tempests  of  our  blood  and 
humours ;  for  they  are  natural,  but  sickly.  And  as  the 
Indian  priests  expressed  an  excellent  charity  by  building 
hospitals  and  providing  chirurgery  for  birds  and  beasts 
lamed  by  mischance,  or  age,  or  labour :  so  must  we,  not 
cut  off,  but  cure  these  affections,  which  are  the  bestial 
part." 

[signature  lost.] 

The  next  may  also  belong  to  almost  any  part  of  1612. 
The  "  book  of  French  satires  "  was,  without  doubt,  the  first 
authoritative  edition  of  Regnier's  Satyres  et  autres  ceuvres 
folastres^  published  in  1612  while  Donne  was  in  Paris.  This 
issue  was  the  first  to  contain  the  celebrated  "  Macette," 
which  cannot  but  have  greatly  interested  Donne,  as  the 
entirely  successful  execution  of  a  scheme  which  he  himself 
had  unsuccessfully  attempted  twenty  years  before.  The 
health  of  the  great  French  poet  was  now  failing,  and  he 
was  to  die  a  few  months  later  in  Rouen.  It  is  deeply  to 
be  regretted  that  it  did  not  occur  to  Donne  to  preserve  a 
few  notes  for  us  of  what  he  may  have  seen  or  heard  about 
Regnier. 

"  To  Yourself  [GEORGE  GERRARD].* 

"SiR, — I  make  shift  to  think  that  I  promised  you  this 
book  of  French  satires.  If  I  did  not,  yet  it  may  have  the 
grace  of  acceptation,  both  as  it  is  a  very  forward  and  early 
fruit,  since  it  comes  before  it  was  looked  for,  and  as  it 
comes  from  a  good  root,  which  is  an  importune  desire  to 
serve  you.  Which  since  I  saw  from  the  beginning  that  I 
should  never  do  in  any  great  thing,  it  is  time  to  begin  to 
try  now,  whether  by  often  doing  little  services  I  can  come 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


LAST    YEARS    AS    A    LAYMAN  n 

towards  any  equivalence.  For,  except  I  can  make  a  rule  of 
natural  philosophy  serve  also  in  moral  offices,  that  as  the 
strongest  bodies  are  made  of  the  smallest  particles,  so  the 
strongest  friendships  may  be  made  of  often  iterating  small 
officiousnesses,  I  see  I  can  be  good  for  nothing. 

"  Except  you  know  reason  to  the  contrary,  I  pray  deliver 
this  letter  according  to  the  address.  It  hath  no  business 
nor  importunity ;  but  as  by  our  law  a  man  may  be  felo 
de  se  if  he  kill  himself,  so  I  think  a  man  may  be  fur  de  se 
if  he  steal  himself  out  of  the  memory  of  them  which  are 
content  to  harbour  him.  And  now  I  begin  to  be  loath  to 
be  lost,  since  I  have  afforded  myself  some  valuation  and 
price  ever  since  I  received  the  stamp  and  impression  of 
being 

"  Your  very  humble  and  affectionate  servant, 

"J.  DONNE." 

Another  letter,  the  date  of  which  is  difficult  to  fix. 
From  the  wording  it  is  evident  that  it  is  not  Sir  Thomas 
Roe  but  Donne  who  is  "  abroad."  Yet  Donne,  returning 
to  London,  was  disappointed  to  find  this  greatly  valued 
friend  not  there  to  welcome  him,  Sir  Thomas  Roe  being 
absent  in  1612  in  the  West  Indies  : — 

"  To  Sir  THOMAS  RoE.1 

"  SIR, — It  is  an  ease  to  your  friends  abroad  that  you  are 
more  a  man  of  business  than  heretofore,  for  now  it  were  an 
injury  to  trouble  you  with  a  busy  letter.  But  by  the  same 
reason  I  were  inexcusable  if  I  should  not  write  at  all,  since 
the  less  the  more  acceptable ;  therefore,  Sir,  though  I  have 
no  more  to  say  but  to  renew  the  obligations  I  have  towards 
you,  and  to  continue  my  place  in  your  love,  I  would  not 
forbear  to  tell  you  so. 

"  If  I  shall  also  tell  you  that  when  this  place  affords 
anything  worth  your  hearing  I  will  be  your  relator,  I  think 
I  take  so  long  a  day,  as  you  would  forget  the  debt,  it 
appears  yet  to  be  so  barren.  Howsoever,  with  every  com- 

i  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


12  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

modity,  I  shall  say  something,  though  it  be  but  a  descant 
upon  this  plain  song,  that  I  am 

"Your  affectionate  servant, 

"J.  DONNE." 

"  To  my  honoured  friend  Mr.  GEORGE  GERRARD.* 

"SiR, — I  cannot  choose  but  make  it  a  presage  that  I 
shall  have  no  good  fortune  in  England,  that  I  missed  the 
honour  of  enjoying  that  company  which  you  brought  to 
town.  But  I  beseech  you  let  my  ill-luck  determine  in  that 
ominousness ;  for  if  my  not  coming  should  be  by  her  or 
you  interpreted  for  a  negligence  or  coldness  in  me,  I  were 
already  in  actual  and  present  affliction.  For  that  ecclesi 
astical  lady  of  whom  you  write,  since  I  presume  it  is  a  work 
of  darkness  that  you  go  about,  we  will  defer  it  for  winter. 
Perchance  the  cold  weather  may  be  as  good  physic  to  you 
as  she  for  quenching  you.  I  have  changed  my  purpose  of 
going  to  Windsor,  and  will  go  directly  into  the  Wight ; 
which  I  tell  you  not  as  a  concerning  thing,  but  in  obedience 
to  your  commandment,  as  one  poor  testimony  that  I  am 

"  Your  affectionate  servant, 
[Oct.  1612?]  "J-  DONNE." 

The  death  of  Prince  Henry  postponed  the  marriage 
of  Princess  Elizabeth  for  four  months,  but  such  was  the 
popular  enthusiasm  for  this  staunch  Protestant  match  that, 
whatever  unwillingness  the  King  may  have  felt,  he  made 
no  attempts  to  delay  the  solemnisation  of  it  any  further. 
Her  bridegroom  was  the  Elector  Palatine  Frederick  V., 
a  jovial,  easy  prince,  who  won  all  hearts  over  to  him,  and 
contrived  even  to  conquer  the  intense  prejudice  which  the 
Queen  had  conceived  against  him.  On  the  I4th  of  February 
1613  the  wedding  took  place,  with  incomparable  display 
and  such  magnificence  as  may  still  be  read  of  with  amaze 
ment  in  the  pages  of  Nichols'  Progresses.  Donne  was 
honoured  with  a  commission  to  compose  the  marriage  song 
on  this  auspicious  occasion,  and  he  was  as  happily  inspired 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


LAST    YEARS    AS    A    LAYMAN  13 

in  his  epithalamium  as  a  few  months  previously  he  had  been 
unfortunate  in  his  elegy.  His  Marriage  Song  for  St. 
Valentine's  Day  is,  indeed,  one  of  his  happiest  productions, 
as  fresh  and  gay  as  if  a  youth  had  written  it,  instead  of 
a  staid,  melancholy  paterfamilias  of  forty ;  and  it  is  a  poem 
singularly  little  troubled  by  the  prevailing  faults  of  Donne's 
style.  It  has  all  the  characteristics  required  for  an  epithala 
mium  ;  and  a  certain  levity  or  faint  fescennine  quality, 
which  is  disconcerting,  perhaps,  to  the  refined  taste  of 
to-day,  detracted  in  no  wise  from  its  merits  in  the  judgment 
of  the  gravest  or  the  most  exalted  personages  in  the  reign  of 
James  I.  Thus  it  opens,  in  a  melodious  burst  of  garrulity — 

"  Hail,  Bishop  Valentine,  whose  day  this  is ; 

All  the  air  is  thy  diocese, 

And  all  the  chirping  choristers 
And  other  birds  are  thy  parishioners ; 

Thou  marriest  every  year 
The  lyric  lark,  and  the  grave  whispering  dove, 
The  sparrow  that  neglects  his  life  for  love, 
The  household  bird  with  the  red  stomacher ; 

Thou  mak'st  the  blackbird  speed  as  soon 
As  doth  the  goldfinch  or  the  halcyon ; 
The  husband-cock  looks  out,  and  straight  is  sped, 
And  meets  his  wife,  who  brings  her  feather-bed ; 
This  day  more  cheerfully  than  ever  shine ; 
This  day,  which  might  inflame  thyself,  old  Valentine." 

The  bird-analogy  is  preserved  by  telling  the  Bishop  that 
his  duty  to-day  is  to  unite  two  phoenixes, 

"  Whose  love  and  courage  never  shall  decline, 
But  make  the  whole  year  through,  thy  day,  O  Valentine." 

And  in  the  address  to  the  Bride,  Donne  rises  to  a  great 
dignity  and  a  rare  music — 

"  Come  forth,  come  forth,  and  as  one  glorious  flame 

Meeting  another  grows  the  same, 

So  meet  thy  Frederick,  and  so 
To  an  inseparable  union  go, 

Since  separation 

Falls  not  on  such  things  as  are  infinite, 
Nor  things,  which  are  but  one,  can  disunite ; 
You're  twice  inseparable,  great,  and  one." 


i4  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

But  the  cleverest  and  perhaps  the  most  poetical  things  in 
this  delightful  epithalamium  are  removed  too  far  from 
us  by  nearly  three  centuries  to  be  conveniently  quoted 
here. 

At  this  period,  George  Gerrard  seems  to  have  been 
Donne's  most  favoured  correspondent. 

"  fo  Tourself.1 

"SiR, — Sir  Germander  Pool,  your  noble  friend  and 
fellow  in  arms,  hath  been  at  this  house.  I  find  by  their 
diligent  inquiring  from  me  that  he  hath  assured  them  that 
he  hath  much  advanced  your  proceeding  by  his  resignation ; 
but  cooled  them  again  with  this,  that  the  Lord  Spencer 
pretends  in  his  room.  I  never  feared  his  nor  any  man's 
diligence  in  that;  I  feared  only  your  remissness,  because 
you  have  a  fortune  that  can  endure,  and  a  nature  that  can 
almost  be  content  to  miss.  But  I  had  rather  you  exercised 
your  philosophy  and  evenness  in  some  things  else.  He 
doth  not  nothing  which  falls  cleanly  and  harmlessly;  but 
he  wrestles  better  which  stands. 

"  I  know  you  can  easily  forgive  yourself  any  negligences 
and  slacknesses,  but  I  am  glad  that  you  are  engaged  to  so 
many  friends,  who  either  by  yourself  or  fame  have  know 
ledge  of  it.  In  all  the  rest  of  them  there  is  a  worthiness, 
and  in  me  a  love  which  deserves  to  be  satisfied.  In  this 
therefore,  as  you  are  forward  in  all  things  else,  be  content 
to  do  more  for  your  friends  than  you  would  for  yourself; 
endeavour  it,  that  is  effect  it. 

"  Your  very  true  friend  and  lover, 

"J.  DONNE. 

«  Tuesday." 

Sir  Germander  Pool  had  suffered  the  singular  incon 
venience  of  having  his  nose  bitten  off  in  a  fray,  in  March 
1613,  and  it  is  not  unlikely  that  this  disfigurement  led  to 
the  resignation  of  which  Donne  speaks. 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


LAST    YEARS   AS   A    LAYMAN  15 


"  fo  the  Honoured  Knight  Sir  ROBERT 

"  SIR,  —  I  amend  to  no  purpose,  nor  have  any  use  of 
this  inchoation  of  health,  which  I  find,  except  I  preserve 
my  room  and  station  in  you.  I  begin  to  be  past  hope  of 
dying  ;  and  I  feel  that  a  little  rag  of  Monte  Mayor,  which 
I  read  last  time  I  was  in  your  chamber,  hath  wrought  pro 
phetically  upon  me,  which  is,  that  Death  came  so  fast 
towards  me  that  the  over-joy  of  that  recovered  me.  Sir, 
I  measure  not  my  health  by  my  appetite,  but  only  by  my 
ability  to  come  to  kiss  your  hands  :  which  since  I  cannot 
hope  in  the  compass  of  a  few  days,  I  beseech  you  pardon 
me  both  these  intrusions  of  this  letter  and  of  that  within 
it.  And  though  schoolmen  dispute  whether  a  married 
man  dying  and  being  by  miracle  raised  again  must  be  re 
married,  yet  let  your  friendship  (which  is  a  nobler  learning) 
be  content  to  admit  me,  after  this  resurrection,  to  be  still 
that  which  I  was  before,  and  shall  ever  continue  —  Your 
most  humble  and  thankful  servant, 

"J.  DONNE. 

March  [1614]." 


"  Monte  Mayor  "  is  the  Portuguese  writer  Jorge  de 
Montemor,  who  wrote,  in  Castilian,  a  pastoral  romance, 
the  Diana  Enamorada^  which  was  read  in  all  parts  of 
Europe,  and  exercised  a  strong  influence  over  Sidney, 
and  even  over  Shakespeare,  as  later  over  St.  Francois 
de  Sales. 

Donne  was  now  engaged  upon  a  study  of  the  Oriental 
languages,  so  far  as  they  were  open  in  his  day  to  a  scholar. 
Spanish  literature,  too,  as  we  know,  was  his  constant  exercise 
and  pastime.  But  he  still  hankered  after  the  profession  of 
the  law,  and  doubtless  his  most  serious  efforts  at  this  time 
were  made  in  the  direction  of  obtaining  some  legal  appoint 
ment.  The  letter  which  next  follows  2  is  now  printed  for  the 
first  time,  and  throws  a  very  valuable  light  upon  Donne's 
temper  and  avocation  at  this,  fortunately  precise,  date.  To 
whom  it  was  addressed  is  not  known  :  — 

1  From  Letters  of  1651.  2  From  the  collection  of  J.  H.  Anderdon,  Esq. 


16  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 


"SiR, — Except  demonstrations  (and  perchance  there  are 
very  few  of  them)  I  find  nothing  without  perplexities.  I  am 
grown  more  sensible  of  it  by  busying  myself  a  little  in  the 
search  of  the  Eastern  tongues,  where  a  perpetual  perplexity 
in  the  words  cannot  choose  but  cast  a  perplexity  upon  the 
things.  Even  the  least  of  our  actions  suffer  and  taste 
thereof.  For  this  present  reclusedness  of  mine  hath  thus 
much  perplexity  in  it,  that  I  should  the  rather  write  be 
cause  of  it,  since  it  gives  me  more  than  ordinary  leisure, 
and  the  rather  forbear,  because  it  takes  from  me  the  know 
ledge  of  things  worth  the  writing  to  you.  I  dined  yester 
day  on  the  King's  side  at  Paul's,  but  where  there  came  in 
so  many  of  the  Queen's  kindred  that  the  house  was  more 
troubled  with  them  than  this  kingdom  was  with  the  Queen's 
kindred,  when  your  ancestress  the  Lady  Gray  conquered 
Edward  IV.  There  was  father,  mother,  two  brothers,  four 
sisters,  and  miserable  I ;  yet  there  was  found  time  to  ask 
me  where  you  were,  and  to  protest  that  she  did  not  know 
you  were  gone  out  of  town  because  you  were  so  equal  a 
stranger  there,  in  and  out  of  town. 

"  I  did  your  commandment  with  Mr.  Johnson ;  both 
our  interests  in  him  needed  not  to  have  been  employed  in 
it.  There  was  nothing  obnoxious  but  the  very  name,  and 
he  hath  changed  that.  If  upon  having  read  it  before  to 
divers,  it  should  be  spoken  that  that  person  was  concerned 
in  it,  he  sees  not  how  Mr.  Holland  will  be  excused  in  it, 
for  he  protests  that  no  hearer  but  Mr.  Holland  appre 
hended  it  so. 

"My  Lord  of  Bedford,  I  hear,  had  lately  a  desperate 
fall  from  his  horse,  and  was  speechless  all  Tuesday  last ; 
his  lady  rode  away  hastily  from  Twickenham  to  him,  but 
I  hear  no  more  yet  of  him.  And  thus  long,  Sir,  whilst  I 
have  been  talking  of  others,  methinks  I  have  opened  a  case 
ment  to  gaze  upon  passengers  which  I  love  not  much,  though 
it  might  seem  a  recreation  to  such  as  who  have  their  houses, 
that  is  themselves,  so  narrow  and  ill  furnished,  yet  I  can  be 
content  to  look  inward  upon  myself,  if  for  no  other  object, 
yet  because  I  find  your  name  and  fortunes  and  contentment 
in  the  best  room  of  me,  and  that  no  disease  or  impotency 


LAST    YEARS   AS   A    LAYMAN  17 

in  my  fortune  nor  my  close  imprisonment  saves  from  me 
the  dignity  of  being — Your  very  affectionate  servant, 

"Jo.  DONNE. 

"From  my  Hospital,  July  17,  1613." 

The  expressions  here  about  the  Queen's  kindred  are 
very  cryptic.  It  is  as  well  to  point  out  that  the  reference 
cannot  possibly  be  to  Queen  Anne,  whose  father  and  mother 
had  long  been  dead.  I  suppose  that  "  the  Queen  "  is  simply 
a  form  of  sportive  speech  used  to  designate  some  lady  so 
known  both  to  Donne  and  to  his  correspondent. 

The  next  letter  is  addressed  to  George  Gerrard's 
sister : — 

"  To  Mrs.  MARTHA  GERRARD.1 

"MADAME, — Though  there  be  much  merit  in  the 
favour  your  brother  hath  done  me  in  a  visit,  yet  that  which 
doth  enrich  and  perfect  it  is  that  he  brought  you  with  him  ; 
which  he  doth  as  well  by  letting  me  see  how  you  do,  as  by 
giving  me  occasions  and  leave  to  talk  with  you  by  this  letter; 
if  you  have  any  servant  which  wishes  you  better  than  I,  it 
must  be  because  he  is  able  to  put  his  wishes  into  a  better 
frame  and  express  them  better,  and  understand  proportion 
and  greatness  better  than  I.  I  am  willing  to  confess  my 
impotency,  which  is  that  I  know  no  wish  good  enough  for 
you ;  if  any  do,  my  advantage  is  that  I  can  exceed  his  by 
adding  mine  to  it.  You  must  not  think  that  I  begin  to 
think  thus  when  you  begin  to  hear  it  by  a  letter ;  as  some 
times  by  the  changing  of  the  wind,  you  begin  to  hear  a 
trumpet,  which  sounded  long  before  you  heard  it,  so  are 
these  thoughts  of  you  familiar  and  ordinary  in  me,  though 
they  have  seldom  the  help  of  this  conveyance  to  your  know 
ledge.  I  am  loth  to  leave,  for  as  long  as  in  any  fashion  I 
can  have  your  brother  and  you  here,  you  make  my  house  a 
kind  of  Dorney ;  but  since  I  cannot  stay  you  here,  I  will 
come  thither  to  you,  which  I  do  by  wrapping  up  in  this 
paper  the  heart  of — Your  most  affectionate  servant, 

"J.  DONNE." 

i  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 
VOL.  II.  B 


i8  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

Dorney  was  the  seat  of  the  Gerrards  in  Bucks.  The 
word  was  misprinted  Dorvey  in  1651. 

"  To  my  best  of  friends  Sir  H.  GfooovER].1 

"SiR, — I  heard  not  from  you  this  week,  therefore  I 
write  more  willingly,  because  it  hath  in  it  so  much  more 
merit.  And  I  might  do  it  very  cheaply,  since  to  convey  to 
you  this  letter  which  mine  hath  the  honour  to  bring,  any 
little  letter  would  serve  and  be  acceptable  for  that.  Because 
it  came  not  last  week  I  went  now  to  solicit  it,  and  she  sent 
it  me  next  day  with  some  thanks,  and  some  excuse  that  she 
knew  not  me  when  I  was  with  her.  You  know  I  do  not 
easily  put  myself  into  those  hazards,  nor  do  much  brag  of 
my  valour  now,  otherwise  than  I  purposed  it  for  a  service 
to  you.  The  newest  thing  that  I  know  in  the  world  is  my 
new  son,  whose  mother's  being  well  takes  off  from  me  any 
new  weight  upon  my  fortune. 

"  I  hear  in  Newgate  that  Mr.  Matthew  is  dead.  The 
Catholics  believe  it  there,  perchance  out  of  a  custom  of 
credulity.  But  the  report  is  close  prisoner,  for  I  never 
met  it  abroad.  This  is  my  third  letter,  all  which  I  sent  by 
Spelty,  whom  my  boy  found  at  Abington  House.  I  have 
now  two  of  the  best  happinesses  which  could  befall  me 
upon  me,  which  are  to  be  a  widower  and  my  wife  alive, 
which  may  make  you  know  that  it  is  but  for  your  ease  that 
this  letter  is  no  longer,  in  this  leisure  in  which  (having 
nothing  else  to  write)  I  might  vary  a  thousand  ways  that 
I  am 

"  Your  very  affectionate  servant, 

"J.  DONNE. 

"  Monday  at  night." 

Mr.,  afterwards  Sir  Tobie,  Matthew  was  very  dan 
gerously  ill  in  Rome  in  August  1613,  and  the  report 
reached  England  that  he  was  dead ;  but  he  recovered,  and 
to  his  care  we  owe  various  important  and  little-known 
documents  referring  to  Donne. 

1  Letters  of  1651. 


LAST    YEARS   AS   A    LAYMAN  19 

It  is  now  necessary  to  refer  to  a  subject  over  which  the 
biographer  of  Donne  wouJd  willingly  pass  in  silence,  namely, 
his  relations  with  the  infamous  Earl  of  Somerset.  This  it  is 
impossible  for  us  to  ignore,  especially  in  the  face  of  evidence 
now  to  be  produced  of  the  duration  and  importance  of  the 
favourite's  patronage.  We  could  wish,  of  course,  that  an 
instinct  could  have  warned  Donne  at  the  outset  against  this 
unprincipled  man,  but  to  demand  such  clairvoyance  from 
him  would  be  Quixotic  in  the  extreme.  There  is  no  need 
to  tell  again  in  detail  a  story  so  familiar  as  that  of  the  rise 
and  fall  of  Somerset,  but  we  may  review  his  history  rapidly 
from  the  exclusive  point  of  view  of  his  relations  with 
Donne.  Every  one  knows  that  in  1603  a  handsome  Scottish 
lad  named  Robert  Ker,  who  was  attached  to  the  household 
of  Donne's  friend,  Lord  Hay,  was  so  lucky  as  to  attract 
the  King's  notice  by  breaking  his  leg  at  a  tilting-match.  An 
evidence  of  his  original  obscurity  is  found  in  the  fact  that 
no  one  quite  knows  when  or  where  Robert  Ker  was  born, 
but  it  was  probably  not  later  than  1585.  James  I.,  as 
Mr.  S.  R.  Gardiner  succinctly  puts  it,  "was  attracted  by 
his  personal  activity  and  his  strong  animal  spirits."  He 
made  Ker  his  constant  companion,  provided  him  with  a 
fortune,  and  started  him  on  the  ladder  of  nobility. 

When  the  favourite  was  about  four-and-twenty,  Sher- 
borne  was,  by  a  shameful  trick,  wrested  from  the  noble 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh  and  given  to  the  young  Scotchman, 
who  resold  it  to  the  King  for  ,£20,000.  He  was  now  in 
a  position  to  hold  his  own  at  the  English  court,  and  he 
began  to  display  considerable  political  gifts  of  the  intrigu 
ing  order.  His  influence  with  his  master  was  thrown  into 
the  opposite  scale  to  the  House  of  Commons,  which  he 
encouraged  James  to  resist.  In  the  face  of  much  unpopu 
larity  among  the  English  peers,  the  King  ventured,  on  the 
25th  of  March  1611,  to  raise  Ker  to  a  seat  in  the  House 
of  Lords  under  the  title  of  Viscount  Rochester;  the  new 
peer  was  probably  under  the  age  of  six-and-twenty.  The 
only  obstacle  now  to  the  final  and  exclusive  power  of  the 
Scotch  adventurer  was  the  Lord  Treasurer;  this  also  was 
presently  removed  by  the  death  of  Salisbury  on  the  24th 


20  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

of  May  1612,  while  Donne  was  in  the  Spanish  Nether 
lands.  The  King  determined  that  no  man  in  future  should 
hold  quite  the  august  place  which  Salisbury  had  maintained 
in  the  State.  He  would  be  his  own  secretary,  with  Rochester 
at  his  elbow  to  advise  him.  So  domineering  became  the 
influence  of  the  favourite  that  the  wildest  rumours  found 
credence,  and  when  Prince  Henry  died  there  were  not  a  few 
who  were  convinced  that  Rochester  had  poisoned  him. 

Such  being  the  position  of  Rochester  in  1612,  it  is  not 
difficult  to  understand  how  glittering  an  object  of  envy  he 
must  have  seemed  to  those  struggling  for  places  at  court 
below  him.  To  be  noticed  favourably  by  Rochester  was  to 
have  found  the  ear  of  the  King,  or  at  all  events  to  be  on 
the  road  thither.  To  Donne,  always  "  attending  court 
fortunes,"  as  he  puts  it,  it  was  impossible  to  resist  taking 
advantage  of  his  old  acquaintance  with  Lord  Hay,  in  whose 
"  service  "  he  seems  in  some  dim  way  to  have  been  included, 
to  arrest  the  attention  of  Hay's  most  prosperous  protege. 
We  possess  the  letter 1  in  which,  under  cover  to  Lord  Hay, 
Donne  introduced  himself  to  Rochester's  notice.  It  was 
doubtless  written  in  October  1612. 

"  To  the  Lord  of  ROCHESTER. 

"My  LORD, — I  may  justly  fear  that  your  Lordship 
hath  never  heard  of  the  name  which  lies  at  the  bottom  of 
this  letter ;  nor  could  I  come  to  the  boldness  of  presenting 
it  now,  without  another  boldness,  of  putting  his  Lordship, 
who  now  delivers  it,  to  that  office.  Yet  I  have  (or  flatter 
myself  to  have)  just  excuses  of  this,  and  just  ground  of 
that  ambition.  For,  having  obeyed  at  last,  after  much 
debatement  within  me,  the  inspirations  (as  I  hope)  of  the 
Spirit  of  God,  and  resolved  to  make  my  profession  Divinity  ; 
I  make  account,  that  I  do  but  tell  your  Lordship,  what 
God  hath  told  me,  which  is,  that  it  is  in  this  course,  if  in 
any,  that  my  service  may  be  of  use  to  this  Church  and 
State.  Since  then  your  Lordship's  virtues  have  made  you 
so  near  the  head  in  the  one,  and  so  religious  a  member  of 

1  From  the  Tobie  Matthew  Collection. 


LAST    YEARS   AS    A    LAYMAN  21 

the  other,  I  came  to  this  courage,  of  thrusting  myself  thus 
into  your  Lordship's  presence,  both  in  respect  that  I  was  an 
independent,  and  disobliged  man,  towards  any  other  person 
in  this  State ;  and  delivered  over  now  (in  my  resolution)  to 
be  a  household  servant  of  God.  I  humbly  beseech  your 
Lordship,  that  since  these  my  purposes  are  likely  to  meet 
quickly  a  false  and  unprofitable  dignity,  which  is  the  envy 
of  others,  you  will  vouchsafe  to  undertake,  or  prevent,  or 
disable  that,  by  affording  them  the  true  dignity  of  your  just 
interpretations,  and  favourable  assistance.  And  to  receive 
into  your  knowledge  so  much  of  the  history,  and  into 
your  protection  so  much  of  the  endeavours,  of  your  Lord 
ship's  most  humble  and  devoted  servant." 

This  is  the  note  in  which  the  previous  letter  was 
enclosed. 

"  fo  the  Lord  HAY/ 

"  MY  LORD, — I  have  told  your  Lordship  often  that 
I  have  no  virtue  but  modesty;  and  I  begin  to  fear  that 
I  lose  that  in  saying  so  often  that  I  have  it ;  at  least,  if  I 
were  full  freighted  with  it  before,  I  find  that  at  this  time 
I  make  a  desperate  shipwreck  of  it.  Either  the  boldness 
of  putting  myself  by  this  way  of  letter  into  my  Lord  of 
Rochester's  presence,  or  the  boldness  of  begging  from  your 
Lordship  the  favour  of  presenting  it,  would  spend  more 
of  that  virtue  than  I  have.  But  since  I  can  strongly  hope, 
out  of  the  general  testimonies  of  his  Lordship's  true  noble 
ness,  that  he  will  allow  me  this  interpretation,  that  I 
reserved  myself  till  now,  when  a  resolution  of  a  new  course 
of  life  and  new  profession  makes  me  a  little  more  worthy 
of  his  knowledge ;  and  that  as  soon  as  I  had  delivered 
myself  over  to  God,  I  deliver  myself  to  him,  I  cannot 
doubt  of  your  Lordship's  pardon  for  my  boldness  in  using 
your  mediation. 

"  I  did  it  not,  my  Lord,  without  some  disputation.  But 
I  thought  it  very  unworthy  to  have  sent  a  first  letter  to 
his  Lordship  by  a  servant  of  my  own,  and  to  have  made 

1  From  the  Tobie  Matthew  Collection. 


22  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

it  the  business  of  any  friend  of  mine  who  hath  the 
honour  of  accesses  to  him.  I  thought  myself  tied  by 
that  to  have  communicated  my  purposes  with  him,  that 
person,  and  so  to  have  fore-acquainted  another  with  that 
which  I  desire  his  Lordship  should  first  know.  For  I 
make  account  that  it  is  in  one  instant  that  I  tell  his  and 
your  Lordship  that  I  have  brought  all  my  distractions 
together,  and  find  them  in  a  resolution  of  making  divinity 
my  profession,  that  I  may  try  whether  my  poor  studies, 
which  have  profited  me  nothing,  may  profit  others  in  that 
course ;  in  which  also  a  fortune  may  either  be  better  made, 
or,  at  least,  better  missed,  than  in  any  other.  One  good 
fruit  of  it  will  be,  that  my  prayers  for  your  Lordship's 
happiness  shall  be,  in  that  station,  more  effectual  with 
God ;  and  that,  therein,  I  shall  best  show  myself  to  be 
your  Lordship's  most  humble  and  thankful  servant." 

This  sudden  resolution  to  take  orders  in  the  Church 
of  England  was  probably  met  by  discouragement  from 
Rochester.  At  all  events,  Donne  seems  to  have  dropped  it 
as  abruptly  as  he  adopted  it,  for  we  meet  with  no  further 
suggestion  that  he  should  enter  the  Church  until  three 
years  later.  Doubtless  Rochester's  reply,  through  Hay, 
was  that  if  Donne  wished  to  serve  him,  the  profession  of 
the  law  offered  more  chances  of  doing  so  than  that  of 
divinity.  We  may  perhaps  safely  place  the  next  letter 
some  four  months  later;  it  shows  that  Rochester  had  not 
ignored  the  appeal  made  to  him.  He  had  attached  Donne 
to  him  "  by  all  the  titles  he  could  think  upon,"  and  had  even 
now  gone  further,  by  "buying"  him.  In  what  did  that  trans 
action  consist  ?  To  that  answer  I  am  afraid  there  is  a  some 
what  ignominious  reply.  But  first  let  us  read  the  letter : — 

"  To  the  Right  Honourable  the  Lord  Viscount  of 

ROCHESTER.1 

"  MY  MOST  HONOURABLE  GOOD  LORD, — After  I  was 
grown  to  be  your  Lordship's  by  all  the  titles  that  I  could 

1  From  the  Litters  of  1651. 


LAST    YEARS    AS   A    LAYMAN  23 

•  think  upon,  it  hath  pleased  your  Lordship  to  make  another 
title  to  me,  by  buying  me.  You  may  have  many  better 
bargains  in  your  purchases,  but  never  a  better  title  than 
to  me,  nor  anything  which  you  may  call  yours  more  abso 
lutely  and  entirely  than  me.  If  therefore  I  appear  before 
your  Lordship  sometimes  in  these  letters  of  thankfulness, 
it  may  be  an  excusable  boldness,  because  they  are  part  of 
your  evidences  by  which  you  hold  me.  I  know  there  may 
be  degrees  of  importunity  even  in  thankfulness ;  but  your 
Lordship  is  got  above  the  danger  of  suffer  ing  that  from 
me,  or  my  letters,  both  because  my  thankfulness  cannot 
reach  to  the  benefits  already  received,  and  because  the 
favour  of  receiving  my  letters  is  a  new  benefit.  And  since 
good  divines  have  made  this  argument  against  deniers  of 
the  Resurrection,  that  it  is  easier  for  God  to  unite  the 
principles  and  elements  of  our  bodies,  howsoever  they  be 
scattered,  than  it  was  at  first  to  create  them  of  nothing, 
I  cannot  doubt  but  that  any  distractions  or  diversions  in 
the  ways  of  my  hopes  will  be  easier  to  your  Lordship  to 
reunite  than  it  was  to  create  them.  Especially  since  you  are 
already  so  near  perfecting  them,  that  if  it  agreed  with  your 
Lordship's  purposes,  I  should  never  wish  other  station  than 
such  as  might  make  me  still,  and  only  your  Lordship's  most 
humble  and  devoted  servant,  J.  DONNE." 

Rochester  was  at  this  moment  in  want  of  the  acutest 
legal  advice  that  he  could  find.  He  was  launched  on  the 
frantic  intrigue  which  was  to  lead  to  his  ultimate  ruin. 
Frances  Howard,  Countess  of  Essex,  a  young  woman  of 
two-and-twenty,  who  combined  the  vilest  temperament  with 
the  worst  education,  had  at  the  close  of  1612  begun  to  stir 
for  a  divorce  from  her  husband,  the  Earl  of  Essex.  Into 
the  circumstances  of  this  disgusting  story  it  is  needless  that 
we  should  enter  here.  Enough  to  say  that  having  made 
life  intolerable  to  Essex,  he  had  left  her  for  three  years, 
and  the  woman  believed  that  he  would  allow  her,  only  too 
gladly,  to  obtain  a  declaration  of  the  nullity  of  their  mar 
riage  in  1609.  Her  real  object,  however,  was  her  desire  to 
marry  Rochester,  to  which  her  own  family,  which  included 


24  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

her  uncle,  Lord  Northampton,  had  easily  persuaded  the 
King  to  consent.  All  that  was  wanted  was  to  have  the 
nullity  declared.  In  this  juncture  it  is  evident  that 
Rochester  turned  to  Donne  with  a  promise  of  patronage 
if  he  would  lend  him  his  talents  in  the  legal  proceedings 
which  were  inevitable.  He  evidently  expected  these  to  be 
brief  and  conclusive,  and  that  his  marriage  with  Frances 
Howard  would  immediately  follow.  In  the  letter  which 
we  give  next,  Donne  seems  to  meet  half-way  the  suggestion 
that  he  should  help  in  the  nullity  suit,  but,  what  is  most 
extraordinary,  he  writes  as  though  Rochester  had  already 
commissioned  him  to  write  the  epithalamium  on  his  ap 
proaching  marriage  with  a  lady  who  was  still  legally  the 
wife  of  another  man.  In  this  there  was  nothing  in  the 
slightest  degree  uncharacteristic  of  Rochester,  but  of  what 
could  Donne  possibly  be  thinking  to  entertain  such  a  pro 
posal?  Yet  if  the  date  "Jan.  19"  be  not  a  misprint  of 
the  original  edition,  this  interpretation  is  absolutely  forced 
upon  us,  since  by  that  day  of  1614  everything  was  long 
over,  nullity,  re-marriage,  epithalamium,  and  all.  We  are 
not  left  to  conjecture ;  Donne  did  engage  himself  on  the 
nullity  suit,  and  he  did  write  the  wedding  poem.  But  let 
us  read  this  curious  letter : — 

"  To  my  worthy  friend  G.  K.1 

"  SIR, — I  receive  this  here  that  I  begin  this  return,  your 
letter  by  a  servant  of  Sir  G.  Greseley,  by  whom  also  I  hasten 
this  despatch.  This  needs  no  enlargement,  since  it  hath  the 
honour  to  convey  one  from  Mr.  Gerrard.  But  though  by 
telling  me  it  was  a  bold  letter,  I  had  leave  to  open  it,  and 
that  I  have  a  little  itch  to  make  some  animadversions  and 
criticisms  upon  it  (as  that  there  is  a  cypher  too  much  in 
the  sum  of  the  King's  debts,  and  such  like),  yet  since  my 
eyes  do  easily  fall  back  to  their  distemper,  and  that  I  am 
this  night  to  sup  at  Sir  Ar.  Ingram's,  I  had  rather  forfeit 
their  little  strength  at  his  supper  than  with  writing  such 
impertinencies ;  the  best  spending  them  is  upon  the  rest  of 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


LAST    YEARS    AS    A    LAYMAN  25 

your  letter,  to  which,  Sir,  I  can  only  say  in  general  that 
some  appearances  have  been  here  of  some  treatise  concerning 
this  nullity,  which  are  said  to  proceed  from  Geneva,  but  are 
believed  to  have  been  done  within  doors,  by  encouragements 
of  some  whose  names  I  will  not  commit  to  this  letter. 

"  My  poor  study  having  lain  that  way,  it  may  prove 
possible  that  my  weak  assistance  may  be  of  use  in  this 
matter  in  a  more  serious  fashion  than  an  epithalamium. 
This  made  me  therefore  abstinent  in  that  kind ;  yet,  by  my 
troth,  I  think  I  shall  not  escape.  I  deprehend  in  myself 
more  than  an  alacrity,  a  vehemency  to  do  service  to  that 
company,  and  so  I  may  find  reason  to  make  rhyme.  If  it 
be  done,  I  see  not  how  I  can  admit  that  circuit  of  sending 
them  to  you  to  be  sent  hither ;  that  seems  a  kind  of  praying 
to  saints,  to  whom  God  must  tell  first  that  such  a  man  prays 
to  them  to  pray  to  Him.  So  that  I  shall  lose  the  honour 
of  that  conveyance,  but  for  recompense  you  shall  escape  the 
danger  of  approving  it.  My  next  letter  shall  say  more  of 
this.  This  shall  end  with  delivering  you  the  remembrance 
of  my  Lady  Bartlett,  who  is  present  at  the  sealing  hereof. 
"  Your  very  true  and  affectionate  servant, 

"  J.  DONNE. 

"  Jan.  19  [1613], 

"  Which  name,  when  there  is  any  empty  corner  in  your 
discourse  with  that  noble  lady  at  Ashby,  I  humbly  beseech 
you  to  present  to  her  as  one  more  devoted  to  her  service 
than  perchance  you  will  say." 

The  lady  at  Ashby  was  the  Lord-Keeper's  third  wife, 
Alice,  widow  of  Ferdinand,  fifth  Earl  of  Derby ;  a  lifelong 
friend  of  Donne,  she  survived  until  1636. 

It  is  pleasant  to  be  able  to  turn  for  a  few  moments  to 
happier  themes  and  a  purer  atmosphere.  On  Good  Friday, 
1613,  Donne  wrote  his  poem  "Riding  Westward"  as  he 
was  journeying  from  Polesworth,  where  he  had  visited  Sir 
Henry  Goodyer,  on  his  road  to  Montgomery  Castle  and 
its  delightful  inmates,  Magdalen  Herbert  and  her  son  Sir 
Edward.  The  castle  had  been  seized  by  James  I.  in  1607, 


LIFE    OF   JOHN   DONNE 

and  transferred  to  another  branch  of  the  family,  that  of 
Philip  Herbert,  whom  in  1605  the  King  had  created  Earl 
of  Montgomery  ;  it  was  he  who  a  quarter  of  a  century  later 
became  fourth  Earl  of  Pembroke.  Philip  Herbert  grew 
tired  of  living  in  Wales,  and  various  duties  called  him  more 
and  more  to  England.  When,  therefore,  his  cousin  Sir 
Edward  offered  to  buy  back  the  ancestral  home,  he  was 
happy  to  sell  it  for  ^500.  The  sale  did  not  take  place 
until  July  1613  ;  and,  if  the  date  of  Donne's  visit  is  cor 
rectly  reported,  Mrs.  Herbert  was  the  inhabitant  of  the 
Castle  before  she  was  actually  the  owner.  In  any  case,  it 
is  probable  that  Donne  was  among  the  earliest  visitors  to 
Mrs.  Herbert  and  her  son  in  their  re-established  home. 
It  was  at  Montgomery  Castle,  and  (I  do  not  question)  at 
this  very  time,  that  Donne  wrote  the  singularly  beautiful 
poem  of  "  The  Primrose  "  — 

"  Upon  this  primrose  hill, 

Where,  if  heaven  would  distil 
A  shower  of  rain,  each  several  drop  might  go 
To  its  own  primrose,  and  grow  manna  so  ; 
And  where  their  form  and  their  infinity 

Make  a  terrestrial  galaxy, 

As  the  small  stars  do  in  the  sky  ; 
I  walk  to  find  a  true  love  ;  and  I  see 
That  'tis  not  a  mere  woman,  that  is  she, 
But  must  or  more  or  less  than  woman  be." 

The  whole  is  a  mystical  celebration  of  the  beauty,  dignity, 
and  intelligence  of  Magdalen  Herbert,  that  admirable  friend 
who  takes  so  high  a  place  in  the  gallery  of  Donne's  noble 
women.  When  this  poem,  which  must  have  been  well 
known  to  George  Herbert,  and  was  directly  imitated  by  him, 
was  written  in  his  mother's  praise,  the  future  author  of  the 
Temple  was  just  twenty  years  of  age,  and  had  newly  taken 
his  degree  at  Trinity  College,  Cambridge. 


"  To  the  Honourable  Knight  Sir  ROBERT 

"  SIR,  —  I  had  rather  like  the  first  best  ;  not  only  because 
it  is  cleanlier,  but  because  it  reflects  least  upon  the  other 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


LAST    YEARS   AS   A    LAYMAN  27 

party,  which,  in  all  jest  and  earnest,  in  this  affair,  I  wish 
avoided.  If  my  muse  were  only  out  of  fashion,  and  but 
wounded  and  maimed  like  free-will  in  the  Roman  Church, 
I  should  adventure  to  put  her  to  an  epithalamium.  But 
since  she  is  dead,  like  free-will  in  our  Church,  I  have  not 
so  much  muse  left  as  to  lament  her  loss.  Perchance  this 
business  may  produce  occasions,  wherein  I  may  express  my 
opinion  of  it,  in  a  more  serious  manner.  Which  I  speak 
neither  upon  any  apparent  conjecture,  nor  upon  any  over 
valuing  of  my  abilities,  but  out  of  a  general  readiness  and 
alacrity  to  be  serviceable  and  grateful  in  any  kind.  In 
both  which  poor  virtues  of  mine,  none  can  pretend  a  more 
primary  interest  than  you  may  in  your  humble  and  affec 
tionate  servant,  J.  DONNE." 

There  existed,  among  the  Ashburnham  MSS.,  a  com 
pendium  of  the  whole  course  of  proceeding  in  the  nullity 
of  the  Earl  of  Essex  and  the  Lady  Frances  Howard,  drawn 
up  by  Donne  in  the  course  of  1613.  It  is  not  for  us  to 
venture  to  condemn  his  judgment,  but  I  confess  that  it 
would  be  a  satisfaction  to  us  to  think  of  the  future  Dean 
of  St.  Paul's  as  less  intimately  acquainted  than  he  must  have 
been  with  the  early  details  of  this  shocking  story,1  and  less  in 
dulgent  in  condoning  them.  The  next  letter  doubtless  refers 
also  to  dealings  with  Rochester.  The  nullity  suit  proved 
to  be  anything  but  easy  to  obtain;  in  the  spring  of  1613 
Mary  Woods  produced  her  sinister  accusation  that  Lady 
Essex  had  tried  to  poison  her  husband.  The  Howards 
withdrew  in  alarm,  and  Archbishop  Abbot's  conscience  re 
fused  to  be  satisfied.  The  divorce,  however,  though  wearily 
delayed,  was  only  postponed.  One  of  Donne's  friends,  the 
famous  Bishop  Lancelot  Andrewes,  was  one  of  the  members 
of  the  Commission  which  met  in  May  to  try  the  case.  He 
was  unfavourable  to  the  divorce,  and  he  remained  silent 
throughout  the  proceedings,  but  he  did  not  oppose  the 
ultimate  result.  It  is  not  extravagant  to  conjecture  that, 
conscious  as  he  was  of  Donne's  acumen,  he  was  struck  by 
the  arguments  brought  forward  in  favour  of  the  declara- 

1  See  Eighth  Report  of  the  Hist.  MSS.  Comm.,  Appendix  22a,  part  iii. 


LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

tion  of  nullity  by  Donne  in  a  paper  which  is  still  in 
existence.1 

In  judging  men  like  Lancelot  Andre wes  and  Donne,  it 
is  highly  important  to  bear  in  mind  that  the  cup  of  Frances 
Howard's  wickedness  was  very  far  indeed  from  being  full 
in  1613.  Those  who  examined  her  case  could  hardly  fail 
to  see  in  her  a  callous,  cruel,  and  indelicate  woman;  but 
the  faults  of  her  temper  had  not,  as  yet,  publicly  blossomed 
forth  into  crimes,  and  the  worst  charges  brought  against 
her  before  her  marriage  with  Rochester  were  capable  of 
being  condoned  or  denied.  But  when  every  excuse  has 
been  made,  it  is  difficult  not  to  yield  to  Dean  Church's 
opinion  that  all  the  Jacobean  churchmen  were  subjected  to 
a  sort  of  fate,  which  obliged  them  to  become  base  at  least 
once  in  their  lives. 

We  now  print  some  miscellaneous  letters  of  this  period. 
They  testify  to  Donne's  failing  health  and  neurotic  con 
dition  ;  his  eyes,  in  particular,  were,  for  several  months,  to 
give  him  great  suffering  and  anxiety.  First  of  all,  a  letter 
to  Rochester  evidently  belongs  to  the  summer  of  1613. 

"  To  the  Lord  of  ROCHESTER.2 

"  MY  MOST  HONOURED  LORD, — I  prosper  too  fast  in 
your  Lordship's  favour,  that  I  am  already  come  to  the 
honour  of  suffering  somewhat  for  it ;  for  this  abstinence 
from  putting  myself  into  your  Lordship's  presence  (which 
I  make  account  that  I  do  in  obedience  of  your  purposes)  is 
so  much  more  than  a  punishment  to  me,  that  it  hath  some 
degrees  of  a  civil  martyrdom ;  but  as  God  Himself,  so  they 
whom  He  hath  made  stewards  of  His  benefits  upon  earth, 
dispenses  and  confers  them,  as  well  by  Providence,  as  by 
presence.  So  that  with  as  much  confidence,  as  humility,  I 
do  rest  myself  upon  your  gracious  inclinations  towards  me, 
and  think  myself  much  safer  in  that,  than  in  the  possession 
of  any  place.  For  when  by  possession,  I  must  come  to  ex 
ercise  mine  own  poor  abilities,  I  shall  not  be  upon  so  good 
ground  as  now,  when  I  subsist  only  by  your  grace,  yet  I 

1  Harl.  MSS.  39,  fol.  416.  8  From  the  Tobie  Matthew  Collection. 


LAST    YEARS   AS   A    LAYMAN  29 

presume  your  Lordship  will  allow  me  to  tell  you,  that  I 
understand  that  S[ir]  H[enry]  W[otton]  hath  some  design 
upon  one  of  these  places,  whereof  your  Lordship  did  me  that 
favour  to  speak  for  a  nephew  of  his,  Mr.  M.  But  as  they 
are  now  supplied,  I  dare  be  sure  that  there  is  room  for  none, 
but  one  of  your  making ;  this  day  and  not  before  I  came  to 
the  sight  of  the  book,  which  your  Lordship  mentioned  to 
me ;  but  because  I  know  that  the  Jesuits  at  Louvain  are  in 
hand  with  an  answer  expressly  to  my  whole  book,  I  forbear 
yet  to  take  knowledge  of  this.  Which  I  am  bold  to  tell 
your  Lordship,  lest  in  such  place,  such  misconceiving, 
might  disadvantage  me  much.  I  should  be  thought  to 
forsake,  either  mine  own  poor  reputation,  or  the  safest 
cause  in  the  world.  But  lest  I  should  spend  all  your 
Lordship's  favour  in  pardons,  I  will  take  no  more  of  your 
time,  neither  from  yourself,  nor  the  public,  with  these 
impertinencies  of — Your  Lordship's,  &c." 

"  jT0  Tourself  [GEORGE  GERRARD].* 

"  SIR, — If  I  shall  never  be  able  to  do  you  any  real 
service,  yet  you  may  make  this  profit  of  me,  that  you  be 
hereafter  more  cautelous  in  receiving  into  your  knowledge 
persons  so  useless  and  importune.  But  before  you  come 
to  so  perfect  a  knowledge  of  me  as  to  abandon  me,  go 
forward  in  your  favours  to  me  so  far  as  to  deliver  this 
letter  according  to  the  address.  I  think  I  should  not  come 
nearer  his  presence  than  by  a  letter ;  and  I  am  sure  I  would 
come  no  other  way  but  by  you.  Be  you  therefore  pleased 
by  these  noble  favours  to  me,  to  continue  in  me  the  com 
fort  which  I  have  in  being — Your  very  humble  and  thankful 
servant,  J.  DONNE. 

"Drury  House,  i$rd  Sept.  [1613]." 

"  fo  my  honoured  friend  Master  GEORGE  GERRARD.2 

"  SIR, — Your  letter  was  the  more  welcome  to  me 
because  it  brought  your  commandment  with  it,  of  sending 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651.  2  Ibid, 


30  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

you  perfumes ;  for  it  is  a  service  somewhat  like  a  sacrifice. 
But  yet  your  commandment  surprised  me,  when  neither 
I  had  enough  to  send,  nor  had  means  to  recover  more ; 
that  lady  being  "out  of  town  which  gave  them  me.  But, 
Sir,  if  I  had  ten  millions  I  could  send  you  no  more  than  I 
do ;  for  I  send  all. 

"  If  any  good  occasion  present  itself  to  you  to  send  to 
my  Lord  Clifford,  spare  my  name  a  room  there  where  you 
offer  him  most  of  your  service.  I  dare  contend  with  you 
that  you  cannot  exceed  me  in  desiring  to  serve  him.  It  is  a 
better  office  from  me  to  you  that  I  go  to  bed,  than  that  I 
write  a  longer  letter.  For  if  I  do  mine  eyes  a  little  more 
injury,  I  shall  lose  the  honour  of  seeing  you  at  Michaelmas ; 
for  by  my  troth  I  am  almost  blind :  you  may  be  content 
to  believe  that  I  am  always  disposed  to  your  service,  with 
out  exception  of  any  time,  since  now  just  at  midnight,  when 
it  is  both  day  and  night,  and  neither,  I  tell  you  that  I  am 
"  Your  affectionate  friend  and  servant, 

"J.  DONNE." 

Lord  Clifford  at  this  time  was  Henry,  afterwards  fifth 
Earl  of  Cumberland ;  born  in  1591,  he  had  recently  married 
Lord  Salisbury's  only  daughter. 

"  To  Sir  G.  B.1 

"  SIR, — It  is  one  of  my  blind  meditations  to  think 
what  a  miserable  defeat  it  would  be  to  all  these  prepara 
tions  of  bravery  if  my  infirmity  should  overtake  others ; 
for,  I  am  at  least  half-blind,  my  windows  are  all  as  full  of 
glasses  of  waters  as  any  mountebank's  stall.  This  messenger 
makes  haste,  I  thank  him  for  it ;  therefore  I  only  send 
you  this  letter,  which  was  sent  to  me  about  three  days 
past,  and  my  promise  to  distribute  your  other  letters,  accord 
ing  to  your  addresses,  as  fast  as  my  monsieur  can  do  it ;  for, 
for  any  personal  service  you  must  be  content  at  this  time 
to  pardon — Your  affectionate  servant, 

"J.  DONNE. 

"December  23  [1613]." 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


LAST    YEARS   AS   A    LAYMAN  31 

The  precious  epithalamium  was  used  at  last.  On  the 
26th  of  December  1613  Lord  Rochester  and  Lady  Frances 
Howard  were  ostentatiously  married,  the  bride  with  her 
hair  flowing  down  her  shoulders,  as  a  virgin.  Three  months 
earlier  Rochester's  friend,  Sir  Thomas  Overbury,  had  died 
in  the  Tower  in  agonies  "  to  satiate  the  implacable  malice 
of  that  cruel  murderess,"  and  it  is  hardly  possible  for  the 
most  lenient  of  historians  to  doubt  that  Rochester  shared 
the  guilt  of  the  woman  who  had  infatuated  him.  "  Blest 
pair  of  swans,"  Donne  styles  them  in  the  extremely  discon 
certing  Eclogue  which  he  dedicates  to  their  disgraceful 
nuptials.  It  is  very  difficult  to  approach  this  poem  with 
out  a  strong  feeling  of  repulsion.  If,  however,  we  forget 
the  occasion  for  which  it  was  composed,  it  may  be  read 
with  considerable  pleasure.  It  consists  of  two  parts.  The 
epithalamium  proper,  written  to  order  several  months  before, 
is  placed  in  a  pastoral  setting  which  bears  every  evidence 
of  having  been  composed  just  before  the  wedding.  In  this 
a  certain  Allophanes,  finding  Idios  in  the  country  at 
Christmas  time,  reprehends  his  absence  from  Court  at 
the  marriage  of  the  Earl  of  Somerset,  for  to  that  rank 
Rochester  had  a  few  weeks  before  been  advanced.  It  is 
to  be  noted  that  the  fact  of  the  nuptial  song  having 
been  written  before  the  event  is  curiously  betrayed  by  a 
speech  of  Allophanes,  who  introduces  it  as  a  "  sacrifice " 
prepared  beforehand,  although,  of  course, 

"  not  made 
Either  the  Court  or  men's  hearts  to  invade." 

Here  is  an  ingenious  description  of  a  winter  landscape — 

"  What  delicacy  can  in  fields  appear 
Whilst  Flora  herself  doth  a  frieze  jerkin  wear  ? 
Whilst  winds  do  all  the  trees  and  hedges  strip 
Of  leaves,  to  furnish  rods  enough  to  whip 
Thy  madness  from  thee,  and  all  springs  by  frost 
Have  taken  cold,  and  their  sweet  murmurs  lost !  " 

Donne's  ideas  at  this  time  were  greatly  set  upon 
court  functions,  and  he  expatiates  in  graceful  conceits 


32  LIFE    OF   JOHN   DONNE 

about  the  charms  of  a  life  among  the  smiling  faces  of  the 
great— 

"  At  every  glance,  a  constellation  flies, 
And  sows  the  court  with  stars,  and  doth  present, 
In  light  and  power,  the  all-eyed  firmament. 
First  her  eyes  kindle  other  ladies'  eyes, 
Then  from  their  beams  their  jewels'  lustres  rise, 
And  from  their  jewels  torches  do  take  fire, 
And  all  is  warmth,  and  light,  and  good  desire." 

The  epithalamium  itself  is  one  of  Donne's  happiest  efforts 
in  this  direction — rich,  ingenious,  and  virile.  A  single 
strophe  will  give  an  impression  of  the  form  in  which  it 
is  cast ;  this  describes  the  progress  of  the  bride  and  bride 
groom  to  chapel — 

"  Now  from  your  easts  you  issue  forth,  and  we, — 
As  men,  which  thro'  a  cypress  see 
The  rising  sun,  do  think  it  two, 
So,  as  you  go  to  church, — do  think  of  you ; 

But  that  veil  being  gone, 

By  the  church- rites  you  are  from  thenceforth  one. 
The  church  triumphant  made  this  match  before, 
And  now  the  militant  doth  strive  no  more. 
Then,  reverend  Priest,  who  God's  recorder  art, 
Do,  from  His  dictates,  to  these  two  impart 
All  blessings  which  are  seen  or  thought,  by  angel's  eye  or  heart." 

The  song  closes  as  follows — 

"  Now,  as,  in  Tullia's  tomb,  one  lamp  burn'd  clear, 
Unchanged  for  fifteen  hundred  year, 
May  these  love-lamps  we  here  enshrine, 
In  warmth,  light,  lasting,  equal  the  divine. 

Fire  ever  doth  aspire, 
And  makes  all  like  itself,  turns  all  to  fire, 
But  ends  in  ashes ;  which  these  cannot  do, 
For  neither  of  these  is  fuel,  but  fire  too. 
This  is  joy's  bonfire,  then,  where  love's  strong  arts 
Make  of  so  noble  individual  parts 
One  fire  of  four  inflaming  eyes,  and  of  two  loving  hearts." 

By  what  a  strange  blindness  the  poets  were  afflicted ! 
On  the  same  winter  morning  Ben  Jonson  handed  to 
"virtuous  Somerset"  a  copy  of  verses  even  more  enthusi- 


LAST    YEARS   AS   A    LAYMAN  33 

astic  than  those  of  Donne.  What  the  feelings  of  these 
canorous  persons  must  have  been  when  the  Overbury 
revelations  so  promptly  followed,  it  is  not  easy  to 
conceive. 

Through  the  year  1614,  Donne,  much  afflicted  by 
sickness  and  by  the  deaths  of  successive  children,  waited 
impatiently  for  Somerset  to  carry  out  his  promises  of 
reward  for  the  services  which  Donne  had  so  lavishly  volun 
teered.  It  is  probable  that  some  temporary  payment  was 
made,  but  certainly  the  poet  looked  out  in  vain  for  any 
definite  appointment.  Through  this  dolorous  year  we  may 
follow  him  mainly  in  the  melancholy  and  accidental  letters 
which  have  come  down  to  us,  letters  which  reflect  the  dis 
tractions  of  his  spirit.  Of  the  first  of  these  the  address 
has  been  lost,  and  it  is  particularly  difficult  to  comprehend ; 
it  is  now  for  the  first  time  published.1  The  Rev.  William 
Hunt  suggests  to  me  that  this,  like  the  preceding  and  the 
next  letter,  was  addressed  to  "Sir  G.  B.,"  and  that  he  was 
a  cadet  of" the  Brydges  family. 

"  SIR, — As  I  have  returned  back  to  you  the  indictment, 
so  do  I  the  evidence,  this  parcel  of  Mr.  Gerrard's  letter, 
and  now  I  appeal  to  yourself  whether  you  had  from  thence 
any  ground  to  imagine  such  an  openness  in  me,  and  whether 
I  be  not  so  thoroughly  clear  that  even  he  is  clear  too.  I 
perceive  that  he  being  present  with  me  at  the  receipt  of 
some  of  your  letters,  and  finding  upon  his  questioning  of 
me  that  sometimes  there  was  no  mention  of  the  receipt 
of  his  letters,  he  grew  jealous  of  their  miscarriage ;  and 
so,  Sir,  I  think  there  is  more  gloss  upon  the  letter  than 
it  was  worth,  and  you  and  I  stand  well  towards  one 
another. 

"  I  carried  the  letter  which  was  addressed  to  my  Lord 
Chandos,  but  I  found  him  not ;  he  was  expected  to  come 
to  town  this  evening,  therefore  I  wrote  to  his  Lordship  and 
enclosed  that  letter,  and  left  them  there  to  await  his  return. 
He  understands  by  mine  that  I  have  commodity  of  sending 
back  to-morrow,  and  therefore  perchance  may  send  hither 

1  From  the  collection  of  J.  H.  Anderdon,  Esq. 
VOL.  II.  C 


34  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

before  the  footman  call  for  this  packet.  All  the  letters 
which  I  send  you  herewith  (except  only  that  from  Sir  Tho. 
Roe)  came  to  my  hands  within  an  hour  after  I  had  sent 
away  last  Tuesday  by  the  carrier  of  the  Rose,  which  brought 
a  letter  from  my  Lord  Chandos. 

"  If  by  this  delay  in  my  hands  either  of  those  letters 
have  lost  any  of  their  virtue,  you  may  put  it  upon  the  score 
of  my  ill-fortunes,  but  not  of  my  faults.  I  presume  Mr. 
Gerrard's  letter  hath  left  me  nothing  to  say,  except  I  speak 
of  things  after  his  date.  That  which  is  most  remarkable 
fell  out  yesterday,  for  Sir  Stephen  Proctor's  great  cause 
concerning  my  Lord  of  Northampton  being  yesterday  heard 
in  the  Star  Chamber,  where  we  thought  to  see  him  crushed, 
the  opinions  were  equal,  and  the  Chancellor's  opinion  on 
the  discharging  side ;  so  was  the  Chancellor  of  the  Ex 
chequer  and  the  two  bishops,  and  they  which  condemned 
him  (as  I  think)  were  all  judges  at  law. 

"  There  is  come  out  a  most  poetical  proclamation 
against  duels,  with  a  book  annexed  to  it  for  direction  in 
such  accidents,  which  I  would  have  sent  you,  but  that  it  is 
too  big.  And  as  they  pride  thereby  that  we  shall  not  think 
of  killing  one  another,  so  I  must  pride  by  your  favour  that 
you  spend  none  of  your  thoughts  upon  self-killing,  for  I 
must  entreat  you  to  forbear  that  book  till  I  have  the  honour 
to  be  with  you.  The  King  at  his  going  away  left  the 
debatements  of  the  Parliament  to  his  Council,  who  have 
resolved  nothing  therein  as  yet,  so  that  the  assurance  thereof 
is  not  so  vehement  as  it  was.  It  is  taken  ill,  though  it  be 
but  mistaken  that  certain  men  (whom  they  call  undertakers) 
should  presume  either  to  understand  the  house  before  it 
sit,  or  to  incline  it  then,  and  this  rumour  beforehand,  which 
must  impeach,  if  it  do  not  defeat  their  purposes  at  last.  I 
know  nothing  else  that  other  men  are  not  likely  to  know 
more  profitably  than  I,  and  to  deliver  to  you  more  credibly ; 
therefore  I  here,  Sir,  kiss  your  hand,  and  continue  to  you 
the  entire  possession  of 

"  Your  poor  and  affectionate  servant, 

"Jo.  DONNE. 

"Sat.  12  Feb.  i6i3[4]." 


LAST    YEARS   AS   A    LAYMAN  35 

"  To  Sir  G.  B.1 

"SiR, — Between  the  time  of  making  up  my  other 
letters,  and  the  hour  that  your  man  limited  me  to  call  for 
them,  came  to  my  house  another  packet  directed  to  him ; 
for  by  this  time  the  carrier  is  as  wise  as  his  horse,  to 
go  to  the  house  that  he  hath  used  to  go.  I  found 
liberty  in  the  superscription  to  open,  and  so  I  did ; 
but  for  that  part  which  concerns  him  I  must  attend  his 
coming  hither,  for  I  know  not  where  to  seek  him ;  and 
besides,  I  have  enough  to  say  for  that  part  which  concerns 
myself. 

"  Sir,  even  in  the  letter  itself  to  me  I  deprehend  much 
inclination  to  chide  me,  and  it  is  but  out  of  your  habit  of 
good  language  that  you  spare  me.  So  little  occasion  as 
that  postscript  of  mine  could  not  bring  you  so  near  to  it,  if 
nothing  else  were  mistaken,  which  (so  God  help  me)  was  so 
little  that  I  remember  not  what  it  was,  and  I  would  no  more 
hear  again  what  I  write  in  an  officious  letter  than  what  I 
said  at  a  drunken  supper.  I  had  no  purpose  to  exercise 
your  diligence  in  presenting  my  name  to  that  lady,  but 
either  I  did,  or  should  have  said  that  I  writ  only  to  fill  up 
any  empty  corner  in  your  discourse.  So,  Sir,  the  reading 
of  the  letter  was  a  kind  of  travail  to  me,  but  when  I 
came  to  the  paper  enclosed  I  was  brought  to  bed  of  a 
monster. 

"To  express  myself  vehemently  quickly,  I  must  say 
that  I  can  scarce  think  that  you  have  read  Mr.  Gerrard's 
letter  rightly,  therefore  I  send  you  back  your  own  again. 
I  will  not  protest  against  my  being  such  a  knave,  for  no 
man  shall  have  that  from  me,  if  he  expect  it,  but  I  will 
protest  against  my  being  such  a  fool  as  to  depose  anything 
in  him  with  hope  of  locking  it  up,  and  against  that  lowness 
of  seeking  reputation  by  so  poor  a  way.  I  am  not  so  sorry 
that  I  am  a  narrow  man,  as  that  for  all  the  narrowness  you 
have  not  seen  through  me  yet,  nor  known  me  perfectly; 
for  I  might  think  by  this  (if  I  had  not  other  testimony) 
that  I  have  been  little  in  your  contemplation.  Sixteen 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


36  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

letters  from  Mr.  Gerrard  could  not  (I  think)  persuade  a 
Middlesex  jury  of  so  much  dishonesty  in 

"Your  true  servant, 
.  1614?]  "J-  DONNE." 


"  To  the  Honourable  Sir  R[OBERT] 

"SiR,  —  I  gave  no  answer  to  the  letter  I  received  from 
you  upon  Tuesday,  both  because  I  had  in  it  no  other  com 
mandment  by  it  but  to  deliver  your  letter  therein,  which  I 
did,  and  because  that  letter  found  me  under  very  much 
sadness,  which  (according  to  the  proportion  of  ills  that 
fall  upon  me)  is  since  also  increased,  so  that  I  had  not 
written  now,  if  I  had  been  sure  to  have  been  better  able 
to  write  next  week,  which  I  have  not  much  appearance  of  ; 
yet  there  was  committed  to  my  disposition  (that  is,  left  at 
my  house  in  my  absence)  a  letter  from  Sir  W.  Lover,  but 
it  was  some  hours  after  all  possibility  of  sending  it  by  the 
carrier,  so  that  Mr.  W.  Stanhope  giving  me  the  honour  of 
a  visit  at  that  time,  and  being  instantly  to  depart,  for  your 
parts,  did  me  the  favour  to  undertake  the  delivery  of  it 
to  you. 

"With  me,  Sir,  it  is  thus,  there  is  not  one  person 
(besides  myself)  in  my  house  well.  I  have  already  lost 
half  a  child,  and  with  that  mischance  of  hers,  my  wife 
fallen  into  an  indisposition,  which  would  afflict  her  much> 
but  that  the  sickness  of  her  children  stupefies  her  ;  of  one 
of  which,  in  good  faith,  I  have  not  much  hope.  This 
meets  a  fortune  so  ill-provided  for  physic  and  such  relief, 
that  if  God  should  ease  us  with  burials,  I  know  not  well 
how  to  perform  even  that.  I  flatter  myself  in  this,  that  I 
am  dying  too  ;  nor  can  I  truly  die  faster,  by  any  waste, 
than  by  loss  of  children. 

"  But,  Sir,  I  will  mingle  no  more  of  my  sadness  to  you, 
but  will  a  little  recompense  it,  by  telling  you  that  my  Lord 
Harrington,  of  whom  a  few  days  since  they  were  doubt 
ful,  is  so  well  recovered  that  now  they  know  all  his  disease 
to  be  the  pox  and  measles  mingled.  This  I  heard  yester- 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


LAST    YEARS   AS    A    LAYMAN  37 

day  ;  for  I  have  not  been  there  yet.  I  came  as  near  im 
portunity  as  I  could  for  an  answer  from  Essex  House,  but 
this  was  all,  that  he  should  see  you  shortly  himself. 

"  Your  servant, 

"J.  DONNE. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  so  much,  as  you  tell  me,  of  anything 
from  my  Lord  of  Som[erset]  since  the  epithalamium,  for  I 
heard  nothing." 


"  To  Sir  H[ENRY] 

"SiR,  —  I  receive  this  I4th  your  letter  of  the  loth,  yet 
I  am  not  come  to  an  understanding  how  these  carriers  keep 
days  ;  for  I  would  fain  think  that  the  letters  which  I  sent 
upon  Thursday  last  might  have  given  you  such  an  account 
of  the  state  of  my  family,  that  you  needed  not  have  asked 
by  this.  But,  Sir,  it  hath  pleased  God  to  add  thus  much 
to  my  affliction,  that  my  wife  hath  now  confessed  herself 
to  be  extremely  sick  ;  she  hath  held  out  thus  long  to  assist 
me,  but  is  now  overturned,  and  here  we  be  in  two  beds,  or 
graves  ;  so  that  God  hath  marked  out  a  great  many  of  us, 
but  taken  none  yet.  I  have  passed  ten  days  without  taking 
anything  ;  so  that  I  think  no  man  can  live  more  thriftily. 
I  have  purged  and  vexed  my  body  much  since  I  wrote  to 
you,  and  this  day  I  have  missed  my  fit  ;  and  this  is  the 
first  time  that  I  could  discern  any  intermission. 

"  This  is  enough,  the  rest  I  will  spend  upon  the  parts 
of  your  letter  ;  your  letter  at  Paul's  is  delivered.  In  the 
history  of  that  remove,  this  only  perchance  may  be  news  to 
you,  that  Mr.  Alabaster  hath  got  of  the  King  the  Dean's 
best  living,  worth  above  ^300,  which  the  Dean  had  good 
hope  to  have  held  a  while. 

"  Of  that  which  you  wrote  concerning  a  book  of  the 
nullity,  I  have  heard  no  syllable  any  other  way.  If  you 
have  received  it  by  good  hands,  I  believe  it  with  you  ; 
otherwise  the  report  is  naturally  very  incredible.  Though 
the  answering  of  it  be  a  work  for  some,  both  of  better 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


38  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

abilities  really,  and  in  common  reputation  also,  yet  I  was 
like  enough  to  have  had  some  knowledge  thereof. 

11  You  mention  again  something  which  it  seems  you  are 
not  willing  I  should  understand  of  my  Lady  Huntington ; 
some  of  your  former  letters  have  spoken  of  some  other 
former  letters  (which  I  never  saw),  which  speak  of  the 
matter  as  of  a  history  and  thing  done ;  and  these  later 
letters  speak  of  it  prophetically,  as  of  a  future  contingent. 
I  am  glad  the  often  remembrance  of  it  gives  me  often 
occasion  of  thankfulness  to  her,  for  retaining  me  in  her 
memory,  and  of  professing  myself  in  my  end,  and  ways, 
her  most  humble  servant. 

"  For  your  Parliament  business,  I  should  be  very  sorry, 
if  you  came  not  up,  because  I  presume  you  had  supposed 
many  businesses  to  have  been  done  at  that  time ;  but  in 
the  ways  wherein  you  have  gone,  I  protest  I  am  diffident. 
For  first,  for  that  Lord  whom  you  solicited  by  letters 
through  me,  I  tell  you  with  the  whispering  of  a  secret, 
but  the  confidence  of  a  friend,  that  you  will  be  deceived 
whensoever  you  think  that  he  should  take  any  delight  in 
doing  you  a  courtesy.  And  I  am  afraid,  the  true  heartiness 
of  the  other  noble  gentleman,  Mr.  Howard,  will  be  of 
small  use  in  this  particular,  if  he  have  but  solicited  my 
Lord  his  father  to  reserve  a  blank  for  his  friend,  for  my 
Lord  hath  suffered  more  denials,  even  in  places  where  he 
sent  names,  than  could  have  been  feared.  Besides  Mr. 
Howard  hath  not  written  to  his  father  therein,  but  to  Mr. 
Woodward,  who  perceiving  those  letters  to  be  written, 
before  his  purpose  of  being  Knight  for  the  shire,  thinks 
these  letters  extinguished.  You  made  me  offer  so  long 
since  of  a  place  (it  was  when  you  wrote  into  the  west),  yet 
I  could  think  it  no  merit  to  have  offered  you  one  since, 
otherwise  it  hath  been  since  in  my  power,  for  since  the 
Master  of  the  Rolls  provided  me  one,  Sir  Edward  Herbert, 
who  makes  haste  away,  made  me  a  present  of  his ;  and  I 
have  had  a  third  offer. 

;<  The  business  of  your  last  week's  letter  concerning  the 
widow,  is  not  a  subject  for  a  feverous  man's  consideration. 
Therefore  I  only  send  you  back  those  letters  which  you 


LAST   YEARS   AS   A    LAYMAN  39 

sent ;  and  ask  you  leave  to  make  this  which  I  am  fain  to 
call  my  good  day,  so  much  truly  good,  as  to  spend  the 
rest  of  it  with  Dr.  Layfield,  who  is,  upon  my  summons,  at 
this  hour  come  to  me.  My  physicians  have  made  me  afraid 
that  this  disease  will  work  into  my  head,  and  so  put  me 
into  lightnesses,  therefore  I  am  desirous  that  I  be  understood 
before  any  such  danger  overtake  me. 

"  Your  true  poor  servant, 

"J.  DONNE. 

«l4/>6  March  [1614]." 

The  St.  Paul's  living  given  to  the  Rev.  William 
Alabaster,  the  poet  of  Roxana^  was  Tharfield,  in  Herts. 

It  is  somewhat  surprising  that  Donne,  who  was  willing 
to  accept  a  much  less  lucrative  and  honourable  post,  should 
have  dreamed  of  occupying  so  prominent  an  office  as  that 
of  Ambassador  to  Venice.  But  he  evidently  considered 
that  Somerset,  if  he  chose,  could  give  this  to  him  with 
as  much  ease  as  Salisbury  had  given  it  to  Sir  Dudley 
Carleton  in  1610.  Curiously  enough,  in  applying  for 
Venice,  Donne  was  unconsciously  poaching  in  the  preserve 
of  his  own  particular  friend,  since  Sir  Henry  Wotton  had 
long  wished  for  this  embassy.  Neither  he  nor  Carleton 
was  happy,  and  the  former  was  as  eager  to  take  up  his 
residence  in  Venice  as  the  latter  was  to  escape  from  it. 
Carleton  "  longed  for  the  free  air  of  a  Protestant  country," 
and  two  years  after  this  uncouth  application  of  Donne's, 
Wotton  having  vacated  the  embassy  of  The  Hague,  Carleton 
was  transferred  to  it,  and  Wotton  appointed  to  Venice. 
Donne  had  a  great  desire  to  see  Venice,  and  we  shall  have 
to  record  another  disappointment  of  this  wish.  He  would 
probably  have  been  as  much  at  home  in  that  city  as  any 
where  in  Europe. 

"  'To  the  Honourable  Knight  Sir  ROBERT  KER.* 

"  SIR, — I  sought  you  yesterday  with  a  purpose  of 
accomplishing  my  health  by  the  honour  of  kissing  your 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


40  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

hands.  But  I  find  by  my  going  abroad,  that  as  the  first 
Christians  were  forced  to  admit  some  Jewish  ceremonies, 
only  to  bury  the  synagogue  with  honour,  so  my  fever  will 
have  so  much  reverence  and  respect  as  that  I  must  keep 
sometimes  at  home.  I  must  therefore  be  bold  to  put  you 
to  the  pain  of  considering  me. 

"  If  therefore  my  Lord  upon  your  delivery  of  my  last 
letter  said  nothing  to  you  of  the  purpose  thereof,  let  me 
tell  you  now  that  it  was,  that  in  obedience  of  his  command 
ment,  to  acquaint  him  with  anything  which  might  advan 
tage  me,  I  was  bold  to  present  that  which  I  heard,  which 
was  that  Sir  D.  Carleton  was  likely  to  be  removed  from 
Venice  to  the  States ;  of  which  if  my  Lord  said  nothing  to 
you,  I  beseech  you  add  thus  much  to  your  many  other 
favours,  to  entreat  my  Lord  at  his  best  commodity  to  afford 
me  the  favour  of  speaking  with  him. 

"  But  if  he  have  already  opened  himself  so  far  to  you 
as  that  you  may  take  knowledge  thereof  to  him,  then  you 
may  ease  him  of  that  trouble  of  giving  me  an  audience,  by 
troubling  yourself  thus  much  more,  as  to  tell  him  in  my 
behalf,  and  from  me,  that  though  Sir  D.  Carleton  be  not 
removed,  yet  that  place  with  the  States  lying  open,  there  is 
a  fair  field  of  exercising  his  favour  towards  me,  and  of 
constituting  a  fortune  to  me,  and  (that  which  is  more)  of  a 
means  for  me  to  do  him  particular  services.  And,  Sir,  as 
I  do  thoroughly  submit  the  end  and  effect  of  all  projects 
to  his  Lordship's  will,  so  do  I  this  beginning  thereof,  to 
your  advice  and  counsel,  if  you  think  me  capable  of  it ; 
as,  for  your  own  sake,  I  beseech  you  to  do,  since  you  have 
admitted  me  for 

11  Your  humble  servant, 

"J.  DONNE." 

"  To  the  Earl  of  SOMERSET.1 

"  MY  MOST  HONOURED  LORD, — Since  your  Lordship 
will  not  let  me  die,  but  have  by  your  favour  of  sending  to 
me  so  much  prevailed  against  a  vehement  fever,  that  I  am 

1  From  the  Tobie  Matthew  Collection. 


LAST    YEARS    AS    A    LAYMAN  41 

now  in  good  degrees  of  convalescence,  I  was  desirous  that 
my  first  sacrifice  to  any  person  in  this  world  for  my  begin 
ning  of  health  should  be  to  your  Lordship,  that  I  might 
acknowledge  that,  as  ever  since  I  had  the  happiness  to  be 
in  your  Lordship's  sight,  I  have  lived  upon  your  bread ; 
so  I  owe  unto  your  Lordship  now  all  the  means  of  rny 
recovery,  and  my  health  itself :  so  must  all  the  rest  of  my 
life  and  means  be  a  debt  to  your  Lordship,  from  whom, 
since  I  received  a  commandment,  so  much  to  assist  myself, 
as  to  present  to  your  Lordship  whatsoever  to  appear  to  me 
likely  to  advantage  me,  and  ease  your  Lordship. 

"  I  am  now  bold,  in  obedience  of  that  commandment,  to 
tell  your  Lordship,  that  that  is  told  me,  that  Sir  D[udley] 
C[arleton]  is  likely  to  be  removed  from  Venice  to  the 
States.  If  your  Lordship  have  no  particular  determination 
upon  that  place,  nor  upon  me,  I  humbly  beseech  your 
Lordship  to  pardon  me  the  boldness  of  asking  you  whether 
I  may  not  be  sent  thither ;  all  the  substance  and  all  the 
circumstances  of  this  I  most  humbly  submit  to  your  Lord 
ship,  with  a  protestation  as  true  as  if  I  had  made  it  six 
days  since,  when  I  thought  myself  very  near  an  end,  that 
I  had  rather  be  anything  that  arises  out  of  your  Lordship 
than  any  proposition  of  mine  ;  and  that  I  have  been  in 
possession  of  my  farthest  ambitions  ever  since  I  had  the 
dignity  of  being  your  most,  &c." 

"  70  the  Earl  of  SOMERSET.1 

"  It  is  now  somewhat  more  than  a  year  since  I  took  the 
boldness  to  make  my  purpose  of  professing  divinity  known 
to  your  Lordship,  as  to  a  person  whom  God  had  made  so 
great  an  instrument  of  His  providence  in  this  kingdom,  as 
that  nothing  in  it  should  be  done  without  your  knowledge, 
your  Lordship  exercised  upon  me  then  many  of  your 
virtues,  for  besides,  that  by  your  bounty  I  have  Jived  ever 
since,  it  hath  been  through  your  Lordship's  advice  and 
inspiration  of  new  hopes  into  me  that  I  have  lived  cheer 
fully.  By  this  time,  perchance,  your  Lordship  may  have 

1  From  the  Tobie  Matthew  Collection. 


42  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

discerned  that  the  malignity  of  my  ill-fortune  may  infect 
your  good,  and  that  by  some  impressions  in  your  Lord 
ship  I  may  be  incapable  of  the  favours  which  your  Lordship 
had  purposed  to  me.  I  had  rather  perish  than  be  such  a 
rub  in  your  fortune,  or  that  through  me  your  history 
should  have  one  example  of  having  missed  what  you 
desired ;  I  humbly  therefore  beg  of  your  Lordship  that 
after  you  shall  have  been  pleased  to  admit  into  your 
memory  that  I  am  now  a  year  older,  broken  with  some 
sickness,  and  in  the  same  degrees  of  honesty  as  I  was, 
your  Lordship  will  afford  me  one  commandment,  and  bid 
me  either  hope  for  this  business  in  your  Lordship's  hand, 
or  else  pursue  my  first  purpose  or  abandon  all ;  for  as 
I  cannot  live  without  your  favour,  so  I  cannot  die  with 
out  your  leave ;  because  even  by  dying  I  should  steal  from 
you  one  who  is  by  his  own  devotions  and  your  purchase 
your  Lordship's  most  humble  and  thankful  servant." 

As  in  this  next  letter  Donne  particularly  vaunts  his  evil 
heresy,  so  distressing  to  his  biographer,  that  one  should 
never  date  one's  correspondence,  to  give  a  conjectural  year 
and  month  to  this  piece  of  his  writing  would  be  more  than 
usually  idle.  We  may,  however,  recollect  that  Lady  Bed 
ford's  father,  John  Harington,  first  Lord  Harington  of 
Exton,  died  on  the  24th  of  August  1613,  while  the  brother 
here  mentioned,  John,  second  Lord  Harington,  only  sur 
vived  him  a  few  months  : — 

"  To  the  Countess  of  BEDFORD.1 

"  MADAM, — Amongst  many  other  dignities  which  this 
letter  hath  by  being  received  and  seen  by  you,  it  is  not  the 
least  that  it  was  prophesied  of  before  it  was  born,  for  your 
brother  told  you  in  his  letter  that  I  had  written ;  he  did  me 
much  honour  both  in  advancing  my  truth  so  far  as  to  call 
a  promise  an  act  already  done,  and  to  provide  me  a  means 
of  doing  him  a  service  in  this  act,  which  is  but  doing  right 
to  myself;  for  by  this  performance  of  mine  own  word  I 
have  also  justified  that  part  of  his  letter  which  concerned 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


LAST    YEARS   AS    A    LAYMAN  43 

me,  and  it  had  been  a  double  guiltiness  in  me  to  have  made 
him  guilty  towards  you.  It  makes  no  difference  that  this 
came  not  the  same  day,  nor  bears  the  same  date  as  his ;  for 
though  in  inheritances  and  worldly  possessions  we  consider 
the  dates  of  evidences,  yet  in  letters,  by  which  we  deliver 
over  our  affections  and  assurances  of  friendship,  and  the 
best  faculties  of  our  souls,  times  and  days  cannot  have 
interest  nor  be  considerable,  because  that  which  passes  by 
them  is  eternal,  and  out  of  the  measure  of  time.  Because 
therefore  it  is  the  office  of  this  letter  to  convey  my  best 
wishes,  and  all  the  effects  of  a  noble  love  unto  you  (which 
are  the  best  fruits  that  so  poor  a  soil,  as  my  poor  soul  is, 
can  produce),  you  may  be  pleased  to  allow  the  letter  thus 
much  of  the  soul's  privilege  as  to  exempt  it  from  straitness 
of  hours,  or  any  measure  of  times,  and  so  believe  it  came 
then.  And  for  my  part,  I  shall  make  it  so  like  my  soul, 
that  as  that  affection,  of  which  it  is  the  messenger,  begun 
in  me  without  my  knowing  when,  any  more  than  I  know 
when  my  soul  began;  so  it  shall  continue  as  long  as  that. 
— Your  most  affectionate  friend  and  servant, 

"J.  D." 

Lord  Harington  went  abroad  after  his  father's  death, 
and  travelled  in  France  and  Italy.  He  was  taken  ill,  as 
was  supposed  from  the  effects  of  poison,  but  reached  his 
sister's  house  at  Twickenham,  where  he  died  on  the  27th 
of  February  1614.  He  was  a  most  amiable  and  accom 
plished  young  man,  from  whom  great  things  were  expected. 
With  him  the  barony  became  extinct,  and  the  larger  part 
of  his  estates  passed  to  his  sister  Lucy,  Countess  of  Bedford. 
To  this  fact  Donne  refers  in  his  next  letter,  in  which  he 
enclosed  a  long  poem  he  had  written,  "  Obsequies  of  the 
Lord  Harington  "  : — 

"  To  the  Countess  of  BEDFORD.1 

"  MADAM, — I  have  learned  it,  by  those  laws  wherein 
I  am  a  little  conversant,  that  he  which  bestows  any  cost 

1  MS.  copy  in  the  British  Museum. 


44  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

upon  the  dead,  obliges  him  which  is  dead,  but  not  the 
heir;  I  do  not  therefore  send  this  paper  to  your  Lady 
ship  that  you  should  thank  me  for  it,  or  think  that  I 
thank  you  in  it ;  your  favours  and  benefits  to  me  are 
so  much  above  my  merits,  that  they  are  even  above  my 
gratitude,  if  that  were  to  be  judged  by  words,  which  must 
express  it. 

"But,  Madam,  since  your  noble  brother's  fortune  being 
yours,  the  evidences  concerning  it  are  yours ;  so,  his  virtue 
being  yours,  the  evidences  concerning  that  belong  also  to 
you,  of  which  by  your  acceptance  this  may  be  one  piece,  in 
which  quality  I  humbly  present  it,  and  as  a  testimony  how 
entirely  your  family  possesseth 

"  Your  Ladyship's  most  humble 

and  thankful  servant, 

"JOHN  DONNE." 

The  "  Obsequies "  is  the  longest  of  Donne's  minor 
funeral  poems,  and  it  is  one  of  the  best.  The  tone  of  pane 
gyric  is  not  so  strained  as  to  give  us  any  doubt  of  the  poet's 
sincerity  of  feeling.  For  Lord  Harington,  whom  he  had 
known  from  that  nobleman's  boyhood,  he  had  a  great 
esteem  and  affection.  There  was  something  genuinely 
affecting  in  this  untimely  death,  at  the  age  of  twenty-two, 
in  undeserved  suffering,  of  a  young  man  so  gifted,  so 
promising,  and  so  attractive.  The  opening  address  is  in 
Donne's  gravest  and  weightiest  metaphysical  manner — 

"  Fair  soul,  which  wast,  not  only  as  all  souls  be, 
Then  when  thou  wast  infused,  harmony, 
But  didst  continue  so  ;  and  now  dost  bear 
A  part  in  God's  great  organ,  this  whole  sphere, — 
If,  looking  up  to  God,  or  down  to  us, 
Thou  find  that  any  way  is  pervious 
'Twixt  heaven  and  earth,  and  that  men's  actions  do 
Come  to  your  knowledge,  and  affections  too, 
See,  and  with  joy,  me  to  that  good  degree 
Of  goodness  grown,  that  I  can  study  thee, 
And  by  these  meditations  refined, 
Can  unapparel  and  enlarge  my  mind, 
And  so  can  make,  by  this  soft  ecstasy, 
This  place  a  map  of  heaven,  myself  of  thee." 


LAST    YEARS    AS   A    LAYMAN  45 

This  is  as  full  of  ingenuity  as  of  music,  both  indeed  in  a 
class  more  popular  in  the  seventeenth  than  in  the  nineteenth 
century.  But  it  is  easy  to  see  how  directly  Cowley  was 
influenced  by  this  movement  of  verse  and  of  fancy  when  he 
came  to  write  his  immortal  elegy  on  Crashaw.  Donne  pro 
ceeds,  with  a  cleverness  sometimes  forced  to  the  peril  of  his 
imagination,  for  260  nervous  lines,  and  closes  with  a  rash 
vow  to  write  poetry  no  more — 

"  Do  not,  fair  soul,  this  sacrifice  refuse 
That  in  thy  grave  I  do  inter  my  Muse, 
Which,  by  my  grief,  great  as  thy  worth,  being  cast 
Behindhand,  yet  hath  spoke,  and  spoke  her  last." 

But  poets'  vows  are  like  those  of  lovers.  He  was  now  over 
forty  years  of  age,  and  doubtless  the  desire  to  write  poetry 
invaded  him  less  and  less  often.  But  he  had  no  real  in 
tention  of  burying  his  Muse  in  Lord  Harington's  tomb, 
although  he  might  in  future  choose  to  dedicate  it  to  graver 
and  graver  uses. 

In  the  next  letter  he  refers  to  the  death  of  his  seventh 
child,  Mary  Donne,  who  was  buried  at  St.  Clement  Danes 
on  the  1 8th  of  May  1614 ;  she  was  in  her  fourth  year : — 

"  To  the  Honourable  Knight  Sir  ROBERT  KER.* 

"SiR, — Perchance  others  may  have  told  you,  that  I  am 
relapsed  into  my  fever ;  but  that  which  I  must  entreat  you 
to  condole  with  me,  is  that  I  am  relapsed  into  good  degrees 
of  health;  your  cause  of  sorrow  for  that  is,  that  you  are 
likely  to  be  the  more  troubled  with  such  an  impertinency, 
as  I  am ;  and  mine  is,  that  I  am  fallen  from  fair  hopes,  ,of 
ending  all ;  yet  I  have  scaped  no  better  cheap,  than  that  I 
have  paid  death  one  of  my  children  for  my  ransom.  Be 
cause  I  loved  it  well,  I  make  account  that  I  dignify  the 
memory  of  it,  by  mentioning  of  it  to  you,  else  I  should 
not  be  so  homely.  Impute  this  brevity  of  writing  to  you 
upon  no  subject  to  my  sickness,  in  which  men  use  to  talk 
idly ;  but  my  profession  of  desiring  to  be  retained  in  your 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


46  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

memory,  impute  to  your  own  virtues,  which  have  wrought 
so  much  upon  your  humble  servant,          JOHN  DONNE." 


\_May 

The  next  letters,  addressed  to  his  brother-in-law,  have 
never,  I  believe,  been  printed.  They  present  us  with  some 
curious  particulars,  and  shows  how  entirely  vague  Donne 
still  was,  so  late  as  the  end  of  July  1614,  as  to  his  future. 

"  T'o  Sir  ROBERT  MoRE.1 

"SiR, — Our  predecessors  were  never  so  conquered  by 
the  Danes  as  I  am  at  this  time,  for  their  coming  have  put 
my  little  court  business  out  of  the  way  and  dispossessed 
me  of  so  near  hopes  as  lacked  little  of  possession.  I  must 
confess  my  weakness  in  this  behalf;  no  man  attends  court 
fortunes  with  more  impatience  than  I  do.  I  esteem  nothing 
more  inexcusable,  than  to  attend  them  chargeably,  nor  any 
expense  so  chargeable,  as  that  of  time.  I  am  so  angry  at 
their  coming,  that  I  have  not  so  much  as  inquired  why 
they  came.  But  they  are  even  with  me ;  for,  in  truth, 
they  came  for  nothing.  Statesmen  who  can  find  matter 
of  state  in  any  wrinkle  in  the  King's  socks,  think  that  he 
came  for  the  business  of  Cleves,  but  whether  for  his  brother 
Saxon,  or  his  cousin  Brandenburg,  I  do  not  hear  that  he 
can  tell.  And  the  Low  Country  men  this  last  year  did 
him  such  an  affront,  at  his  great  custom-place,  the  Sondt, 
that  some  think  he  comes  to  understand  our  King's  dis 
position  in  your  business,  if  he  shall  go  about  to  right 
himself  upon  them.  Others  think  he  came  to  correct  our 
enormity  of  yellow  bands,  by  presenting  as  many,  as  blue. 
For  my  particular  opinion,  I  think  he  came  to  defeat  me, 
and  retard  my  business.  He  came  upon  Friday,  and  he 
goes  upon  Monday;  and  these  two  terms'  limit  are  his 
history ;  for  he  doth  nothing  between.  He  hath  brought 
with  him  his  Chancellor  and  his  Admiral,  and  is  otherwise 
well  attended.  He  shipped  one  hundred  horse,  but  sent 

1  From  the  Loseley  MSS. 


LAST    YEARS    AS   A    LAYMAN  47 

them  back  after  he  had  been  a  day  at  sea.  He  pretended 
to  go  into  Germany ;  but  after  he  was  at  sea,  he  discovered 
his  purpose,  and  accordingly  left  a  Commission  for  the 
Government,  to  be  opened  after  he  had  been  certain  days 
away. 

"The  rest  of  his  history  you  may  find,  I  think,  in  some 
part  of  Amadis  the  Gaul,  at  your  leisure.  I  will  not  con 
tribute  so  much  to  mine  own  ill-fortune,  nor  join  with  her 
in  a  treason  against  myself,  so  much  as  to  be  absent  now, 
when  my  absence  may  give  perchance  occasion,  perchance 
excuse  to  others  of  slackness  in  my  business ;  therefore  I 
have  neglected  my  pleasure,  and  the  little  circumstance  of 
my  health  (for  in  good  faith,  my  life  itself  is  no  great 
circumstance  to  me),  which  I  intended  by  going  into  the 
country.  Therefore,  Sir,  I  send  back  your  horse,  in  as 
good  case,  as  so  long  rest  in  the  Covent  Garden  can  make 
him.  If  I  find  it  necessary  to  go,  I  will  be  bold  to  ask 
you  by  an  express  messenger  again  whether  you  can  spare 
him  then  or  no ;  your  poor  sister  remembers  her  love  to 
yourself  and  all  your  company ;  so  do  I,  Sir,  who  am  ever 
"  Yours  to  be  commanded, 

"J.  DONNE. 

At  my  poor  hospital, 

July  1614." 


"  To  Sir  ROBERT  MoRE.1 

"SiR, — Since  I  had  no  other  thing  in  contemplation 
when  I  purposed  this  journey  than  my  health,  methinks  it 
is  a  kind  of  physic  to  be  so  long  about  that,  and  I  grow 
weary  of  physic  quickly.  I  have  therefore  put  off  that 
purpose,  at  least  till  the  King  come  into  these  parts.  If 
your  horse,  which  I  return  by  this  carrier  of  Guildford, 
have  not  found  as  good  salads  in  our  Covent  Garden  as 
he  should  at  Loseley,  yet  I  believe  he  hath  had  more  ease 
than  he  should  have  had  there. 

"  We  are  condemned  to  this  desert  of  London  for  all 
this  summer,  for  it  is  company,  not  houses,  which  distin- 

1  From  the  Loseley  MSS. 


48  LIFE    OF   JOHN   DONNE 

guishes  between  cities  and  deserts.  When  I  begin  to  ap 
prehend  that,  even  to  myself,  who  can  relieve  myself  upon 
books,  solitariness  was  a  little  burdenous,  I  believe  it  would 
be  much  more  so  to  my  wife,  if  she  were  left  alone.  So 
much  company,  therefore,  as  I  am,  she  shall  not  want ;  and 
we  had  not  one  another  at  so  cheap  a  rate,  as  that  we  should 
ever  be  weary  of  one  another. 

"Sir,   when  these  places  afford    anything  worth  your 
knowledge,  I  shall  be  your  referendary.     Now  my  errand 
is  only  to  deliver  my  thanks  and  services,  accompanied  with 
your  poor  sister's,  to  yourself  and  all  your  good  company. 
"  Yours  ever  to  be  commanded, 

"J.  DONNE. 

"  I0th  August  1614. 

"  I  pray,  Sir,  give  this  note  enclosed  to  my  lady  your 
mother;  it  is  of  some  parcels  which  she  commanded  my 
wife  to  buy  for  her,  which  are  sent  down  at  this  time  by 
the  carrier. 

"  To  the  right  worshipful  Sir  Robert  More, 
Knight,  at  Lothersley." 


"  70  my  worthy  and  honoured  friend  Mr.  GEORGE 

GERRARD.1 

"  SIR, — I  am  sorry  if  your  care  of  me  have  made  you 
importune  to  anybody  else ;  yet  I  cannot  be  very  sorry, 
because  it  gives  new  testimonies  of  your  favour  to  me,  of 
which  I  shall  ever  be  very  glad  and  (that  which  is  my 
only  virtue)  thankful :  so  desperate  fortunes  as  mine  may 
well  make  friends  loth  to  do  courtesies,  because  an  inability 
in  deserving  or  requiting  takes  from  them  the  honour  of 
having  done  a  courtesy,  and  leaves  it  but  the  poor  name 
of  an  alms ;  and  alms  may  be  given  in  easier  proportions, 
and  more  meritoriously.  But,  Sir,  by  what  name  or  weight 
soever  you  esteem  this  kindness  which  you  have  done  me,  I 
value  it  so,  as  might  alone  persuade  me  of  your  care  of  me ; 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


LAST    YEARS   AS   A   LAYMAN  49 

in  recompense  of  which  you  must  be  pleased  to  accept  new 
assurances  that  I  am  —  Your  very  affectionate  servant, 

"J.  DONNE. 

"  I  pray  let  my  service  be  presented  by  you  to   Mr. 
Roope." 


"  To  the  Honourable  Knight  Sir  H[ENRY] 

"  SIR,  —  After  I  have  told  you  that  the  Lady  Hay  died 
last  Tuesday,  and  that  to  her  end  she  was  anguished  with 
the  memory  of  the  execution  of  that  fellow  which  attempted 
her  in  the  coach,  I  have  told  you  all  which  hath  fallen  out 
here.  Except  between  you  and  me  that  may  be  worth  the 
telling,  that  my  Lord  Chancellor  gave  me  so  noble  and  so 
ready  a  despatch,  accompanied  with  so  fatherly  advice  and 
remorse  for  my  fortunes,  that  I  am  now,  like  an  alchemist, 
delighted  with  discoveries  by  the  way,  though  I  attain  not 
mine  end.  It  spent  me  so  little  time  after  your  going, 
that,  although  you  speak  in  your  letter  of  good  despatch 
in  your  going,  yet  I  might  have  overtaken  you.  And 
though  perchance  if  I  had  gone,  it  might  have  been  incon 
venient  for  me  to  have  put  myself  into  my  Lord  Chamber 
lain's  presence  if  that  sickness  be  earnest  at  Ashby,  and  so 
I  should  nothing  have  advanced  my  business,  yet  I  should 
have  come  to  that  noble  Lady  with  better  confidence,  and 
more  assurance  of  a  pardon,  when  I  had  brought  a  con 
science,  that  I  came  despoiled  of  all  other  respects,  only  to 
kiss  her  hands,  in  whose  protection  I  am,  since  I  have,  nor 
desire  other  station,  than  a  place  in  her  good  opinion. 

"  I  took  so  good  contentment  in  the  fashion  which  my 
Lord  Chancellor  used  towards  me,  that  out  of  a  voluptuous 
loathness  to  let  that  taste  go  out  of  my  mouth,  I  forbear 
to  make  any  further  trial  in  that  business  till  the  King 
come  into  these  quarters.  So  that,  Sir,  I  am  here  in  place 
to  serve  you,  if  either  I  be  capable  of  your  commandments, 
or  this  town  give  anything  worth  the  writing.  As  often 
as  you  see  your  noble  friend,  and  her  good  sister,  allow  my 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 
VOL.  II.  D 


50  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

name  a  room  in  your  discourse ;  it  is  a  short  one,  and  you 
will  soon  have  done.  But  tell  them  not  my  desire  to 
do  them  service,  for  then  you  engage  yourself  in  a  longer 
discourse  than  I  am  worthy.  Only  in  pursuit  of  your 
commandment  I  sent  the  packet  to  the  post,  for  in  mine 
own  understanding  there  should  appear  small  hope  of 
arriving  by  that  way,  except  you  know  otherwise  that  the 
Lords  mean  to  make  some  stay  in  their  return  in  those 
parts;  but  the  letter  is  brought  back  again,  for  the  post 
went  away  yesterday,  and  they  knew  of  no  occasion  of 
sending  till  next  week.  Therefore  except  I  can  inform 
myself  of  some  good  means,  I  will  retain  it  till  I  have 
a  fresh  commandment  from  you.  I  see  Mr.  Taverner  still 
in  this  town ;  the  Lady  Carey  went  from  hence  but  yester 
day.  I  am  in  some  perplexity  what  to  do  with  this  packet, 
till  some  good  fortune,  or  your  letters  clear  me. — Your 
humble  servant,  J.  DONNE. 

"August  19  [1614]." 

"  'To  my  very  much  respected  friend  Mr.  GEORGE  GERRARD.1 

"  SIR,— I  thank  you  for  expressing  your  love  to  me, 
by  this  diligence,  I  know  you  can  distinguish  between  the 
voices  of  my  love  and  of  my  necessity  if  anything  in  my 
letters  sound  like  an  importunity.  Besides,  I  will  add  thus 
much  out  of  counsel  to  you,  that  you  can  do  nothing  so  thriftily 
as  to  keep  in  your  purpose  the  payment  of  the  rest  of  this 
year's  rent  (though  at  your  conveniency),  for  Sir  E[dward] 
H[erbert]'s  curiosity  being  so  served  at  first,  I  shall  be  no 
further  cause,  but  that  the  rest  be  related,  and  you  in  as  good 
possession  of  his  love,  and  to  as  good  use,  as  your  love  de 
serves  of  him.  You  mock  us  when  you  ask  news  from  hence. 
All  is  created  there,  or  relates  thither  where  you  are.  For  that 
book  which  you  command  me  to  send,  I  held  it  but  half- 
an-hour :  which  served  me  to  read  those  few  leaves,  which 
were  directed  upon  some  few  lines  of  my  book.  If  you 
come  to  town  quickly,  you  may  get  a  fair  widow;  for 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651, 


LAST   YEARS   AS   A    LAYMAN  51 

Mrs.  Brown  is  fallen  to  that  state  by  death  of  her  husband. 
No  man  desires  your  coming  more,  nor  shall  be  readier  to 
serve  you,  than — Your  affectionate  friend  and  servant, 

"J.  DONNE." 

In  the  edition  of  1651,  the  next  letter,  by  an  obvious 
error,  is  said  to  be  addressed  to  Sir  Henry  Goodyer.  It  is 
to  me  not  matter  of  much  doubt  that  it  belongs  to  the 
Earl  of  Somerset,  and  takes  its  place  with  the  other  letters 
of  petition  and  expostulation. 

[To  the  Earl  of  SOMERSET.] 

"SiR, — Because  to  remain  in  this  sort  guilty  in  your 
Lordship's  opinion  doth  not  only  defeat  all  my  future  en 
deavours,  but  lay  a  heavier  burden  upon  me,  of  which  I  am 
more  sensible,  which  is  ingratitude  towards  your  Lordship, 
by  whose  favours  I  have  been  formerly  so  much  bound ;  I 
hope  your  Lordship  will  pardon  me  this  care  and  diligence 
which  I  use  to  rectify  myself  towards  you.  To  which  pur 
pose  I  humbly  beseech  your  Lordship  to  admit  thus  much 
into  your  consideration,  that  I  neither  hunted  after  this 
business  at  first,  but  apprehended  it  as  it  was  presented  to 
me,  and  might  perchance  have  fallen  into  worse  hands,  nor 
proceeded  otherwise  therein,  than  to  my  poor  discretion  at 
that  time  seemed  lawful  and  requisite  and  necessary  for  my 
reputation,  who  held  myself  bound  to  be  able  to  give  satis 
faction  to  any  who  should  doubt  of  the  case.  Of  all  which, 
if  your  Lordship  were  returned  to  your  former  favourable 
opinions  of  me,  you  might  be  pleased  to  make  this  some 
argument,  that  after  his  Majesty  had  showed  his  inclination 
to  the  first  motion  made  in  my  behalf,  I  was  not  earnest  to 
urge  and  solicit  that  advantage  of  priority,  but  as  became 
me,  contented  myself  to  join  with  him  who  had  made  a 
later  petition  therein ;  and  as  soon  as  I  understood  how  it 
was  opposed  or  distasted,  I  threw  it  down  at  your  Lordship's 
feet,  and  abandoned  it  to  your  pleasure.  Which  it  is  neces 
sary  for  me  to  say  at  this  time,  lest,  if  he  who  was  interested 
with  me  in  that  business  shall  have  proceeded  any  farther 


52  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

therein  since  that  time,  your  Lordship  might  conceive  new 
suspicions  of  me.  That  your  Lordship's  name  was  at  all 
used  therein,  or  that  any  words  of  mine  occasioned  such  an 
error  in  my  servant,  I  am  so  sorry,  as  nothing  but  a  con 
science  of  a  true  guiltiness  of  having  performed  an  injury 
to  your  Lordship  (which  can  never  fall  upon  me)  could 
affect  me  more.  But  I,  who  to  the  measure  of  my  com 
prehension  have  ever  understood  your  Lordship's  nobility 
and  evenness,  cannot  fear  that  your  Lordship  will  punish 
an  oversight  like  a  crime ;  which  should  be  effected  upon 
me,  if  your  Lordship  should  continue  your  disfavour 
towards  me,  since  no  penalty  could  come  so  burdenous  to 
my  mind  and  to  my  fortune  as  that.  And  since  the  repose 
of  both  consists  in  your  Lordship's  favour,  I  humbly  entreat 
to  be  restored  to  your  favour,  giving  your  Lordship  my 
faith  in  pawn  that  I  will  be  as  wary  of  forfeiting  it  by  any 
second  occasion,  as  I  am  sorry  for  this. — Yours, 

"J.  D." 

In  1614  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  then  confined  in  the  Tower, 
presented  to  the  public  his  enormous  fragment  of  a  History 
of  the  World.  The  publication  of  this  vast  chronological 
rhapsody  excited  Donne  to  a  curious  piece  of  laborious 
pleasantry.  The  person  who  has  preserved  it  for  us  among 
the  Tanner  MSS.  at  Oxford  states  that  it  occurred  in  "  Dr. 
Donne's  Problems^  but  was  so  bitter  that  his  son,  Jack  Donne, 
LL.D.,  thought  not  fit  to  print  it  with  the  rest"  in  1652. 
It  runs  as  follows  : — 

"Why  was  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  thought  the  fittest  man 
to  write  the  history  of  these  times  ?  Was  it — 

"Because  that  being  told  at  his  arraignment  that  a 
witness  accusing  himself  had  the  strength  of  two,  he  may 
seem  by  writing  the  ills  of  his  own  time  to  be  believed  ? 
Or  is  it  because  he  might  re-enjoy  those  times  by  the 
meditation  of  them  ?  Or  because,  if  he  should  undertake 
higher  times,  he  doth  not  think  that  he  can  come  nearer  to 
the  beginning  of  the  world?  Or  because,  like  a  bird  in 
a  cage,  he  takes  his  tunes  from  every  passenger  that  last 
whistled?  Or  because  he  thinks  not  that  the  best  echo 


LAST    YEARS   AS    A    LAYMAN  53 

which  repeats  most  of  the  sentence,  but  that  which  repeats 
less  more  plainly  ? " l 

All  this  is  not  worthy  of  Donne's  wit.  We  may 
notice  the  curious  use  of  the  same  metaphor  for  the  im 
prisoned  Raleigh  by  Donne  and  by  Prince  Henry ;  the 
latter  had  said,  "  No  man  but  my  father  would  keep  such  a 
bird  in  a  cage,"  but  the  Prince's  intention  was  as  generous 
as  Donne's  was  offensive. 

The  year  1614  declined  without  bringing  any  consola 
tion  to  Donne,  who  was  once  more  reduced  to  the  most 
painful  and  wearing  anxiety.  Nothing  seems  to  have  pre 
pared  him  in  the  least  for  the  startling  crisis  which  December 
was  to  bring  with  it.  The  Earl  of  Somerset  showed  no  in 
clination  to  redeem  his  promises,  and  the  King  seemed  as 
inaccessible  as  ever.  Even  Donne's  old  friend,  the  Countess 
of  Bedford,  who  had  once  paid  his  debts,  and  from  whom 
he  had  particular  hopes  founded  on  his  ingenious  elegy  upon 
her  brother,  now  disappointed  him.  He  was  troubled  by 
the  pertinacity  of  his  creditors,  and  it  is  probable  that  he 
already  perceived,  in  the  failing  health  of  Sir  Robert  Drury, 
that  this  patron  might,  as  was  the  case,  soon  desert  him. 
Donne's  exact  relations  with  Drury,  we  may  say  in  paren 
thesis,  are  the  most  mysterious  element  in  his  condition  at 
this  time.  We  are  to  believe  that  since  1610  he  had  been, 
with  all  his  family,  the  guests  of  this  profuse  and  hospitable 
knight,  as  Dr.  Joseph  Hall  had  been  before  him.  Yet  no 
mention  of  Sir  Robert  or  of  Lady  Drury  is  to  be  found 
in  Donne's  copious  correspondence,  with  the  exception  of 
one  colourless  letter  which  has  been  printed  above.  Were 
it  not  that  experience  teaches  us  that  those  with  whom  we 
are  in  daily  intercourse  are  those  of  whom  our  letters,  some 
times,  speak  the  least,  we  should  be  tempted  to  think  the 
lodgings  in  Drury  House  a  myth. 

Donne  was  now  in  his  forty-second  year.  His  health 
was  unsatisfactory,  although  he  seems  slowly  to  have  re 
covered  from  his  threatened  attack  of  blindness.  His  wife, 
worn  out  with  incessant  child-bearing,  was  becoming  less 
and  less  a  companion  or  a  support  to  him.  Their  fourth 

1  Tanner  MSS.,  299,  fol.  32. 


54 


LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 


son,  Francis,  died,  and  was  buried  in  St.  Clement  Danes  on 
the  I oth  of  November.  "No  man  attends  court  fortunes 
with  more  impatience  than  I  do,"  Donne  said.  Yet  he  was 
forced  to  continue  this  ignominious  pursuit  of  a  competency. 
The  whole  of  this  period  in  Donne's  life  was  ignominious, 
and  his  dependence  upon  Somerset  degrading  to  his  judg 
ment  and  conscience.  The  reader  cannot  fail  to  observe  a 
temporary  deterioration  of  his  character.  Poverty  and 
anxiety  dragged  this  beautiful  nature  down  into  the  dust. 
But  a  complete  relief  was  now  coming,  and  a  startling  change 
in  the  whole  order  and  tenor  of  his  being.  His  life  as  a 
layman  was  about  to  be  abruptly  closed. 


EARLY  YEARS  IN  THE   CHURCH 
1615-1617 


CHAPTER    XI 

EARLY  YEARS   IN  THE   CHURCH 
1615-1617 

ONE  of  the  most  curious  facts  about  the  life  of  Donne,  as 
written  for  us  so  charmingly  by  Izaak  Walton,  is  the  extra 
ordinary  tissue  of  errors,  circumstantially  recorded,  in  the 
pages  where  he  describes  the  poet's  entrance  into  holy  orders. 
The  letters  we  possess,  and  in  particular  one  of  the  highest 
importance,  which  I  am  able  to  print  for  the  first  time,  give 
us  the  precise  outlines  which  enable  us  to  see  into  what 
curious  mistakes  Walton,  or  rather  Donne  in  the  informa 
tion  he  gave  to  Walton,  fell.  The  page  in  which  Walton 
describes  the  circumstances  of  Donne's  ordination  contains 
scarcely  a  statement  which  is  historically  correct ;  neither 
the  date,  nor  the  conditions,  nor  the  company  are  those 
which  are  given  us  by  contemporary  documents.  Where  a 
series  of  letters  of  the  exact  time  say  one  thing  and  Walton 
long  afterwards  says  another,  it  is  hardly  Walton  whom  we 
can  dare  to  follow.  And  yet  it  is  probable  that  in  the 
attitude  of  the  King  to  Donne,  and  in  the  conversations 
recorded,  we  may  safely  follow  Walton.  These  would 
seem  to  Donne  himself  to  be  the  really  essential  matters. 
Whether  an  interview  took  place  at  Theobald's  or  at  New 
market  in  1 6 10  or  in  1614,  whether  Somerset  was  u  in  his 
greatest  height  of  favour  "  or  already  beginning  the  rapid 
course  of  his  decline,  these  would  strike  Donne  and  his  earliest 
and  most  delightful  biographer  as  wholly  unimportant. 

In  recounting,  therefore,  what  occurred  at  the  close  of 
1614,  I  will  endeavour  to  reconstruct  from  all  available 
materials  what  was  the  exact  course  of  events,  without 
either  disregarding  Walton's  invaluable  help  or  leaning 


57 


LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

upon  him  when  he  is  certainly  mistaken.  We  have  seen, 
then,  that  in  1612  Donne  had  himself  suggested  to  Lord 
Rochester  (as  he  then  was)  that  he  should  enter  the 
Church,  and  a  place  there  be  found  for  him.  So  far  from 
Donne's  being  "  persuaded  to  enter  the  ministry,"  and  re 
fusing  from  a  scruple  of  conscience,  as  he  had  done  at  an 
earlier  juncture,  it  is  quite  plain  that  in  1612  Rochester 
had  to  dissuade  him  from  the  idea,  and  successfully  to 
discourage  it.  It  is  possible  that  he  did  this  without  con 
sulting  the  King,  and  as  we  find  him  immediately  employing 
Donne  in  his  peculiar  legal  work,  he  may  have  selfishly 
prevented  Donne  from  approaching  the  King.  But  this, 
although  it  seems  to  have  crossed  Donne's  mind,  may  be 
dismissed  as  far-fetched.  Nor  is  there  any  real  evidence 
that  the  King  expressed  any  wish  at  all  with  regard  to 
Donne.  He  had  accepted  the  dedication  of  Pseudo-Martyr 
in  1 6 10,  and  had  then  allowed  Donne's  existence  to  slip 
out  of  his  mind.  Walton's  story  of  Donne's  frequently 
waiting  upon  the  King  and  attending  him  at  his  meals  is 
unquestionably  all  a  myth  and  a  mistake ;  there  is  no 
evidence  that  Donne  was  ever  in  the  presence  of  James  I. 
except  during  the  interview  about  the  oath  of  supremacy 
and  allegiance  in  the  winter  of  1609,  until  his  ordination 
in  January  1615;  Walton's  pleasant  anecdotes  are,  doubt 
less,  perfectly  true  of  a  later  period. 

Rochester,  or,  as  we  must  now  call  him,  Somerset, 
having  closed  his  ears  to  the  suggestion  of  Donne's  enter 
ing  the  Church,  and  having  employed  him  on  his  own 
private  legal  affairs,  Donne  evidently  abandoned  the  idea 
of  taking  holy  orders,  and  settled  down  to  the  hope  of 
securing  secular  employment  at  the  Court.  But  if  in  the 
winter  of  1612  he  "sold"  himself  to  Somerset,  if  in  the 
course  of  1613  he  was  occupying  himself  in  all  the  details 
of  the  Nullity  Suit,  1614  came  and  passed  without  anything 
substantial  being  secured  for  him  by  his  patron.  Donne's 
distress  and  anxiety  throughout  this  year  of  complicated 
misfortunes  can  easily  be  imagined.  He  had  toiled  for 
Somerset,  and  done  his  dirty  work,  with  absolute  confidence 
of  reward,  and  he  was  continually  put  off  with  protestations. 


EARLY   YEARS    IN   THE    CHURCH      59 

While  Somerset  was  still  ascending  in  the  firmament  of 
royal  favour,  this  might  be  safe  enough,  though  to  a  nervous 
suitor  exceedingly  agitating  and  wearing.  But  when  there 
came  to  be  rumours  of  the  instability  of  the  favourite,  then 
Donne's  anguish  must  have  been  extreme. 

Donne  was  so  placed  as  to  have  a  sensitive  comprehen 
sion  of  what  was  passing  around  him,  although  the  springs 
of  action  were  of  course  hidden  from  him.  He  was  un 
questionably  conscious  that,  as  1614  neared  its  close,  the 
prestige  of  Somerset  was  declining,  and  the  King's  eyes 
were  fixed  on  a  younger  favourite.  Familiar  as  he  made 
himself  with  all  that  went  on  at  the  edges  of  the  Court,  he 
would  be  aware  that  in  November  the  young  George  Villiers 
received  the  appropriate  appointment  of  cup-bearer  to  his 
Majesty.  Probably,  in  popular  gossip,  the  decline  of  the 
King's  affection  for  Somerset  was  exaggerated,  and  Donne 
would  be  in  a  panic  lest  the  Lord  Chamberlain  should  be 
disgraced  before  anything  was  done  for  Donne's  permanent 
welfare.  Towards  the  end  of  November,  therefore,  he  seems 
to  have  addressed  Somerset  in  terms  of  urgency,  putting 
aside  the  obsequiousness  of  courtierly  address  a  little,  and 
insisting  upon  the  recompense  so  long  due.  Somerset  either 
thought  that  this  was  no  moment  for  making  a  brilliant 
enemy,  or  else  was  wearied  with  Donne's  importunity;  at 
any  rate,  he  summoned  him  to  attend  the  King  in  Essex. 

It  does  not  appear  exactly  when  it  was  that  the  Earl  of 
Somerset  thus  responded  by  desiring  Donne  to  come  at  once 
to  Theobald's.  Probably  it  was  about  the  2Oth  of  Novem 
ber  1614.  When  Donne  made  his  appearance,  Somerset 
came  out  into  the  garden  to  meet  him,  and  told  him  that 
one  of  the  clerks  of  the  Council  had  died  that  night.  He 
was  evidently  met  by  some  impatience  and  incredulity ; 
Donne  had  often  before  been  put  off  with  such  vague  pro 
testations.  Somerset,  therefore,  replied,  "Mr.  Donne,  to 
testify  the  reality  of  my  affection,  and  my  purpose  to  prefer 
you,  stay  in  this  garden  till  I  go  up  to  the  King,  and  bring 
you  word  that  you  are  Clerk  of  the  Council ;  doubt  not  my 
doing  this,  for  I  know  the  King  loves  you,  and  know  the 
King  will  not  deny  me."  But  the  hour  was  past  when 


60  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

Somerset  had  but  to  hint  a  desire  for  James  to  hasten  to 
gratify  it.  The  King  had  his  own  idea  of  Donne's  pro 
clivities  and  gifts.  He  answered  Somerset,  "  I  know  Mr. 
Donne  is  a  learned  man,  has  the  abilities  of  a  learned  divine, 
and  will  prove  a  successful  preacher ;  and  my  desire  is  to 
prefer  him  in  that  way,  and  in  that  way  I  will  deny  you 
nothing  for  him." 

We  are  to  imagine  Somerset,  a  little  crestfallen,  return 
ing  to  the  garden,  and  bringing  Donne  with  him  back  into 
the  Royal  presence.  The  King  "descended  to  a  persua 
sion,  almost  to  a  solicitation  of  him,  to  enter  into  sacred 
orders."  Barwick  uses  similar  language — "  at  the  persuasion 
of  King  James,  he  entered  into  holy  orders."  Donne 
himself,  writing  long  afterwards  to  Sir  Robert  Ker,  said : 
"When  I  sit  still  and  reckon  all  my  old  Master's  royal 
favours  to  me,  I  return  evermore  to  that — that  he  first 
inclined  me  to  be  a  minister."  And  again,  in  the  dedica 
tion  of  his  Devotions  of  1624  to  Charles,  Prince  of  Wales, 
he  says :  "In  my  second  birth,  your  Highness' s  royal  father 
vouchsafed  me  his  hand,  not  only  to  sustain  me  in  it,  but 
to  lead  me  to  it." 

It  is  almost  certain,  however,  that  he  did  not  imme 
diately  make  up  his  mind.  He  must  have  asked  for  a  few 
days  to  consult  with  his  friends  and  to  decide.  The  King, 
meantime,  moved  on  from  Theobald's  to  Newmarket,  and 
thither  about  the  end  of  November  Donne  repaired,  with  a 
statement  of  his  views  and  scruples.  He  laid  these  before 
the  King,  and  they  were  very  graciously  considered  ;  he  "  re 
ceived  from  the  King  as  good  allowance  and  encouragement 
to  pursue  my  purpose  as  I  could  desire."  He,  on  his  part, 
undertook  to  accept  the  King's  offer,  and  he  returned  to 
London,  on  the  2nd  of  December,  to  prepare  himself  for 
ordination.  Next  day  he  addressed  to  his  father-in-law 
this  extremely  interesting  letter,  which  is  now  for  the  first 
time  printed.1 

"  SIR, — I  returned  not  till  yesternight  from  my  expen 
sive  journey  to  Newmarket,  where  I  have  received  from 

1  From  the  Loseley  MSS. 


EARLY   YEARS   IN   THE    CHURCH      61 

the  King  as  good  allowance  and  encouragement  to  pursue 
my  purpose  as  I  could  desire.  Whilst  I  was  there  I  found 
I  that  my  Lord  Chamberlain  refused  to  swear  a  gentleman 
into  a  place  as  Groom  of  the  Chamber,  after  he  had  bar 
gained  for  it,  because  he  was  a  servant  to  my  Lord  of 
Canterbury.  This  and  some  other  lights  make  me  see 
that  matters  stand  not  so  well  between  them,  but  that  they 
are  likely  to  oppose  one  another's  dependants.  Before  I 
go  about  to  seek  my  Lord  of  Canterbury,  I  would  gladly, 
if  I  could,  discern  his  inclination  to  me,  and  whether  he 
have  any  conjecture  upon  my  relation  to  my  Lord  Cham 
berlain,  which  he  is  very  likely  to  have  come  to  his  know 
ledge  since  my  going,  by  reason  of  his  Lordship's  more 
open  avowing  me  than  heretofore.  If,  therefore,  you 
have  taken  any  occasion  to  speak  with  his  Grace  since  I 
desired  that  favour  of  you,  and  have  perceived  anything 
thereby  which  you  think  fit  I  should  know  before  your 
coming  hither,  I  humbly  beseech  you  to  let  me  understand  it, 
when  any  servant  of  yours  hath  occasion  to  come  to  London, 
that  I  may  use  my  best  means  of  disposing  him  towards  it. 
"  My  Lord  Chamberlain  hath  laid  his  commandment 
upon  the  Master  of  Requests  to  forbear  to  move  the  King 
in  the  other  business,  for  any  man ;  though  I  saw  the  bill 
for  the  King's  hand,  and  saw  it  was  still  earnestly  pursued 
out  of  York  House.  His  Lordship  hath  assured  me  that 
it  shall  sleep  till  I  move  him  to  set  it  afoot  hereafter,  when 
my  son  or  any  for  me  may  have  profit  thereby,  with  which 
purpose  I  will  acquaint  my  Lord  Chancellor,  and  humbly 
entreat  him  that  it  may  be  so.  And  so,  sir,  with  my 
humble  duty  to  you  and  your  poor  daughters,  I  leave  you 
to  our  most  blessed  Saviour. 

"  Your  ever  to  be  commanded, 

"J.  DONNE. 

*'  At  my  poor  house, 

3  December  1614." 

From  this  we  may  perceive  several  interesting  points, 
first,  that  although  Donne  had  so  long  been  in  Somerset's 
service,  that  relation  between  them  was  not  an  avowed  one. 


62 


LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 


Not  until  they  stood  together  in  the  garden  at  Theobald's  was 
Donne  openly  known  to  be  Somerset's  protege.  Secondly, 
we  see  Donne,  with  something  of  the  wisdom  of  the  serpent, 
turning  towards  a  new  patron  in  his  new  profession.  My 
Lord  of  Canterbury  was  George  Abbot,  a  very  honest  man, 
and  a  primate  of  too  great  independence  to  please  either 
James  or  his  arrogant  minions.  From  the  first,  the  Arch 
bishop  had  mistrusted  Somerset's  attitude  in  the  Essex 
trial ;  and  not  merely  did  his  acuteness  suspect  a  crime 
where  others  saw  no  more  than  a  pardonable  levity,  but, 
as  Mr.  S.  R.  Gardiner  has  pointed  out,  he  regarded  Somer 
set's  intimacy  with  the  Howards  as  a  symptom  of  a  general 
and  dangerous  court  corruption.  Abbot  stood  out  at  this 
moment,  in  his  zeal  for  God  and  his  jealous  rectitude,  as 
the  most  menacing  figure  in  the  path  of  Somerset.  If 
Donne  was  to  rise  in  the  Church  of  which  Abbot  was  the 
administrator,  it  was  important  that  he  should  not  be 
known  or  thought  of  as  a  creature  of  Somerset. 

It  is  more  than  probable  that  Abbot,  who  was  very  well 
informed,  was  aware,  as  Donne  feared  that  he  might  be, 
of  Donne's  activity  for  Somerset  in  the  business  of  the 
nullity.  Very  possibly  the  documents  which  Donne  drew 
up  for  the  favourite,  and  which  still  exist,  had  passed  under 
the  eyes  of  Abbot.  There  is  no  evidence  of  any  cordiality 
in  the  future  between  the  Archbishop  and  the  Dean. 
Abbot  survived  Donne,  dying  in  1633,  and  I  have  a  sus 
picion  that  it  was  the  opposition  of  the  Archbishop  which 
delayed  Donne  in  rising  to  those  dignities  in  the  Church 
which  his  talents  and  the  favour  of  two  monarchs  would 
naturally  have  demanded.  No  one  took  to  heart  more 
profoundly  than  Abbot  the  shame  and  horror  of  the 
Somerset  marriage,  and  I  think  that  he  would  consider 
that  the  man  who  had  laboured  to  collect  evidence  on  the 
side  of  Lady  Essex,  and  had  composed  an  epithalamium 
for  those  hideous  nuptials,  could  never  be  a  bishop  of  the 
Church  of  England. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  Donne  certainly  hastened  to  pro 
pitiate  Archbishop  Abbot.  In  1651  his  son  John  published 
a  little  duodecimo,  entitled,  Essays  in  Divinity ;  by  the  late 


EARLY   YEARS    IN   THE    CHURCH      63 

Dr.  Donne,  Dean  of  St.  Paul's.  Being  several  Disquisitions 
interwoven  with  Meditations  and  Prayers:  before  he  entered 
into  Holy  Orders.  If  we  are  to  believe  the  younger  Donne, 
these  were  written  hurriedly,  "the  voluntary  sacrifices  of* 
several  hours,"  while  he  was  debating  whether  he  should  or 
should  not  enter  the  Church.  We  may  place  the  date  of 
composition  between  the  beginning  of  December  1614  and 
the  middle  of  January  1615,  and  take  them  to  be  the  work 
of  that  transitional  period,  not  of  doubt,  indeed,  but  of 
probation.  When  we  examine  the  Essays  in  Divinity,  how 
ever,  for  evidence  of  Donne's  state  of  soul  at  this  juncture, 
we  meet  with  considerable  disappointment.  There  is  no 
revelation  here  of  the  writer's  personal  experience  ;  nothing 
is  for  edification.  These  short  homilies  are  more  like  the 
notes  of  a  theological  professor  who  is  lecturing  on  Genesis 
and  the  early  chapters  of  Exodus,  than  the  outpourings  of 
a  man  who  is  trembling  on  the  threshold  of  the  Holy 
of  Holies.  There  is  a  total  absence  of  unction,  even  of 
spiritual  enthusiasm ;  the  essays  are  scholastic  exercises  and 
no  more.  It  seems  to  me  likely  that  they  were  written  to  be 
laid  before  the  Archbishop  as  a  proof  of  the  soundness  of 
Donne's  orthodoxy  and  the  breadth  of  his  learning,  both 
of  which  they  eminently  illustrate.  At  the  close  of  the 
little  volume  are  printed  four  prayers,  which  are  far  more 
eloquent  and  human  than  the  somewhat  crabbed  Essays  in 
'Divinity.  The  first  of  these  prayers,  in  fact,  does  give  us 
the  cry  of  Donne's  heart  at  this  solemn  moment  of  transition. 
Some  passages  of  it  have  a  biographical  interest  for  us : — 

"  I  beseech  Thee  that  since,  by  Thy  grace,  I  have  thus 
long  meditated  upon  Thee  and  spoken  of  Thee,  I  may  now 
speak  to  Thee.  As  Thou  hast  enlightened  and  enlarged 
me  to  contemplate  Thy  greatness,  so,  O  God,  descend  Thou 
and  stoop  down  to  see  my  infirmities  and  the  Egypt  in 
which  I  live,  and,  if  Thy  good  pleasures  be  such,  hasten 
mine  exodus  and  deliverance,  for  I  desire  to  be  dissolved 
and  be  with  Thee.  O  Lord,  I  most  humbly  acknow 
ledge  and  confess  Thine  infinite  mercy,  that  when  Thou 
hadst  almost  broke  the  staff  of  bread  .  .  .  then  Thou 
broughtcst  me  into  this  Egypt,  where  Thou  hast  appointed 


64 


LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 


Thy  stewards  to  husband  Thy  blessings  and  to  feed  Thy 
flock.  .  .  .  Hourly  Thou  rectifiest  my  lameness,  hourly 
Thou  restorest  my  sight,  and  hourly  not  only  deliverest  me, 
but  raisest  me  from  the  death  of  sin.  .  .  .  Hourly  Thou 
in  Thy  Spirit  descendest  into  my  heart,  to  overthrow  these 
legions  of  spirits  of  disobedience  and  incredulity  and  mur 
muring.  Thou  hast  set  up  many  candlesticks  and  kindled 
many  lamps  in  me,  but  I  have  either  blown  them  out,  or 
carried  them  to  guide  me  in  by  and  forbidden  ways.  Thou 
hast  given  me  a  desire  of  knowledge,  and  some  means  to  it, 
and  some  possession  of  it ;  and  I  have  armed  myself  with 
Thy  weapons  against  Thee.  .  .  .  But  let  me,  in  despite  of 
me,  be  now  of  so  much  use  to  Thy  glory,  that  by  Thy 
mercy  to  my  sin,  other  sinners  may  see  how  much  sin  Thou 
canst  pardon." 

As  a  testimony  to  the  variety  of  emotions  which  swept 
across  the  heart  and  brain  of  Donne  at  this  supreme  moment 
in  his  career,  this  exquisite  prayer,  which  lies  like  an  oasis 
in  the  rather  sandy  wastes  of  the  Essays  in  Divinity,  can 
hardly  be  over-estimated. 

Ten  days  after  his  return  from  Newmarket  he  wrote  a 
letter  on  much  more  mundane  affairs,  to  the  excellent  Sir 
Henry  Goodyer.  It  was  necessary,  before  "  making  an  end 
with  the  world,"  to  clear  up  his  business,  which  had  plainly 
run  into  some  confusion.  His  debts  troubled  him,  and 
needed  to  be  paid  before  his  ordination.  In  this  letter, 
the  name  of  the  new  favourite,  George  Villiers,  makes  its 
appearance  for  the  first  time ;  it  was  only  in  the  previous 
August  that  this  comely  young  man  of  twenty-two  had 
presented  himself  at  court,  and  had  almost  immediately 
captivated  the  King.  The  Mr.  Karre,  or  Ker,  was  a  nephew 
of  Somerset's,  whom  late  in  November  1614  the  King  had 
appointed  to  be  a  gentleman  of  the  bedchamber. 


"  To  the  Honourable  Knight  Sir  H[ENRY] 

"SiR, — Your  son  left  here  a  letter  for  me,  from  you. 
But  I  neither  discern   by  it  that  you  have  received  any 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


EARLY    YEARS    IN    THE    CHURCH       65 

of  mine  lately, — which  have  been  many,  and  large,  and  too 
confident  to  be  lost,  especially  since  (as  I  remember)  they 
always  conveyed  others  to  that  good  Lady, — neither  do  I 
know  where  to  find,  by  any  diligence,  your  son's  lodging. 
But  I  hope  he  will  apprehend  that  impossibility  in  me,  and 
find  me  here,  where  he  shall  also  find  as  much  readiness  to 
serve  him  as  at  Polesworth.  This  letter  of  yours  makes  me 
perceive,  that  that  Lady  hath  expressed  her  purpose  to  you 
in  particular,  for  the  next  term.  Accordingly,  I  make  my 
promises;  for  since  one  that  meant  but  to  flatter  told  an 
emperor,  that  his  benefits  were  to  be  reckoned  from  the 
day  of  the  promise,  because  he  never  failed,  it  were  an 
injury  from  me  to  the  constancy  of  that  noble  Lady  if 
I  should  not,  as  soon  as  she  promises,  do  some  act  of 
assurance  of  the  performance ;  which  I  have  done,  as  I 
say,  in  fixing  times  to  my  creditors;  for  by  the  end  of 
next  term,  I  will  make  an  end  with  the  world,  by  God's 
grace. 

"  I  lack  you  here,  for  my  Lord  of  Dorset,  he  might  make 
a  cheap  bargain  with  me  now,  and  disengage  his  honour, 
which  in  good  faith  is  a  little  bound,  because  he  admitted 
so  many  witnesses  of  his  large  disposition  towards  me. 
They  are  preparing  for  a  masque  of  gentlemen,  in  which 
Mr.  Villiers  is,  and  Mr.  Karre,  whom  I  told  you  before  my 
Lord  Chamberlain  had  brought  into  the  bedchamber.  I 
pray,  if  you  make  not  so  thick  goings  as  you  used,  send 
this  letter  to  that  good  woman,  for  it  is  not  only  mine.  If 
I  could  stay  this  letter  an  hour,  I  should  send  you  some 
thing  of  Savoy,  for  Sir  Rob.  Rich,  who  is  now  come  from 
court,  hath  laid  a  commandment  upon  me  by  message  to 
wait  upon  him ;  and  I  know  his  business,  because  he 
never  sought  me,  but  in  one  kind.  But  the  importunity 
of  the  hour  excuses  me,  and  delivers  you  from  further 
trouble  from 

"  Your  very  true  friend  and  servant, 

"J.  DONNE. 

"  i$th  December  [1614]." 

VOL.  II.  E 


66  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

"  To  the  Honourable  Knight  Sir  H[ENRY] 

"  SIR,  —  Since  I  received  a  letter  by  your  son,  whom  I 
have  not  yet  had  the  honour  to  see,  I  had  a  letter  packet  from 
you  by  Mr.  Roe.  To  the  former,  I  wrote  before.  In  this 
I  have  no  other  commandment  from  you,  but  to  tell  you, 
whether  Mr.  Villiers  have  received  from  the  King  any 
additions  of  honour  or  profit.  Without  doubt  he  hath  yet 
none.  He  is  here,  practising  for  the  masque  ;  of  which, 
if  I  misremember  not,  I  wrote  as  much  as  you  desire  to 
know,  in  a  letter  which  seems  not  to  have  been  come  to 
you  when  you  wrote. 

"  In  the  Savoy  business,  the  King  hath  declared  himself 
by  an  engagement,  to  assist  him  with  ,£100,000  a  year 
if  the  war  continue.  But  I  believe,  he  must  farm  out  your 
Warwickshire  benevolence  for  the  payment  thereof.  Upon 
the  strength  of  this  engagement,  Sir  Robert  Rich  becomes 
confident  in  his  hopes.  If  you  stood  in  an  equal  disposi 
tion  for  the  west,  and  only  forbore,  by  reason  of  Mr. 
Martin's  silence,  I  wonder  ;  for  I  think,  I  told  you,  that  he 
was  gone  ;  and  I  saw  in  Sir  Thomas  Lucy's  hand,  a  letter 
from  him  to  you,  which  was  likely  to  tell  you  as  much. 
Since  I  came  from  court,  I  have  stirred  very  little.  Now 
that  the  court  comes  again  to  us,  I  may  have  something 
which  you  may  be  content  to  receive  from 

"  Your  very  affectionate  servant, 

"J.  DONNE. 

December  [1614]." 


The  masque  of  gentlemen  mentioned  in  the  two  pre 
vious  letters  was  doubtless  Ben  Jonson's  Mercury  vindicated 
from  the  Alchemists  at  Court,  which  was  performed  "  by 
gentlemen,  the  King's  servants,"  and  which  contains  some 
of  Jonson's  most  alembicated  prose  and  a  few  strains  of 
exquisite  and  rather  Donne-like  verse. 

Sir  Thomas  Roe,  one  of  Donne's  most  faithful  friends, 
is  presented  to  us  in  the  next  letter  as  passing  through 
London  on  his  way  from  court.  He  was  doubtless  pro- 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


EARLY    YEARS    IN    THE    CHURCH       67 

ceeding  to  the  country  to  make  preparations  for  leaving 
England  on  a  long  and  hazardous  mission.  He  had  served 
in  Parliament  for  a  short  time,  and  was  now  appointed  to 
represent  James  I.  at  the  court  of  the  Emperor  Jehanghir 
at  Agra,  and  to  protect  there  the  interests  of  the  infant 
East  India  Company.  He  sailed  early  in  1615.  It  is 
amusing  to  notice,  in  letter  after  letter,  how  the  figures  of 
Villiers  preoccupied  the  mind  of  Donne.  He  foresaw,  with 
almost  too  much  of  the  delicate  flair  of  the  courtier,  the 
preponderance  which  this  youth  was  about  to  take  in  the 
counsels  of  the  King.  Meanwhile,  to  eyes  less  instructed 
than  Donne's,  the  prestige  of  the  Lord  Chamberlain  seemed 
as  secure  as  ever,  and  even  Donne,  as  we  see,  feels  that  if 
he  prints  an  edition  of  his  poems,  he  must  of  necessity 
dedicate  it  to  Somerset. 


"  To  Sir  H[ENRY] 

"  SIR,  —  I  writ  to  you  yesterday,  taking  the  boldness  to 
put  a  letter  into  the  good  Lady's  packet  for  you.  This 
morning  I  had  this  new  occasion  of  writing,  that  Sir  Thomas 
Roe,  who  brought  this  enclosed  letter  to  me,  and  left  it  un 
sealed,  entreated  me  to  take  the  first  opportunity  of  sending 
it.  Besides  that  which  is  in  that  letter  (for  he  read  it  to 
me)  I  came  to  the  knowledge  in  York  House  that  my  Lord 
Chancellor  hath  been  moved,  and  incensed  against  you  ;  and 
asking  Sir  Thomas  Roe,  if  he  were  directly  or  occasionally 
any  cause  of  that,  he  tells  me  thus  much,  that  Sir  W.  Lover 
and  Sir  H.  Carey  have  obtained  of  my  Lord  to  have  a  pur 
suivant,  and  consequently  a  sergeant,  sent  into  the  country 
for  you. 

"  My  Lord  grounds  this  earnestness  against  you,  upon 
some  refusing  to  appear  upon  process  which  hath  been 
taken  out  against  you.  And  I  perceive  Sir  Edward  Eston, 
and  both  the  other  admit  consultations,  of  ways  by  petition 
to  the  King,  or  council,  or  Lord  Chamberlain,  or  any  other. 
The  great  danger,  obliquely  likely  to  fall,  is  that  when  it 
comes  to  light,  how  you  stand  towards  Mr.  Mathew,  you 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


68  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

may  lose  the  ease  which  you  have  by  colour  of  that  extent, 
and  he  may  lose  the  benefit,  of  having  had  so  much  of  his 
estate  concealed.  You  will,  therefore,  at  least  pardon  my 
advising  you,  to  place  those  sums,  which  by  your  retiring  I 
presume  you  do  employ  upon  payment  of  debts,  in  such 
places  as  that  these  particular  friends  be  not  forced  to  leave 
being  so.  I  confess,  the  going  about  to  pay  debts  hastens 
importunity. 

"  I  find  in  myself  that  where  I  was  not  asked  money 
before,  yet  when  I  offered  to  pay  next  term  they  seem 
loth  to  afford  me  that  time,  which  might  justly  have  been 
desperate  before ;  but  that  which  you  told  me  out  of  the 
country,  with  the  assistance  which  I  hope  to  find  here 
(especially  if  your  endeavour  may  advance  it  at  Dorset 
House),  I  hope  will  enable  me  to  escape  clamour,  and  an 
ill  conscience  in  that  behalf. 

"  One  thing  more  I  must  tell  you,  but  so  softly  that  I 
am  loth  to  hear  myself;  and  so  softly  that,  if  that  good 
Lady  were  in  the  room  with  you  and  this  letter,  she  might 
not  hear.  It  is  that  I  am  brought  to  a  necessity  of 
printing  my  poems,  and  addressing  them  to  my  Lord 
Chamberlain.  This  I  mean  to  do  forthwith,  not  for  much 
public  view,  but  at  mine  own  cost,  a  few  copies.  I  appreT 
hend  some  incongruities  in  the  resolution,  and  I  know  what 
I  shall  suffer  from  many  interpretations ;  but  I  am  at  an 
end  of  much  considering  that,  and  if  I  were  as  startling  in 
that  kind  as  ever  I  was,  yet  in  this  particular  I  am  under 
an  unescapable  necessity,  as  I  shall  let  you  perceive  when  I 
see  you.  By  this  occasion  I  am  made  a  rhapsoder  of  mine 
own  rags,  and  that  cost  me  more  diligence  to  seek  them 
than  it  did  to  make  them. 

"  This  made  me  ask  to  borrow  that  old  book  of  you, 
which  it  will  be  too  late  to  see,  for  that  use,  when  I  see 
you ;  for  I  must  do  this,  as  a  valediction  to  the  world, 
before  I  take  orders.  But  this  is  it  I  am  to  ask  you, 
whether  you  ever  made  any  such  use  of  the  letter  in  verse, 
A  nostre  Comtesse  chez  vous,  as  that  I  may  not  put  it  in 
amongst  the  rest  to  persons  of  that  rank ;  for  I  desire  very 
very  much  that  something  should  bear  her  name  in  the 


EARLY    YEARS    IN    THE    CHURCH      69 

book,  and  I  would  be  just  to  my  written  words  to  my  Lord 
Harington  to  write  nothing  after  that.  I  pray  tell  me  as 
soon  as  you  can  if  I  be  at  liberty  to  insert  that,  for  if  you 
have  by  any  occasion  applied  any  pieces  of  it,  I  see  not  that 
it  will  be  discerned  when  it  appears  in  the  whole  piece. 

"Though  this  be  a  little  matter,  I  would  be  sorry  not 
to  have  an  account  of  it  within  as  little  after  New  Year's- 
tide  as  you  could.  I  have  something  else  to  say  of  Mr. 
Villiers,  but  because  I  hope  to  see  you  here  shortly,  and 
because  new  additions  to  the  truths  or  rumours  which 
concern  him  are  likely  to  be  made  by  occasion  of  this 
masque,  I  forbear  to  send  you  the  edition  of  this  mart, 
since  I  know  it  will  be  augmented  by  the  next,  of  which,  if 
you  prevent  it  not  by  coming,  you  shall  have  by  letter  an 
account  from 

"  Your  very  affectionate  friend  and  servant, 

"J.  DONNE. 
«  Vigilia  St.  Tho.  [Dec.  20]  1614." 

This  projected  private  edition  of  his  Poems  has  greatly 
exercised  the  minds  of  successive  editors  of  Donne.  People 
have  been  known  to  advertise  for  it,  and  the  remotest 
corners  of  old  libraries  have  been  searched  in  the  vain  hope 
of  its  discovery.  For  my  own  part  I  am  convinced  that  it 
never  existed.  Donne's  friends,  one  cannot  doubt,  would 
dissuade  him  from  taking  the  moment  of  his  ordination  to 
publish  a  collection  of  worldly  verses  which  he  had  never 
been  able  to  make  up  his  mind  as  a  layman  to  print.  The 
least  opposition  from  Sir  Henry  Goodyer  or  the  Countess 
of  Bedford  would  suffice,  at  such  a  busy  moment,  to  divert 
his  thoughts  from  so  untimely  a  project.  And  one  objec 
tion  occurs  to  us  which  would  only  have  to  be  mentioned 
to  Donne  to  put  him  out  of  conceit  with  the  whole  idea. 
He  was  pledged,  as  he  explains,  to  dedicate  the  poems,  if 
he  determined  to  print,  to  the  Lord  Chamberlain.  But,  at 
this  juncture,  it  was  most  important  for  him  to  stand  well 
with  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury.  We  can  imagine 
nothing  which  would  rouse  Abbot's  suspicions  and  awaken 
his  prejudice  against  a  candidate  for  holy  orders  more  than 


yo  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

to  discover  that  he  had  just  printed  a  volume  of  secular 
poetry  and  addressed  it  to  Somerset.  At  all  events,  this 
private  edition  of  Donne's  poems  of  December  1614  has 
never  been  seen,  has  never  been  heard  of,  and  is  referred  to 
by  no  contemporary  writer.  Whatever  is  lost,  so  important 
a  work  of  so  prominent  a  man,  watched  by  so  many  careful 
friends,  could  not  but  have  survived.  We  are  safe  then,  I 
think,  in  determining  that  somebody,  probably  Goodyer 
himself,  dissuaded  Donne  from  printing,  and  that  the 
project  so  abruptly  formed  was  as  suddenly  and  finally 
dropped. 

Though  he  was  disappointed  in  his  hope  that  Lady 
Bedford  would  pay  his  debts,  yet  that  charming  woman 
gave  him  ^"30  towards  them,  a  substantial  gift  in  those 
days.  He  was  not  quite  gracious  in  taking  her  excuses, 
which  we  know,  however,  to  be  genuine,  for  she  was  at 
that  moment  involved  in  a  tiresome  and  expensive  Chancery 
suit  which  Sir  John  Harington  had  brought  against  her 
mother.  In  October  1614  she  had  complained  to  Lady 
Cornwallis  that  she  was  "  feeling  heavily  the  burden  of  a 
broken  estate."  She  was,  indeed,  a  victim  to  that  passion 
for  ostentatious  extravagance  which  ran  like  a  disease 
through  the  ranks  of  the  English  nobility  at  the  beginning 
of  the  seventeenth  century.  We  are  told  that  she  acquired 
the  works  of  Holbein  without  regard  to  price,  and  her 
princely  hospitality  had  made  Twickenham  almost  as  con 
spicuous  as  a  royal  residence. 

At  length,  early  in  1615,  Donne  was  ready.  Dr. 
Jessopp  has  ingeniously  conjectured  that  he  was  ordained 
on  the  25th  of  January,  the  Feast  of  the  Conversion  of 
St.  Paul.  On  the  27th,  at  all  events,  as  we  shall  im 
mediately  see,  he  says,  "  there  are  very  few  days  past 
since  I  took  orders."  All  efforts  to  discover  where  the 
ceremony  was  held  have  failed.  But  on  making  up  his 
mind  to  obey  the  King's  command,  Donne  had  immediately 
communicated  with  Dr.  John  King,  who  in  1 6 1 1  had  suc 
ceeded  Abbot  as  Bishop  of  London.  This  was  a  very  old 
friend,  for  King,  when  he  was  made  Dean  of  Christ  Church 
in  1605,  had  for  several  years  been  chaplain  to  the  Lord 


EARLY    YEARS    IN    THE    CHURCH      71 

Keeper  Egerton,  and  was  therefore  thrown  into  constant 
relation  with  Donne.  Dr.  King  received  the  news  of  the 
poet's  determination  with  expressions  of  joy,  and  "  proceeded 
with  all  convenient  speed  to  ordain  him,  first  deacon,  then 
priest." 

I  have  not  succeeded  in  discovering  what  was  Donne's 
first  charge.  He  must  have  had  a  "  title,"  but  it  seems 
quite  uncertain  to  what  he  was  ordained.  It  was  probably 
to  some  Condon  chaplaincy,  or  he  may  have  been  ordained 
a  royal  chaplain  without  any  preliminary  delay.  Walton 
was  evidently  vague  about  it.  He  thought,  in  1640,  that 
Donne  was  "  ordained  priest,"  and  in  1659  that  he  "  entered 
into  sacred  orders,"  in  the  summer  of  1615.  But  what  was 
he  doing  from  January  to  March  ?  It  seems  impossible  to 
explain  this  discrepancy.  Perhaps  he  served  for  a  little 
while  as  a  curate  at  Paddington. 

"  'To  the  Honourable  Knight  Sir  ROBERT  KER,  Gentleman 
of  His  Highnesses  Bedchamber? 

"  SIR, — I  am  come  to  that  tenderness  of  conscience, 
that  I  need  a  pardon  for  meaning  to  come  to  Newmarket 
in  this  weather.  If  I  had  come,  I  must  have  asked  you  many 
real  pardons,  for  the  many  importunities  that  I  should 
have  used  towards  you.  But  since  I  have  divers  errands 
thither  (except  I  belie  myself  in  that  phrase,  since  it  is 
all  one  errand  to  promove  my  own  business,  and  to  receive 
your  commands)  I  shall  give  you  but  a  short  respite,  since 
I  shall  follow  this  paper  within  two  days.  And  that  I 
accuse  myself  (no  further  than  I  am  guilty),  the  principal 
reason  of  my  breaking  the  appointment  of  waiting  upon 
Mr.  Rawlins  was,  that  I  understood  the  King  was  from 
Newmarket ;  and  for  coming  thither  in  the  King's  absence, 
I  never  heard  of  excuse ;  except  when  Butler  sends  a 
desperate  patient  in  consumption  thither  for  good  air, 
which  is  an  ill  errand  now. 

"  Besides  that  I  could  not  well  come  till  now  (for  there 
are  very  few  days  past  since  I  took  orders)  there  can  be 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


72  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

no  loss  in  my  absence  except  when  I  come,  my  Lord  should 
have  thereby  the  less  latitude  to  procure  the  King's  letters 
to  Cambridge.  I  beseech  you,  therefore,  take  some  occasion 
to  refresh  that  business  to  his  Lordship,  by  presenting  my 
name,  and  purpose  of  coming  very  shortly,  and  be  content 
to  receive  me,  who  has  been  ever  your  servant,  to  the 
addition  of 

"  Your  poor  chaplain, 

J.  DONNE. 

January  [1615]." 


It  appears  that  Donne  was,  at  first,  very  shy  of  preaching, 
an  art  in  which  he  had  had  no  instruction.  It  was  only 
by  degrees  that  his  modesty  could  be  prevailed  on  to  try  a 
London  audience  ;  his  maiden  efforts  were  made  in  country 
villages.  The  first  sermon  he  preached  was  at  Paddington, 
then  a  rural  and  sequestered  parish,  the  licentiate  of  which, 
a  certain  Griffin  Edwards,  received  a  stipend  of  ^28  per 
annum.  Donne  must  have  preached  in  the  old  and  small 
parish  church,  dedicated  to  St.  Catherine  ;  it  was  already 
inconvenient  and  falling  out  of  repair,  and  becoming  later 
on  a  ruin,  was  pulled  down  and  rebuilt  on  a  larger  scale  in 
1678.  That  Donne's  troubles  were  far  from  being  at  an 
end,  the  following  slightly  querulous  letter  may  show  us. 
The  public  anxiety  to  see  the  actual  articles  of  the  Spanish 
treaty  is  reflected  here  ;  but  they  did  not  reach  the  King's 
hands  till  the  beginning  of  May.  In  the  meantime,  we 
may  safely  date  this  letter  in  March  1615. 

"  To  Sir  H[ENRY]  G^ODYER]/ 

"  SIR,  —  I  had  destined  all  this  Tuesday  for  the  Court, 
because  it  is  both  a  Sermon  day,  and  the  first  day  of  the 
King's  being  here.  Before  I  was  to  go  forth,  I  had  made 
up  this  enclosed  packet  for  you,  and  then  came  this  mes 
senger  with  your  packet,  of  which,  if  you  can  remember 
the  number,  you  cannot  expect  any  account  thereof  from 
me,  who  have  not  half-an-hour  left  me  before  I  go  forth, 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


EARLY    YEARS    IN    THE    CHURCH      73 

and  your  messenger  speaks  of  a  necessity  of  returning 
homeward  before  my  returning  home.  If  upon  the  delivery 
of  them,  or  any  other  occasion,  there  intervene  new  subject 
of  writing,  I  shall  relieve  myself  upon  Tuesday,  if  Tarn- 
worth  carrier  be  in  town.  To  the  particulars  of  the  letter 
to  myself,  I  will  give  this  paper  and  line. 

"  Of  my  Lady  Bedford,  I  must  say  so  much  as  must 
importune  you  to  burn  the  letter ;  for  I  would  say  nothing 
of  her  upon  record,  that  should  not  testify  my  thankful 
ness  for  all  her  graces.  But  upon  this  motion,  which  I 
made  to  her  by  letter,  and  by  Sir  Thomas  Roe's  assistance, 
if  any  scruple  should  arise  in  her,  she  was  somewhat  more 
startling,  than  I  looked  for  from  her ;  she  had  more  sus 
picion  of  my  calling,  a  better  memory  of  my  past  life,  than 
I  had  thought  her  nobility  could  have  admitted ;  of/  all 
which,  though  I  humbly  thank  God,  I  can  make  good  use, 
as  one  that  needs  as  many  remembrances  in  that  kind,  as 
not  only  friends  but  enemies  can  present,  yet  I  am  afraid 
they  proceed  in  her  rather  from  some  ill  impression  taken 
from  Dr.  Burges,  than  that  they  grow  in  herself.  But 
whosoever  be  the  conduit,  the  water  is  the  Holy  Ghost's, 
and  in  that  acceptation  I  take  it.  For  her  other  way  of 
expressing  her  favour  to  me,  I  must  say,  it  is  not  with 
that  cheerfulness  as  heretofore  she  hath  delivered  herself 
towards  me.  I  am  almost  sorry,  that  an  elegy  should  have 
been  able  to  move  her  to  so  much  compassion  heretofore, 
as  to  offer  to  pay  my  debts ;  and  my  greater  wants  now, 
and  for  so  good  a  purpose,  as  to  come  disengaged  into  that 
profession,  being  plainly  laid  open  to  her,  should  work  no 
farther  but  that  she  sent  me  ^30,  which  in  good  faith  she 
excused  with  that,  which  is  in  both  parts  true,  that  her 
present  debts  were  burdensome,  and  that  I  could  not  doubt 
of  her  inclination,  upon  all  future  emergent  occasions,  to 
assist  me.  I  confess  to  you,  her  former  fashion  towards 
me  had  given  a  better  confidence  ;  and  this  diminution  in 
her  makes  me  see,  that  I  must  use  more  friends  than  I 
thought  I  should  have  needed. 

"  I  would  you  could  burn  this  letter  before  you  read 
k  ;  at  least  do  when  you  have  read  it.  For,  I  am  afraid 


74  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

out  of  a  contemplation  of  mine  own  unworthiness,  and 
fortune,  that  the  example  of  this  Lady  should  work  upon 
the  Lady  where  you  are ;  for  though  goodness  be  originally 
in  her,  and  she  do  good  for  the  deed's  sake,  yet,  perchance, 
she  may  think  it  a  little  wisdom  to  make  such  measure  of 
me,  as  they  who  know  no  better  do. 

"  Of  any  new  treaty  of  a  match  with  Spain,  I  hear 
nothing.  The  wars  in  the  Low  Countries,  to  judge  by 
their  present  state,  are  very  likely  to  go  forward.  No 
word  of  a  Parliament,  and  I  myself  have  heard  words  of 
the  King  as  directly  against  any  such  purpose,  as  any  can 
sound.  I  never  heard  word,  till  in  your  letter,  of  any  stirs 
in  Scotland,  for  that  of  the  French  King  which  you  ask,  it 
hath  this  good  ground,  that  in  the  Assembly  there  a  pro 
position  hath  been  made,  and  well  entertained,  that  the 
King  should  be  declared  to  have  full  jurisdiction  in  France  ; 
and  no  other  person  to  have  any.  It  hath  much  of  the 
model  and  frame  of  our  Oath  of  Allegiance,  but  with  some 
modification.  It  is  true,  it  goes  farther  than  that  State 
hath  drove  in  any  public  declarations,  but  not  farther  than 
their  schools  have  drove  often  and  constantly ;  the  easiness 
that  it  hath  found  in  passing  thus  far  without  opposition, 
puts  (perchance  unnecessarily)  in  me  a  doubt,  that  they  are 
sure  to  choke  it,  at  the  Royal  assent,  and  therefore  oppose 
it  not,  by  the  way,  to  sweeten  the  conveyance  of  their  other 
purposes.  Sir,  if  I  stay  longer  I  shall  lose  the  text,  at 
Court,  therefore  I  kiss  your  hand,  and  rest 

"Your  very  true  servant, 

"J.  DONNE. 

"  We  hear  (but  without  second  as  yet)  that  Sir  Richard 
Philip's  brother  in  France  hath  taken  the  habit  of  a 
Capuchin." 

It  is  plain,  I  think,  from  this  letter  that  Donne,  dis 
appointed  in  his  hope  that  the  Countess  of  Bedford  would 
pay  the  whole  of  his  debts,  turned  to  the  Countess  of 
Huntingdon,  his  old  friend,  who  had  been  Lady  Elizabeth 
Stanley.  From  the  terms  in  which  he  speaks  of  "  the  other 


EARLY    YEARS    IN    THE    CHURCH       75 

Countess,"  in  the  letter  of  some  two  months  later,  it  would 
appear  that  Lady  Huntingdon  responded  generously. 
"  The  Countess  "  is  always  Lady  Bedford  in  Donne's  cor 
respondence. 

It  does  not  appear  that  James  I.  was  in  any  hurry  to 
provide  for  Donne.  Perhaps  he  thought  it  well  to  leave 
him  alone  for  a  while  to  settle  into  his  new  habits  of  life. 
Walton,  indeed,  assures  us  that  "  presently  after  he  entered 
his  holy  profession,  the  King  sent  for  him,  and  made  him 
his  chaplain-in-ordinary,  and  promised  to  take  a  particular 
care  for  his  preferment,"  so  that  he  was  perhaps  ordained 
a  royal  chaplain.  But  in  June,  Donne  speaks  of  "  obeying 
a  pre-contract  laid  upon  me,"  which  involves  a  "bondage" 
which  he  has  never  before  been  used  to.  This  is  probably 
the  office  of  Court  chaplain.  Meanwhile  a  slight  letter  to 
Sir  Robert  Kerr  refers  to  the  birth  of  Donne's  tenth  child, 
and  fifth  daughter,  Margaret,  who  was  baptized  three  days 
later  (April  20).  She  was  the  one  of  all  Donne's  family 
who,  as  far  as  I  can  discover,  outlived  him  the  longest,  for, 
as  Lady  Bowles  of  Chislehurst,  she  survived  until  October 

3,  I679-1 

"  To  the  Honourable  Knight  Sir  ROBERT  KER,  Gentleman 
of  His  Highnesses  Bedchamber? 

"  SIR, — I  have  often  sinned  towards  you,  with  a  pre 
sumption  of  being  pardoned,  but  now  I  do  it  without 
hope,  and  without  daring  to  entreat  you  to  pardon  the 
fault.  In  which  there  are  thus  many  degrees  of  impor 
tunity.  That  I  must  beg  of  you  to  christen  a  child,  which 
is  but  a  daughter,  and  in  which  you  must  be  content  to  be 
associated  with  ladies  of  our  own  alliance,  but  good  women, 
and  all  this  upon  Thursday  next  in  the  afternoon. 

"  Sir,  I  have  so  many  and  so  indelible  impressions  of 
your  favour  to  me,  as  they  might  serve  to  spread  over  all 
my  poor  race.  But  since  I  see  that  I  stand  like  a  tree, 
which  once  a  year  bears,  though  no  fruit,  yet  this  mast  of 
children,  and  so  am  sure,  that  one  year  or  other  I  should 

1  See  Appendix  F.  2  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


76  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

afflict  you  with  this  request,  I  had  rather  be  presently  under 
the  obligations  and  the  thankfulness  towards  you,  than 
meditate  such  a  trouble  to  you  against  another  year.  I 
was  desirous  this  paper  might  kiss  your  hands  as  soon  as 
you  came,  that  if  any  other  diversions  made  this  incon 
venient  to  you,  I  might  have  another  exercise  of  your 
favour,  by  knowing  so  much  from  you,  who  in  every  act 
of  yours  make  me  more  and  more 

"Your  humble  and  thankful  servant, 

"J.  DONNE. 

"  \7th  April  [1615]." 

Donne's  letters  to  Sir  Henry  Goodyer  are  tantalisingly 
rare  during  these  years  which  immediately  followed  his  ordi 
nation.  The  next  seems  to  belong  to  April  1615,  however ; 
it  is  particularly  interesting,  as  giving  us  Donne's  attitude  at 
this  time  to  the  Church  of  Rome.  As  I  have  said  above,  "  the 
other  Countess  "  (Lady  Huntingdon),  seems  to  be  in  favour 
here,  above  "the  Countess"  (Lady  Bedford),  for  having 
more  largely  responded  to  the  appeal  to  pay  Donne's  debts. 
It  is  to  be  wished  that  the  poet  had  at  this  juncture  re 
membered  more  warmly  what  he  owed  to  Lady  Bedford's 
kindness  in  the  past.  She  was  now  suffering  from  the 
results  of  her  extravagant  hospitality  at  Twickenham,  and 
was  doubtless  absolutely  unable  to  be  as  generous  to 
Donne  as  she  would  gladly  have  been.  The  verses  to  the 
Countess  of  Huntingdon  are  probably  the  very  long  epistle 
beginning — 

"  Man  to  God's  image,  Eve  to  man's  was  made, 

Nor  find  we  that  God  breath'd  a  soul  in  her ; 
Canons  will  not  Church  functions  you  invade 
Nor  laws  to  civil  office  you  prefer." 

This  is  a  typical  poem  of  Donne's  advanced  age,  and  is 
particularly  noticeable  for  the  modification  of  its  metrical 
system.  In  all  his  poems  written  after  1615  we  find  a 
change  of  prosody,  an  abandonment  of  the  harsh  and 
eccentric  inversions  of  his  earlier  manner,  so  marked  as 
to  be  in  itself  an  indication  of  the  period  when  a  poem 


EARLY    YEARS    IN    THE    CHURCH      77 

was  composed.     It  may  be  desirable  to  quote  some  stanzas 
from  this  epistle  to  the  Countess  of  Huntingdon — 

"  If  the  world's  age  and  death  be  argued  well 

By  the  sun's  fall,  which  now  towards  earth  doth  bend, 
Then  we  might  fear  that  Virtue,  since  she  fell 
So  low  as  woman,  should  be  near  her  end. 

But  she's  not  stoop'd,  but  raised  ;  exiled  by  men 

She  fled  to  heav'n,  that's  heavenly  things,  that's  you ; 

She  was  in  all  men  thinly  scatter'd  then, 
But  now  a  mass  contracted  in  a  few. 

She  gilded  us,  but  you  are  gold  ;  and  she 

Informed  us,  but  transubstantiates  you. 
Soft  dispositions,  which  ductile  be, 

Elixir-like,  she  makes  not  clean,  but  new. 


Taught  by  great  constellations — which  being  framed 
Of  the  most  stars  take  low  names,  Crab  and  Bull, 

When  single  planets  by  the  gods  are  named — 
You  covet  not  great  names,  of  great  things  full. 

So  you,  as  woman,  one  doth  comprehend, 

And  in  the  veil  of  kindred  others  see  ; 
To  some  you  are  reveal' d,  as  in  a  friend, 

And  as  a  virtuous  prince  far  off  to  me." 

I  am  inclined  to  think  that  the  Countess  of  Huntingdon 
had  made  an  extremely  handsome  response  to  Donne's 
begging  letter. 


"  I  was  your  prophet  in  your  younger  days, 
And  now  your  chaplain,  God  in  you  to  praise," 


he  concludes. 


"ST- 


0  my  very  true  and  very  good  friend 
Sir  HENRY  GOODYER.* 


"  SIR, — At  some  later  reading  I  was  more  affected  with 
that  part  of  your  letter,  which  is  of  the  book,  and  the 
nameless  letters,  than  at  first.  I  am  not  sorry,  for  that 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


78  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

affection  were  for  a  jealousy  or  suspicion  of  a  flexibility  in 
you.  But  I  am  angry  that  any  should  think  you  had  in 
your  religion  peccant  humours,  defective  or  abundant,  or 
that  such  a  book  (if  I  mistake  it  not)  should  be  able  to 
work  upon  you ;  my  comfort  is,  that  their  judgment  is  too 
weak  to  endanger  you,  since  by  this  it  confesses  that  it 
mistakes  you,  in  thinking  you  irresolved  or  various;  yet 
let  me  be  bold  to  fear,  that  that  sound  true  opinion,  that 
in  all  Christian  professions  there  is  way  to  salvation  (which 
I  think  you  think),  may  have  been  so  incommodiously  or 
intempestively  sometimes  uttered  by  you;  or  else  your 
having  friends  equally  near  you  of  all  the  impressions  of 
religion,  may  have  testified  such  an  indifferency,  as  hath 
occasioned  some  to  further  such  inclinations  as  they  have 
mistaken  to  be  in  you. 

"  This  I  have  feared,  because  heretofore  the  inobedient 
Puritans,  and  now  the  over-obedient  Papists,  attempt  you. 
It  hath  hurt  very  many,  not  in  their  conscience  nor  ends, 
but  in  their  reputation  and  ways,  that  others  have  thought 
them  fit  to  be  wrought  upon.  As  some  bodies  are  as 
wholesomely  nourished  as  ours  with  acorns,  and  endure 
nakedness,  both  which  would  be  dangerous  to  us,  if  we  for 
them  should  leave  our  former  habits,  though  theirs  were 
the  primitive  diet  and  custom ;  so  are  many  souls  well  fed 
with  such  forms  and  dressings  of  religion,  as  would  dis 
temper  and  misbecome  us,  and  make  us  corrupt  towards 
God,  if  any  human  circumstance  moved  it,  and  in  the 
opinion  of  men,  though  none.  You  shall  seldom  see  a  coin, 
upon  which  the  stamp  were  removed,  though  to  imprint  it 
better,  but  it  looks  awry  and  squint.  And  so,  for  the  most 
part,  do  minds  which  have  received  divers  impressions. 

"  I  will  not,  nor  need  to  you,  compare  the  religions. 
The  channels  of  God's  mercies  run  through  both  fields ; 
and  they  are  sister  teats  of  His  graces,  yet  both  diseased 
and  infected,  but  not  both  alike.  And  I  think,  that  as 
Copernicism  in  the  mathematics  hath  carried  earth  farther 
up,  from  the  stupid  centre ;  and  yet  not  honoured  it,  nor 
advantaged  it,  because  for  the  necessity  of  appearances,  it 
hath  carried  heaven  so  much  higher  from  it ;  so  the  Roman 


EARLY    YEARS    IN    THE    CHURCH       79 

profession  seems  to  exhale,  and  refine  our  wills  from  earthly 
drugs  and  lees,  more  than  the  Reformed,  and  so  seems  to 
bring  us  nearer  heaven  ;  but  then  that  carries  heaven  farther 
from  us,  by  making  us  pass  so  many  courts,  and  offices  of 
saints  in  this  life,  in  all  our  petitions,  and  lying  in  a  painful 
prison  in  the  next,  during  the  pleasure,  not  of  Him  to 
whom  we  go,  and  who  must  be  our  Judge,  but  of  them 
from  whom  we  come,  who  know  not  our  case.  Sir,  as  I 
said  last  time,  labour  to  keep  your  alacrity  and  dignity,  in 
an  even  temper ;  for  in  a  dark  sadness,  indifferent  things 
seem  abominable  or  necessary,  being  neither ;  as  trees  and 
sheep  to  melancholic  night-walkers  have  unproper  shapes. 
And  when  you  descend  to  satisfy  all  men  in  your  own 
religion,  or  to  excuse  others  to  all,  you  prostitute  yourself 
and  your  understanding,  though  not  a  prey,  yet  a  mark, 
and  a  hope,  and  a  subject,  for  every  sophister  in  religion  to 
work  on. 

"  For  the  other  part  of  your  letter,  spent  in  the  praise 
of  the  Countess,  I  am  always  very  apt  to  believe  it  of  her, 
and  can  never  believe  it  so  well,  and  so  reasonably,  as  now, 
when  it  is  averred  by  you  ;  but  for  the  expressing  it  to  her, 
in  that  sort  as  you  seem  to  counsel,  I  have  these  two  reasons 
to  decline  it.  That  that  knowledge  which  she  hath  of  me, 
was  in  the  beginning  of  a  graver  course  than  of  a  poet, 
into  which  (that  I  may  also  keep  my  dignity)  I  would  not 
seem  to  relapse.  The  Spanish  proverb  informs  me,  that  he 
is  a  fool  which  cannot  make  one  sonnet,  and  he  is  mad 
which  makes  two.  The  other  stronger  reason,  is  my  in 
tegrity  to  the  other  Countess,  of  whose  worthiness,  though 
I  swallowed  your  opinion  at  first  upon  your  words,  yet  I 
have  had  since  an  explicit  faith,  and  now  a  knowledge ;  and 
for  her  delight  (since  she  descends  to  them)  I  had  reserved 
not  only  all  the  verses  which  I  should  make,  but  all  the 
thoughts  of  women's  worthiness.  But  because  I  hope  she 
will  not  disdain  that  I  should  write  well  of  her  picture,  I 
have  obeyed  you  thus  far  as  to  write ;  but  entreat  you  by 
your  friendship,  that  by  this  occasion  of  versifying  I  be 
not  traduced,  nor  esteemed  light  in  that  tribe  and  that 
house  where  I  have  lived. 


80  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

"  If  those  reasons  which  moved  you  to  bid  me  write 
not  constant  in  you  still,  or  if  you  meant  not  that  I  should 
write  verses;  or  if  these  verses  be  too  bad,  or  too  good, 
over  or  under  her  understanding,  and  not  fit,  I  pray  re 
ceive  them,  as  a  companion  and  supplement  of  this  letter 
to  you ;  and  as  such  a  token  as  I  use  to  send,  which  use, 
because  I  wish  rather  they  should  serve  (except  you  wish 
otherwise)  I  send  no  other ;  but  after  I  have  told  you,  that 
here  at  a  christening  at  Peckham  you  are  remembered  by 
divers  of  ours,  and  I  commanded  to  tell  you  so,  I  kiss  your 
hands,  and  so  seal  to  you  my  pure  love,  which  I  would  not 
refuse  to  do  by  any  labour  or  danger. 
f  "  Your  very  true  friend  and  servant, 

"J.  DONNE." 

On  the  23rd  of  April  1616  Shakespeare  died.  We  are 
not  aware  that  Donne  had  ever  shown  the  very  smallest 
interest  in  the  most  imperial  of  all  his  contemporaries. 
Nor  would  it  be  possible  to  connect  his  name  in  any  way 
with  that  of  Shakespeare,  had  not  Sir  Nicholas  L'Estrange 
preserved,  and  attributed  to  Donne's  relation,  a  rather 
pleasant  anecdote : — 

"Shakespeare  was  godfather  to  one  of  Ben  Jonson's 
children,  and,  after  the  christening,  being  in  a  deep  study, 
Jonson  came  to  cheer  him  up,  and  asked  him  why  he  was  so 
melancholy.  '  No  faith,  Ben,'  says  he,  '  not  I,  but  I  have 
been  considering  a  great  while  what  should  be  the  fittest 
gift  for  me  to  bestow  upon  my  godchild,  and  I  have  re 
solved  at  last.'  *  I  prythee,  what  ? '  says  he.  '  I'  faith,  Ben, 
I'll  e'en  give  him  a  dozen  good  Latin  (latteri)  spoons,  and 
thou  shalt  translate  them.' ' 

Donne's  unquestioned  intimacy  with  Ben  Jonson  makes 
it  possible  that  he  was  told  this  little  jest  at  first-hand. 

The  earliest  of  Donne's  sermons  which  has  reached  us 
with  a  date  attached  to  it  is  that  which  he  preached  before 
the  Queen  at  Greenwich,  on  the  3Oth  of  April  1615. 
The  text  was,  "Thus  saith  the  Lord,  ye  have  sold  your 
selves  for  naught;  and  ye  shall  be  redeemed  without 
money."  The  sermon  has  nothing  in  it  of  great  im- 


PORTRAIT   OF  JOHN   DONNE 

From  a  Contemporary  Engraving  by  PIETER  LOMBART 


EARLY    YEARS    IN    THE    CHURCH       81 

portance,  and  the  thoughts  of  Anne  of  Denmark  were 
probably  distracted  as  she  endeavoured  to  listen  to  it.  She 
had  spent  an  exciting  week ;  she  had  checkmated  Somerset 
by  procuring  the  appointment  of  Villiers,  henceforth  Sir 
George,  as  Gentleman  of  the  Bedchamber,  on  a  salary  of 
;£iooo  a  year.  The  downfall  of  the  Lord  Chamberlain 
was  now  imminent,  and  his  growing  sense  of  insecurity 
soured  his  temper.  But  the  crash  was  not  to  come  for  two 
or  three  months  yet.  Through  this  year  Donne  almost 
disappears  from  us ;  there  is  a  break  in  his  correspondence ; 
we  have  to  suppose  that  he  was  absorbed  in  making  up  for 
lost  time,  and  in  accustoming  himself  to  the  duties  of  his 
new  position. 

"  To  the  Honourable  Knight  Sir  ROBERT  KER,  Gentleman 
of  His  Highnesses  Bedchamber?- 

"  SIR, — I  have  always  your  leave  to  use  my  liberty,  but 
now  I  must  use  my  bondage.  Which  is  my  necessity  of 
obeying  a  pre-contract  laid  upon  me.  I  go  to-morrow  to 
Camberwell,  a  mile  beyond  Southwark.  But  from  this 
town  goes  with  me  my  brother  Sir  Thomas  Grymes  and  his 
Lady,  and  I  with  them.  There  we  dine  well  enough  I 
warrant  you,  with  his  father-in-law,  Sir  Thomas  Hunt.  If 
I  keep  my  whole  promise,  I  shall  preach  both  forenoon  and 
afternoon.  But  I  will  obey  your  commandments  for  my 
return.  If  you  cannot  be  there  by  ten,  do  not  put  your 
self  upon  the  way ;  for,  sir,  you  have  done  me  more  honour 
than  I  can  be  worthy  of,  in  missing  me  so  diligently.  I 
can  hope  to  hear  Mr.  Moulin  again ;  or  ruminate  what  I 
have  heretofore  heard.  The  only  miss  that  I  shall  have 
is  of  the  honour  of  waiting  upon  you;  which  is  somewhat 
recompensed,  if  thereby  you  take  occasion  of  not  putting 
yourself  to  that  pain,  to  be  more  assured  of  the  in 
abilities  of 

"  Your  unworthy  servant, 

"J.  DONNE." 

[June?   1615.] 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 
VOL.  II.  F 


82  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

With  Sir  Thomas  Grymes,  Donne's  wealthy  brother-in- 
law  at  Peckham,  we  are  already  acquainted.  Sir  Thomas 
Hunt,  of  Foulsham,  in  Norfolk,  was  not  the  "  father-in- 
law,"  but  the  stepfather  of  Sir  Thomas  Grymes,  Lady 
Grymes  the  elder  having  married  Hunt  in  second  nuptials. 
Sir  Thomas  Hun*  died  on  the  5th  of  January  1617.  The 
celebrated  French  Protestant  divine,  Pierre  du  Moulin 
(Molinaeus),  preached  before  the  King  on  the  6th  of  June 
1615. 

"  And  now  all  [Donne's]  studies,  which  had  been  occa 
sionally  diffused,  were  all  concentred  in  Divinity.  Now 
he  had  a  new  calling,  new  thoughts,  and  a  new  employment 
for  his  wit  and  eloquence.  Now,  all  his  earthly  affections 
were  changed  into  Divine  love ;  and  all  the  faculties  of  his 
own  soul  were  engaged  in  the  conversion  of  others ;  in 
preaching  the  glad  tidings  of  remission  to  repenting  sinners, 
and  peace  to  each  troubled  soul.  To  these  he  applied  him 
self  with  all  care  and  diligence ;  and  now  such  a  change  was 
wrought  in  him,  that  he  could  say  with  David,  *  O  how 
amiable  are  Thy  tabernacles,  O  Lord  God  of  Hosts ! ' 
Now  he  declared  openly,  '  that  when  he  required  a  tem 
poral,  God  gave  him  a  spiritual  blessing.'  And  that 
4  he  was  now  gladder  to  be  a  door-keeper  in  the  House  of 
God,  than  he  could  be  to  enjoy  the  noblest  of  all  temporal 
employments.' ' 

Walton  has  described  Donne's  delivery  of  his  first 
sermon  before  the  King  in  Whitehall.  Much  had  been 
expected  of  him,  but  his  eloquence  exceeded  the  expecta 
tions  of  the  court.  He  "  preached  the  word  so  as  showed 
his  own  heart  was  possessed  with  those  very  thoughts  and 
joys  that  he  laboured  to  distil  into  others :  a  preacher  in 
earnest ;  weeping  sometimes  for  his  auditory,  sometimes 
with  them ;  always  preaching  to  himself,  like  an  angel 
from  a  cloud,  but  in  none ;  carrying  some,  as  St.  Paul 
was,  to  heaven  in  holy  raptures,  and  enticing  others  by 
a  sacred  art  and  courtship  to  amend  their  lives :  here 
picturing  a  vice  so  as  to  make  it  ugly  to  those  that 
practised  it;  and  a  virtue  so  as  to  make  it  beloved, 
even  by  those  who  loved  it  not;  and  all  this  with  a 


EARLY    YEARS    IN    THE    CHURCH       83 

most  particular  grace  and  an  unexpressible  addition  of 
comeliness." 

The  history  of  Donne's  honorary  degree  at  Cambridge  is 
curious.  Walton,  in  his  rose-coloured  way,  narrates  it  thus : — 

"  That  summer,  in  the  very  same  month  in  which  he 
entered  into  sacred  orders,2  and  was  made  the  King's  chap 
lain,  his  Majesty  then  going  his  progress,  was  entreated  to 
received  an  entertainment  in  the  University  of  Cambridge  : 
and  Mr.  Donne  attending  his  Majesty  at  that  time,  his 
Majesty  was  pleased  to  recommend  him  to  the  University, 
to  be  made  Doctor  in  Divinity :  Doctor  [Samuel]  Harsnett 
— after  Archbishop  of  York — was  then  Vice- Chancellor, 
who,  knowing  him  to  be  the  author  of  that  learned  book 
the  Pseudo-Martyr,  required  no  other  proof  of  his  abilities, 
but  proposed  it  to  the  University,  who  presently  assented, 
and  expressed  a  gladness,  that  they  had  such  an  occasion  to 
entitle  him  to  be  theirs." 

But  contemporary  documents  put  a  different  complexion 
on  the  affair.  The  University  of  Cambridge  was  by  no 
means  so  affable  as  Walton  believed.  Many  courtiers  were 
made  M.A.,  but  few  doctors.  Sir  Dudley  Carleton,  writing 
to  Chamberlain  on  the  i6th  of  March  1615,  says,  that 
even  the  King's  entreaty  for  a  doctor's  degree  for  John 
Donne  will  not  prevail ;  "  the  University  is  threatened  with 
a  mandate,  which,  if  it  come,  it  is  like  they  will  obey,  but 
they  are  resolved  to  give  him  such  a  blow  withal,  that 
he  were  better  without  his  degree."  Cambridge  people 
would  remember,  what  Walton  evidently  never  knew,  that 
Donne  deserted  them  for  Oxford  in  1610.  The  Vice-Chan 
cellor,  who  was  a  notorious  stickler  for  academic  etiquette, 
evidently  considered  that  Donne  ought  to  have  favoured 
his  old  university,  and,  by  paying  his  fees,  have  come  into 
his  Cambridge  D.D.  in  the  regular  course.  The  King  had 
arrived  in  Cambridge  early  in  March,  as  a  compliment  to  the 
Earl  of  Suffolk,  who  had,  on  the  death  of  Northampton,  been 
elected  Chancellor  of  the  University.  It  appears  that  the 
Cambridge  degrees  had  been  scandalously  distributed,  and 


1  "  Unimitable  fashion  of  speaking,"  1640. 

2  "  The  same  month  in  which  he  was  ordai 


ned  priest,"  1640. 


84  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

the  Vice-Chancellor  had  determined  to  resist  the  easy  and 
miscellaneous  attainment  of  them.  It  was  found  that 
degrees  had  been,  by  intrigue  or  accident,  given  to  trades 
men  of  a  mean  class,  to  barbers  and  to  apothecaries,  and 
when  the  King  arrived,  with  his  idle  train  of  servants,  the 
University  drew  itself  jealously  together.  It  shows  us  how 
little  the  world  was,  as  yet,  prepared  to  accept  Donne  as  a 
Churchman  that  he  should  have  been  thus  excluded  from 
academic  honours. 

The  King,  however,  was  firm ;  he  would  not  leave 
Cambridge  until  he  was  promised  that  Donne  should  be 
made  a  Doctor.  With  an  extremely  bad  grace  the  Uni 
versity  gave  way,  and  on  April  7,  1615,  Chamberlain 
writes  to  Sir  Dudley  Carleton  :  "John  Donne  and  one 
Cheke  went  out  Doctors  at  Cambridge  with  much  ado 
after  our  coming  away  by  the  King's  express  mandate, 
though  the  Vice-Chancellor  and  some  other  of  the  heads 
called  them  openly  '  filios  noctis '  and  *  tenebriones '  that 
sought  thus  to  come  in  at  the  window,  when  there  was  a 
fair  gate  open.  But  the  worst  is  that  Donne  had  gotten 
a  reversion  of  the  Deanery  of  Canterbury,  if  such  grants 
would  be  lawful,  whereby  he  hath  purchased  himself  a 
great  deal  of  envy,  that  a  man  of  his  sort  should  seek 
'  per  saltum '  to  intercept  such  a  place  from  so  many  more 
worthy  and  ancient  Divines." 

It  is  impossible  to  credit  this  story  about  the  Deanery  of 
Canterbury,  but  it  is  plain  that  Donne  had  yet  to  conquer 
the  confidence  and  even  the  respect  of  those  who  were 
jealous  of  his  gift  and  graces.  We  know  not  what  to  say 
of  Walton's  statement  that,  during  his  first  year  as  a 
priest,  Donne  had  "  fourteen  advowsons  of  several  benefices 
presented  to  him,"  except  that  it  is  absolutely  incredible. 
Walton  adds  that  he  refused  them  all,  preferring  to  live 
in  London,  "  to  which  place  he  had  a  natural  inclination, 
having  received  both  his  birth  and  education  in  it,  and 
there  contracted  a  friendship  with  many  whose  conversation 
multiplied  the  joys  of  his  life." 

It  appears  that  Donne's  most  kind  and  faithful  friend, 
Lord  Hay,  considered  that  it  was  due  to  himself  that 


EARLY    YEARS    IN    THE    CHURCH       85 

Donne  originally  took  up  the  idea  of  entering  the  Church. 
"  I  think,"  he  said,  "  that  my  persuasion  first  begat  in  you 
the  purpose  to  employ  your  extraordinarily  excellent  part 
in  the  affairs  of  another  world."  Since  1613,  Lord  Hay 
had  been  Keeper  of  the  Wardrobe ;  it  was  therefore 
appropriate  that  on  New  Year's  Day  1615  (that  is  to  say, 
March  25)  he  presented  to  the  poet  a  "vesture"  of  the 
clerical  profession,  doubtless  of  a  very  handsome  character. 
Perhaps  the  following  letter  belongs  to  a  slightly  later  period, 
and  refers  to  Donne's  wish  to  be  the  King's  chaplain : — 

"  To  the  Lord  HAY.  V 

"Though  I  had  much  desire  to  seek  your  Lordship, 
yet  I  abstained  when  I  knew,  upon  how  just  reason  your 
Lordship  had  retired  yourself.  But  since  your  Lordship 
hath  given  so  able  a  trial  of  your  excellency  that  you  can 
suspend  your  servant's  grief  and  make  it  yield  to  public 
joy  and  triumph,  I  dare  appear  before  your  Lordship  in 
this  letter,  and  repeat  that  suit,  which  I  made  to  your  Lord 
ship  last  year.  I  humbly  therefore  beseech  your  Lordship 
to  take  some  time  to  move  his  Majesty  before  he  go  out  of 
town,  that  I  may  be  his  servant,  which  request,  though  I 
hope  you  shall  not  find  difficult  nor  unseasonable,  yet 
I  prefer  it  to  your  Lordship  without  any  restraint  of  time 
or  place,  or  other  circumstance ;  and  having  told  your 
Lordship  my  desire,  leave  all  the  rest  to  your  leisure  and 
knowledge,  for  my  fortune  is  nowhere  so  safe  as  in  your 
Lordship's  hands,  which  I  humbly  kiss,  and  deliver  over 
into  them  the  faith  and  services  of  your  most  humble 
servant." 

While  we  attempt  somewhat  unsuccessfully  to  trace 
the  outlines  of  Donne's  career  in  this  first  dim  period  of 
his  clerical  life,  an  amusing  flash  of  light  comes  to  us  out 
of  the  far  East.  That  strange  creature,  Tom  Coryat  of 
Odcombe,  in  the  county  of  Somerset,  whom  we  have  seen 
Donne  teasing  in  earlier  years,  had  published  in  1 6 1 1  his 
famous  Crudities,  and  had  gone  forth  vaguely, 

' 


86  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

where  east  of  Suez,"  whence  it  seemed  very  likely  that  he 
would  never  be  heard  of  again.  But  towards  the  end  of 
1615  he  began  to  be  audible  once  more  in  greetings  to 
the  English  wits  from  the  capital  of  the  Great  Mogul. 
On  the  8th  of  November  1615  Cory  at  wrote  a  facetious 
letter  from  Agra,  "  the  Umbelick  of  Oriental  India,"  ad 
dressed  to  about  twenty-five  friends  in  England,  members  of 
"  the  Right  Worshipful  Fraternity  of  Sireniacal  Gentlemen 
that  meet  the  first  Friday  of  every  month,  at  the  sign  of 
the  Mermaid  in  Bread  Street  in  London."  He  addresses 
these  friends  as  "  Right  Generous,  Jovial  and  Mercurial 
Sireniacks,"  and  each  is  greeted  with  a  separate  compli 
mentary  invocation.  The  fifth  in  the  list  is  "  Mr.  John 
Donne,  the  author  of  two  most  elegant  Latin  books,  Pseudo- 
Martyr  [which  was  not  in  Latin  at  all]  and  Ignatij  Conclave  : 
of  his  abode  either  in  the  Strand  or  elsewhere  in  London  ;  I 
think  you  shall  be  easily  informed  by  the  means  of  my  friend 
L.  [R.?]  W.  [Rowland  Woodward?]."  Among  the  other 
"  mercurial  sireniacks "  are  enumerated  Ben  Jonson,  Sir 
Robert  Cotton,  Christopher  Brooke,  Sir  Richard  Martin, 
Sir  John  Hoskins,  George  Gerrard,  William  Hakewill,  and 
Inigo  Jones,  all  known  to  us  already  as  friends  of  Donne. 
This  is  the  principal,  and  indeed  the  only,  authority  existing 
for  the  statement  that  Donne  attended  the  meetings  at  the 
Mermaid.  News  travelled  slowly  to  Agra,  and  we  see  that 
Tom  Coryat  had  no  suspicion  that  Donne  had  been  a  clergy 
man  for  nearly  a  year  when  he  wrote  this  facetious  epistle. 

These  months  must  have  been  a  time  of  anxiety  and 
distress  to  Donne.  From  his  position  at  court,  he  was 
obliged  to  witness  the  various  stages  of  the  fall  of  the 
favourite  who  had  helped  himself  to  rise.  The  disgrace  of 
Somerset  had  already  been  decided  on,  when,  in  September 
1615,  the  circumstances  of  the  horrid  murder  of  Sir  Thomas 
Overbury,  by  the  woman  who  was  now  the  Countess  of 
Somerset,  began  to  come  to  light.  She  was  accused  of  the 
crime,  and  her  husband  was  inculpated  also.  It  is  now 
generally  believed  that  Somerset,  though  abominably  care 
less  in  the  matter,  was  not  actually  privy  to  the  poisoning 
of  Overbury,  but  his  attitude  under  the  accusations  of 


EARLY    YEARS    IN    THE    CHURCH      87 

Western  and  Rawlins  was  so  injudicious,  that  his  case  was 
prejudged  in  the  popular  mind.  The  Earl  and  Countess 
were  ordered  to  remain  in  their  rooms  on  the  lyth  of 
October,  and  Weston's  trial  immediately  began.  This  was 
the  first  link  in  the  long  chain  which  dragged  so  many 
great  names  down  with  it.  It  closed  with  the  verdicts  in 
May  1616,  by  which  Lord  and  Lady  Somerset  were  found 
guilty  of  murder;  they  were  placed  in  the  Tower,  under 
the  charge  of  Donne's  father-in-law,  Sir  George  More,  and 
they  remained  there  until  1622.  It  is  curious,  and  it  is 
extremely  fortunate,  that,  in  consideration  of  Donne's 
activity  in  arranging  documentary  evidence  for  the  nullity 
suit,  his  name  did  not  come  up  in  the  course  of  these  hor 
rible  and  complicated  investigations.  His  connection  with 
it  seems  to  have  been  forgotten ;  yet  I  cannot  but  think 
that  it  may  explain  the  fact  that  until  the  very  year  before 
his  death,  Donne,  the  most  famous  preacher  in  England, 
and  the  first  of  living  divines,  was  not  offered  a  bishopric. 

On  the  day  this  next  letter  was  written,  Charles,  Duke 
of  York,  who  was  just  completing  his  sixteenth  year,  was 
created  Prince  of  Wales.  Donne  was  prevented  from  wit 
nessing  the  ceremony : — 

"  'To  the  Honourable  Knight  Sir  ROBERT  KER.* 

"  SIR, — I  was  loth  to  be  the  only  man  who  should  have 
no  part  in  this  great  festival ;  I  thought,  therefore,  to  cele 
brate  that  well  by  spending  some  part  of  it  in  your  company. 
This  made  me  seek  you  again  this  afternoon,  though  I  were 
guilty  to  myself  of  having  done  so  every  day  since  your 
coming.  I  confess  such  an  importunity  is  worthy  to  be 
punished  with  such  a  missing  ;  yet,  because  it  is  the  likeliest 
reparation  of  my  fortunes  to  hope  upon  reversions,  I  would 
be  glad  of  that  title  in  you ;  that,  after  solemnities,  and 
businesses,  and  pleasures  be  passed  over,  my  time  may 
come,  and  you  may  afford  some  of  your  last  leisures  to 
"  Your  affectionate  and  humble  servant, 

"J.  DONNE. 

"4  November  [1616]." 

i  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


88  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

The  only  surviving  sister  of  Donne,  Mrs.  Lyly,  died  about 
1616.  This  sister,  Anne,  who  was  considerably  the  poet's 
senior,  had  in  1586  married  a  gentleman  of  an  old  Catholic 
family  of  Yorkshire,  Mr.  Avery  Copley.  He  did  not  live 
long,  and  in  1594  she  married  again,  a  Mr.  William  Lillie 
or  Lyly.  Mrs.  Donne,  the  elder,  had  also  changed  her 
name  twice,  having  married  a  man  named  Symmings,  and 
at  his  death  a  third  husband,  Richard  Rainsforth  or  Rains- 
ford.  Of  these  marriages  nothing  further  is  known,1  but 
we  are  to  suppose  that  in  1616  Elizabeth  Rainsforth  found 
herself  comfortably  settled  in  a  humble  way.  No  wonder 
her  life  seemed  to  her  son  to  have  been  troubled  by  a  con 
tinual  tempest.  He  was  now  the  only  survivor  of  her  six 
children,  and  she  had  lost  all  the  considerable  fortune  which 
her  mother,  Mrs.  Lewin,  and  her  first  husband  had  left  her. 
Forty  years  had  elapsed  since  the  decease  of  Mr.  Donne,  and 
they  had  sufficed  to  disperse  all  the  wealth  of  the  family. 

To  his  mother,  comforting  her  after  the  death  of  her 
daughter,  Anne  Lyly  : — 

"  To  ELIZABETH  RAINSFORTH.2 

"Mv  MOST  DEAR  MOTHER,  —  When  I  consider  so 
much  of  your  life  as  can  fall  within  my  memory  and  ob 
servation,  I  find  it  to  have  been  a  sea,  under  a  continual 
tempest,  where  one  wave  hath  ever  overtaken  another. 
Our  most  wise  and  blessed  Saviour  chooseth  what  way  it 
pleaseth  Him  to  conduct  those  which  He  loves  to  His 
haven  and  eternal  rest.  The  way  which  He  hath  chosen 
for  you  is  strait,  stormy,  obscure,  and  full  of  sad  appari 
tions  of  death  and  wants,  and  sundry  discomforts ;  and  it 
hath  pleased  Him,  that  one  discomfort  should  still  succeed 
and  touch  another,  that  He  might  leave  you  no  leisure,  by 
any  pleasure  or  abundance,  to  stay  or  step  out  of  that  way, 
or  almost  to  take  breath  in  that  way,  by  which  He  hath 
determined  to  bring  you  home,  which  is  His  glorious 
kingdom. 

1  A  family  of  Rainsforths  was  connected  with  the  Gcodyers  of  Polesworth. 

2  From  the  Tobie  Matthew  collection. 


EARLY    YEARS    IN    THE    CHURCH       89 

"  One  of  the  most  certain  marks  and  assurances,  that 
all  these  are  His  works,  and  to  that  good  end,  is  your 
inward  feeling  and  apprehension  of  them,  and  patience  in 
them.  As  long  as  the  Spirit  of  God  distils  and  dews  His 
cheerfulness  upon  your  heart,  as  long  as  He  instructs  your 
understanding  to  interpret  His  mercies  and  His  judgments 
aright,  so  long  your  comfort  must  needs  be  as  much 
greater  than  others  as  your  afflictions  are  greater  than 
theirs.  The  happiness  which  God  afforded  to  your  first 
young  time,  which  was  the  love  and  care  of  my  most  dear 
and  provident  father,  whose  soul,  I  hope,  hath  long  since 
enjoyed  the  sight  of  our  blessed  Saviour,  and  had  compas 
sion  of  all  our  miseries  in  the  world,  God  removed  from 
you  quickly,  and  hath  since  taken  from  you  all  the  comfort 
that  that  marriage  produced.  All  those  children  (for  whose 
maintenance  his  industry  provided,  and  for  whose  education 
you  were  so  carefully  and  so  chargeably  diligent)  He  hath 
now  taken  from  you.  All  that  wealth  which  he  left,  God 
hath  suffered  to  be  gone  from  us  all ;  so  that  God  hath 
seemed  to  repent,  that  He  allowed  any  part  of  your  life 
any  earthly  happiness ;  that  He  might  keep  your  soul  in 
continual  exercise,  and  longing,  and  assurance  of  coming 
immediately  to  Him. 

"  I  hope,  therefore,  my  most  dear  mother,  that  your 
experience  of  the  calamities  of  this  life,  your  continual 
acquaintance  with  the  visitations  of  the -Holy  Ghost,  which 
gives  better  inward  comforts  than  the  world  can  outward 
discomforts,  your  wisdom  to  distinguish  the  value  of  this 
world  from  the  next,  and  your  religious  fear  of  offending 
our  merciful  God  by  repining  at  anything  which  He  doeth, 
will  preserve  you  from  any  inordinate  and  dangerous  sorrow 
for  the  loss  of  my  most  beloved  sister.  For  my  part,  which 
am  only  left  now  to  do  the  office  of  a  child,  though  the 
poorness  of  my  fortune,  and  the  greatness  of  my  charge,  hath 
not  suffered  me  to  express  my  duty  towards  you  as  became 
me ;  yet  I  protest  to  you  before  Almighty  God  and  His 
angels  and  saints  in  heaven,  that  I  do,  and  ever  shall,  esteem 
myself  to  be  as  strongly  bound  to  look  to  you  and  pro 
vide  for  your  relief,  as  for  my  own  poor  wife  and  children. 


9o  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

"For  whatsoever  I  shall  be  able  to  do  I  acknowledge  to 
be  a  debt  to  you  from  whom  I  had  that  education  which 
must  make  my  fortune.  This  I  speak  not  as  though  I 
feared  my  father  Rainsford's  care  of  you,  or  his  means  to 
provide  for  you ;  for  he  hath  been  with  me,  and  as  I  per 
ceive  in  him  a  loving  and  industrious  care  to  give  you  con 
tentment,  so,  I  see  in  his  business  a  happy  and  considerable 
forwardness.  In  the  meantime,  good  mother,  take  heed 
that  no  sorrow  nor  dejection  in  your  heart  interrupt  or 
disappoint  God's  purpose  in  you  ;  His  purpose  is  to  remove 
out  of  your  heart  all  such  love  of  this  world's  happiness  as 
might  put  Him  out  of  possession  of  it.  He  will  have  you 
entirely,  and  as  God  is  comfort  enough,  so  He  is  inherit 
ance  enough.  Join  with  God  and  make  His  visitations 
and  afflictions  as  He  intended  them,  mercies  and  comforts. 
And  for  God's  sake  pardon  those  negligences  which  I  have 
heretofore  used  towards  you ;  and  assist  me  with  your 
blessing  to  me,  and  all  mine ;  and  with  your  prayers  to  our 
blessed  Saviour,  that  thereby  both  my  mind  and  fortune 
may  be  apt  to  do  all  my  duties,  especially  those  that  belong 
to  you. 

"  God,  whose  omnipotent  strength  can  change  the 
nature  of  anything  by  His  raising-spirit  of  comfort,  make 
your  poverty  riches,  your  afflictions  pleasure,  and  all  the 
gall  and  wormwood  of  your  life  honey  and  manna  to  your 
taste,  which  He  hath  wrought  whensoever  you  are  willing 
to  have  it  so.  Which,  because  I  cannot  doubt  in  you,  I 
will  forbear  more  lines  at  this  time,  and  most  humbly  deliver 
myself  over  to  your  devotions  and  good  opinion  of  me, 
which  I  desire  no  longer  to  live  than  I  may  have." 

In  the  spring  of  1 6 1 6  Donne  was  presented  to  the  living 
of  Keyston,  a  very  small  village  in  Huntingdonshire,  be 
tween  Thrapston  and  Kimbolton ;  and  in  July  of  the  same 
year  he  became  rector  of  Sevenoaks,  in  Kent.  He  never 
resided  in  either  parish,  although  he  held  Keyston  until 
1622  and  Sevenoaks  until  the  end  of  his  life.  The  latter 
benefice  was  in  the  gift  of  the  Crown,  and  this  was  doubt 
less  the  mode  in  which  James  I.  paid  his  chaplain ;  it  was 


EARLY    YEARS    IN    THE    CHURCH       91 

richly  endowed,  and  from  the  date  of  this  appointment  we 
are  not  to  think  of  Donne  as  in  any  straits  about  money. 
Dr.  Jessopp  has  some  interesting  remarks  on  the  way  in 
which  the  holding  of  a  plurality  of  cures  was  regarded  by 
the  contemporary  conscience  : — 

"  In  those  days  the  holder  of  a  benefice  was  considered 
to  have  done  his  duty  to  the  parish  from  which  he  derived 
his  income,  if  he  took  due  care  that  the  ordinary  ministra 
tions  of  divine  service  in  the  sanctuary  were  adequately 
provided  for,  and  the  parsonage  occupied  by  a  curate  who 
ministered  to  the  necessities  and  spiritual  wants  of  the 
people.  There  was  no  feeling  against  a  man  of  learning 
and  eminence  holding  two  or  more  livings  in  plurality.  It 
was  thought  better  that  a  clergyman  of  great  gifts  should 
be  supported  out  of  the  surplus  income  of  a  rich  benefice, 
and  allowed  to  exercise  his  talents  in  a  sphere  which  needed 
his  personal  presence  and  influence,  rather  than  that  he 
should  be  buried  in  a  country  village  where  he  would  be 
likely  to  live  and  die  forgotten  and  unknown." 

Preferment  followed  preferment  in  the  course  of  the 
year  1616.  Dr.  Thomas  Holloway,1  a  Fellow  of  Balliol 
College,  Oxford,  had  been  appointed  Divinity  Reader  to 
the  Benchers  of  Lincoln's  Inn  in  1 6 1 1 .  He  now  died ;  and 
on  the  24th  of  October  1616,  the  Masters  of  the  Bench 
elected  Donne  to  fill  his  place.  This  was  one  of  the  most 
active  as  well  as  the  most  lucrative  posts  open  to  a  London 
clergyman.  The  order  of  the  Bench  says  that  "  Master 
Doctor  Donne  is  at  this  council  chosen  to  be  Divinity 
Reader  of  this  house,  and  is  to  have  the  like  entertainment 
that  Master  Doctor  Holloway  had  ;  he  is  to  preach  every 
Sabbath  day  in  the  term,  both  forenoon  and  afternoon,  and 
once  the  Sabbath  days  before  and  after  every  term,  and  on 
the  Grand  Days  every  forenoon,  and  in  the  reading  times, 
who  is  to  take  place  next  the  Double  Readers  that  have  now 
read,  or  hereafter  shall  read,  or  hereafter  shall  fine  for  their 
double  readings."  Dr.  Jessopp  has  estimated  that  Donne's 

1  Izaak  Walton  was  mistaken  in  believing  Dr.  Gataker  to  have  been  Donne's 
immediate  predecessor.  Thomas  Gataker  was  Divinity  Reader  from  1601  until  1611, 
when  he  was  appointed  to  the  rectory  of  Rotherhithe.  Walton,  too,  places  Donne's 
election  after,  instead  of  ten  months  before,  the  death  of  his  wife. 


92  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

duty  involved  the  preparation  of  not  fewer  than  fifty  sermons 
a  year,  long  addresses  suited  to  an  audience  of  learned  and 
critical  hearers.  Walton  tells  us  that  Donne  was  "  most 
glad  to  renew  his  intermitted  friendship  with  those  whom 
he  so  much  loved,  and  where  he  had  been  a  Saul — though 
not  to  persecute  Christianity,  or  to  deride  it,  yet  in  his 
irregular  youth  to  neglect  the  visible  practice  of  it — there 
to  become  a  Paul,  and  preach  salvation  to  his  beloved 
brethren. 

"And  now  his  life  was  a  shining  light  among  his  old 
friends ;  now  he  gave  an  ocular  testimony  of  the  strictness 
and  regularity  of  it ;  now  he  might  say,  as  St.  Paul  adviseth 
his  Corinthians,  '  Be  ye  followers  of  me,  as  I  follow  Christ, 
and  walk  as  ye  have  me  for  an  example ' ;  not  the  example 
of  a  busybody,  but  of  a  contemplative,  a  harmless,  an  humble 
and  an  holy  life  and  conversation. 

"  The  love  of  that  noble  Society  was  expressed  to  him 
many  ways ;  for,  besides  fair  lodgings  that  were  set  apart, 
and  newly  furnished  for  him  with  all  necessaries,  other 
courtesies  were  also  daily  added ;  indeed  so  many  and  so 
freely,  as  if  they  meant  their  gratitude  should  exceed  his 
merits ;  and  in  this  love-strife  of  desert  and  liberality  they 
continued  for  the  space  of  two  years,  he  preaching  faith 
fully  and  constantly  to  them,  and  they  liberally  requiting 
them."  In  1617  he  laid  the  first  stone  of  their  new  chapel, 
which  it  took  six  years  to  complete.  This  is  the  building 
at  present  used  by  the  Society. 

Three  months  after  Donne's  ordination,  on  the  2nd  of 
April  1615,  his  patron,  Sir  Robert  Drury,  died,  at  the  age  of 
thirty-eight.  We  have  to  suppose  that  Donne  had  already 
given  up  his  rooms  in  Drury  House.  What  became  of  his 
wife  and  children  during  the  next  year  we  do  not  know. 
But  with  the  appointments  of  1616,  Donne's  anxieties  about 
money  matters  must  have  been  brought  to  a  permanent  con 
clusion.  For  the  rest  of  his  life  he  was  a  comfortable  and 
almost  a  wealthy  man.  But  the  change  came  too  late  to  re 
store  health  to  the  worn-out  frame  of  his  wife.  She  died, 
seven  days  after  giving  birth  to  a  still-born  child,  on  the  1 5th 
of  August  1617.  Of  the  twelve  children  she  had  borne  to 


EARLY    YEARS    IN    THE    CHURCH       93 

Donne,  seven  were  still  alive.  Of  these,  Constance,  who 
was  in  her  fifteenth  year,  would  be  old  enough  to  begin  to 
keep  house  for  her  father.  John,  who  was  a  year  younger, 
was  being  educated  at  Westminster  School.  George  was  but 
twelve,  and  Lucy  nine,  while  the  youngest,  Elizabeth,  had 
been  baptized  scarcely  a  year  before,  on  the  I4th  of  June 
1616.  This  was  the  tender  family,  of  ages  the  most  re 
sponsible  and  hazardous,  which  now  fell  on  the  charge  of 
their  anxious  father.  It  is  to  be  noted,  as  evidence  of  his 
care,  that  though  five  had  died  in  infancy,  of  these  remain 
ing  seven,  all  lived  on,  and,  except  Lucy,  all  survived  their 
father.  To  those  of  his  children  who  were  old  enough  to 
understand  his  assurance,  he  gave  a  promise  that  he  would 
never  marry  again,  and  this  he  faithfully  kept,  "  burying 
with  his  tears  all  his  earthly  joys  in  his  most  dear  and 
deserving  wife's  grave,  and  betook  himself  to  a  most  retired 
and  solitary  life." 

Donne  buried  his  wife  in  the  Church  of  St.  Clement 
Danes,  and  raised  over  her  a  monument,  for  which  he  gave 
a  commission  to  the  most  eminent  sculptor  of  the  day, 
Nicholas  Stone.  He  was  a  young  Devonshire  man,  who 
had  recently  come  back  from  a  thorough  training  in  architec 
tural  sculpture  under  Pieter  de  Keyser  in  Amsterdam,  and 
who  had  immediately  fallen  into  a  large  and  indeed  almost 
exclusive  practice.  His  picturesque,  mannered  work  is 
closely  identified  with  our  ideas  of  Jacobean  ornament.  For 
Mrs.  Donne's  monument  Stone  was  paid  "  fifteen  pieces  "  ; 
it  was  therefore,  no  doubt,  an  elaborate  composition  of  his 
characteristic  class,  with  coloured  figures  of  the  lady,  her 
husband,  and  her  children  in  a  vanishing  perspective. 
Nothing  could  have  been  more  interesting  to  us  than  to 
contemplate  such  a  memorial  at  this  step  in  our  narrative ; 
but,  unhappily,  when  the  church  was  rebuilt,  the  tomb  of 
Anne  Donne  fell  to  pieces  or  was  destroyed.  But  there 
exists  at  Loseley,  in  Donne's  handwriting,  this  draft  of  the 
inscription  which  the  poet  composed  for  the  monument,, 
and  submitted  to  the  criticism  of  Sir  George  More : — 


94  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 


ANN^E 

GEORGII  MORE  de  ^ 

ROBERT  :  Lothesley  I 


filia 
soror 
nept. 
pronept. 


WILLELMI  Equit.        f 

CHRISTOPHERI         Aurat.      J 

Feminae  lectissimae  dilectissimaeque 
Conjugi  charissimae  castissimaeque 
Matri  piissimae  indulgentissimaeque 

xv  annis  in  conjugio  transactis, 
vii  post  xii  partum  (quorum  vii  superstant)  dies, 

immani  febre  correptae, 
(quod  hoc  saxum  fari  jussit 

ipse  pro  dolore  infans) 
maritus  (miserrimum  dictu)  olim  charae  charus 

cineribus  cineres  spondet  suos, 
novo  matrimonio  (annual  Deus)  hoc  loco  sociandos, 

JOHANNES  DONNE 
Sacr  :  Theolog  :  Profess : . 

Secessit 

A°  xxxiii  aetat .  et  sui  Jesu 

CID  .  DC  .  xvn  . 

Aug.  xv. 

The  first  time  Donne  left  his  house  after  the  funeral 
of  his  wife,  it  was  to  preach  a  sermon  at  the  church  of 
St.  Clement  Danes,  where  she  was  buried.  So,  at  least, 
Walton  declares,  but  the  printed  copy  which  has  come 
down  to  us  says  that  it  was  delivered  at  St  Dunstan's. 
The  text  is  from  Lamentations  iii.  i  :  "  I  am  the  man  that 
hath  seen  affliction  by  the  rod  of  His  wrath."  Walton's 
accounts  of  this  discourse  is  pretty,  but  too  sentimental  to 
be  accepted ;  "  indeed,  his  very  words  and  looks  testified 
him  to  be  truly  such  a  man "  [as  the  prophet  Jeremiah 
describes]  ;  "  and  they,  with  the  addition  of  his  sighs  and 
tears  expressed  in  his  sermon,  did  so  work  upon  the  affec 
tions  of  his  hearers,  as  melted  and  moulded  them  into  a 
companionable  sadness  ;  and  so  they  left  the  congregation ; 
but  then  their  houses  presented  them  with  objects  of  diver 
sion,  and  his  presented  him  with  nothing  but  fresh  objects 
of  sorrow,  in  beholding  many  helpless  children,  a  narrow 


EARLY    YEARS    IN    THE    CHURCH       95 

fortune,  and  a  consideration  of  the  many  cares  and  casualties 
that  attend  their  education." 

This  picture  is  overcharged.  Walton  supposed  that  Mrs. 
Donne  died  two  years  earlier  than  was  the  case;  in  1617 
the  poet's  fortune  was  no  longer  "  narrow."  Moreover,  an 
examination  of  the  sermon  itself  reveals  no  such  emotional 
or  hysterical  appeals  to  sympathy  as  the  sentimental  genius 
of  Walton  conceived.  It  is  a  very  dignified  and  calm 
address  on  the  mode  in  which  we  should  endure  the  afflic 
tions  with  which  God  sees  it  fitting  to  chastise  us.  Not 
one  word,  however,  applies  the  text  or  his  exhortations  to 
the  speaker  himself;  no  one  would  guess,  from  any  personal 
emotion  or  parade  of  grief,  that  the  preacher  was  more 
afflicted  than  the  rest  of  the  race  of  man.  In  no  sense  is 
this  sermon  a  funeral  oration  over  Anne  Donne,  or  a  record 
of  the  preacher's  loss.  Rather,  after  shutting  himself  up  in 
his  house  until  the  bitterness  of  his  anguish  was  over,  we 
see  Donne  here  putting  his  bereavement  behind  him,  and 
resuming,  with  stately  impassibility,  his  priestly  task. 


READER  AT  LINCOLN'S  INN 
THE  GERMAN  TOUR 

1617-1621 


VOL.   II.  G 

• 


CHAPTER    XII 

READER   AT   LINCOLN'S   INN 

1617-1621 

THOSE  who  are  in  the  habit  of  observing  the  religious  life 
of  others  with  attention  are  familiar,  in  whatever  temper 
they  may  regard  it,  with  the  spiritual  phenomenon  which  is 
known  as  "  conversion."  It  is  not  a  matter  of  conviction  or 
works,  though  the  first  may  produce  and  the  second  result 
from  it ;  nor  is  it  in  any  degree  universal  among  those  who 
are  eminent  for  piety  and  unction.  It  may  come  to  the 
most  and  to  the  least  instructed ;  it  is  a  state  of  soul,  a 
psychological  condition  abruptly  reached  by  some,  and  not 
reached  at  all  by  many.  Some  pass  into  it  who  afterwards 
pass  out  again  into  indifferentism ;  some  never  experience 
the  sudden  advent  of  it,  although  their  fidelity  to  the  faith 
persists  unshaken.  There  is  abundant  evidence  to  show 
that  this  condition  or  crisis  was  passed  through  by  Donne 
in  the  winter  of  1617  ;  that  at  that  time  he  became  "  con 
verted  "  in  the  intense  and  incandescent  sense.  At  that 
juncture,  under  special  conditions,  and  at  the  age  of  forty- 
four,  he  dedicated  himself  anew  to  God  with  a  peculiar 
violence  of  devotion,  and  witnessed  the  dayspring  of  a 
sudden  light  in  his  soul. 

The  statement  must  not  be  adopted  without  our 
casting  back  our  thoughts  upon  what  Donne's  spiritual  life 
had  been  up  to  this  date.  Our  acceptance  of  it  involves 
the  acknowledgment  that  in  the  three  years  which  had 
elapsed  since  he  gave  way  to  the  King's  wishes  and  took 
orders,  he  had  not  been  what  he  now  became  and  remained 
throughout  the  rest  of  his  life.  Are  we,  then,  to  say  that 
when  Donne  accepted  the  profession  of  the  Church  he  was 
an  insincere  and  ungodly  man?  A  thousand  times,  no! 


99 


ioo  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

The  lamp  had  long  been  there,  brimming  with  pure  oil ; 
the  wick  was  trimmed  ;  in  the  general  array  of  the  English 
Church  in  that  age  it  passed  as  an  efficient  illuminator. 
Even  Donne  himself  probably  perceived  imperfectly  and 
intermittently,  that  the  light  which  flashed  from  its  well- 
tended  curves  was  but  reflected  from  the  lamps  around  it. 
But  now  the  match  was  to  be  laid  to  the  threads ;  now  it 
was  to  be  no  merely  decent  and  conventional  transmission 
of  the  light  of  others,  but  a  blazing  and  crescent  beacon,  a 
centre  of  independent  radiance. 

To  many  natures,  perhaps  to  most,  religion  enters 
by  way  of  the  emotions.  But  with  Donne  the  oppo 
site  was  the  case ;  his  intellect  was  gained  to  the  ser 
vice  of  God  while  still  his  heart  was  cold.  We  have 
had  to  observe  the  frigidity  of  his  early  religious  poetry, 
appealing  exclusively  to  the  intelligence,  preferring  every 
species  of  learned  ingenuity  to  a  genuine  cry  of  experience. 
We  have  seen  that,  in  his  controversial  writings  in  prose, 
he  wrote  like  a  lawyer  rather  than  a  divine,  persistently 
evading  and  ignoring  the  inner  struggle,  the  plastic  quality 
of  the  individual  soul.  It  is  in  remembering  these  evidences 
of  his  too  exclusively  intellectual  habit  of  mind  that  we  are 
able  to  explain  the  inconsistencies  of  Donne's  early  life. 
He  was  very  slowly  called  to  the  threshold  of  the  Holy  of 
Holies,  very  slowly  prepared  for  the  perfect  life,  and  yet, 
in  a  certain  sense,  he  believed  himself  prepared  and  called 
from  the  outset.  So  that  we  see  him,  to  our  surprise  and 
scandal,  if  we  judge  hastily,  able  to  say  that  from  the 
age  of  twenty  he  had  seriously  surveyed  and  considered  "the 
body  of  divinity,"  while  we  find  him,  long  after  that  time, 
living  a  life  without  humility  or  reserve,  and  even,  in  his 
hot  youth,  without  the  outward  decencies  and  rudimentary 
principles  of  piety.  With  Donne,  an  intellectual  curiosity 
as  to  theological  questions  long  preceded  any  subjection  of 
his  brain  or  heart  to  that  conduct  of  life  logically  involved 
by  them.  With  no  suspicion  of  insincerity,  he  was  a  prac 
tised  theologian  before  he  could  make  any  pretence  to- 
being  a  Christian  man. 

But,  as  time  went  by  and  the  turmoil  of  his  instincts 


READER    AT    LINCOLN'S    INN          101 

was  quieted,  crisis  after  crisis  brought  Donne  nearer  and 
nearer  to  the  religious  life.  His  marriage,  and  the  shock 
to  his  fortunes  produced  by  it;  his  secretarial  work  for 
Morton  ;  each  of  his  serious  attacks  of  illness ;  each  proof 
he  had  of  declining  physical  vivacity ;  brought  him  nearer 
and  nearer  to  the  state  of  grace,  lowering  the  material  and 
heightening  the  spiritual  part  of  him.  More  or  less 
distinctly  he  was  himself  aware  of  his  coldness,  aware  that 
what  he  was  willing  enough  to  hold  out  towards  the  altar 
was  as  yet  in  no  sense  a  burning  sacrifice.  And,  without 
question,  this  self-knowledge  was  at  the  base  of  the  long 
vacillation  and  delay  in  adopting  the  obvious  and,  at  last, 
entirely  inevitable  profession  of  priest.  When  the  King 
insisted,  and  the  call  could  no  longer  be  refused,  there  was 
nothing  in  Donne's  creed,  or  temper,  or  attitude  to  the 
Church  which  could  by  any  possibility  be  objected  to, 
although,  as  we  have  seen,  there  was  a  certain  worldliness 
of  demeanour  which  his  enemies  at  Cambridge  and  elsewhere 
were  not  unwilling  to  exaggerate.  Still,  to  all  outward 
appearance,  John  Donne  in  1615  was  a  suitable  recipient 
of  that  ecclesiastical  preferment  with  which  the  King,  him 
self  occupied  solely  with  the  intellectual  part  of  religion, 
was  anxious  to  reward  Donne's  meritorious  learning. 

It  was  the  loss  of  his  wife  which  brought  about  the 
final  process  of  sanctification  and  illumination.  Her  death, 
the  result  of  a  childbirth,  from  which  she  was  too  weak  to 
recover,  was  an  unexpected  blow.  The  morbid  strain  in 
Donne's  temperament  asserted  itself  at  first,  as  it  often  does 
in  such  cases.  He  shrank  from  all  communication  with  his 
friends ;  he  nursed  his  grief  by  staying  at  home  in  solitary 
despair,  or  by  darkening  with  his  presence  the  group  of  his 
motherless  little  children.  The  picturesque  description 
which  Walton  has  given  us  of  this  crisis  in  his  life  can  only 
have  been  supplied  to  him  by  Donne  himself.  It  is,  indeed, 
so  much  in  the  later  manner  of  Donne  that  we  may  be 
tempted  to  believe  that  it  represents,  in  the  main,  the  very 
language  which  he  employed  to  describe  the  effects  of  his 
bereavement : — "  In  this  retiredness,  which  was  often  from 
the  sight  of  his  dearest  friends,  he  became  crucified  to  the 


102  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

world,  and  all  those  vanities,  those  imaginary  pleasures,  that 
are  daily  acted  on  that  restless  stage  ;  and  they  were  as 
perfectly  crucified  to  him.  Nor  is  it  hard  to  think  (being 
passions  may  be  both  changed  and  heightened  by  accidents) 
but  that  that  abundant  affection  which  once  was  betwixt 
him  and  her,  who  had  long  been  the  delight  of  his  eyes, 
and  the  companion  of  his  youth ;  her,  with  whom  he  had 
divided  so  many  pleasant  sorrows  and  contented  fears,  as 
common  people  are  not  capable  of;  not  hard  to  think  but 
that  she  being  now  removed  by  death,  a  commeasurable 
grief  took  as  full  a  possession  of  him  as  joy  had  done ;  and 
so  indeed  it  did :  for  now  his  very  soul  was  elemented  of 
nothing  but  sadness  ;  now  grief  took  so  full  a  possession  of 
his  heart,  as  to  leave  no  place  for  joy ;  if  it  did,  it  was  a  joy 
to  be  alone,  where,  like  a  pelican  in  the  wilderness,  he  might 
bemoan  himself  withc/ut  witness  or  restraint,  and  pour  forth 
his  passions  like  Job  in  the  days  of  his  affliction  :  '  O  that 
I  might  have  the  desire  of  my  heart !  O  that  God  would 
grant  the  thing  that  I  long  for  !  For  then,  as  the  grave  is 
become  her  house,  so  I  would/hasten  to  make  it  mine  also  :  that 
we  two  might  there  make  our  beds  together  in  the  dark?  Thus, 
as  the  Israelites  sat  mourning  by  the  rivers  of  Babylon, 
when  they  remembered  Si  on,  so  he  gave  some  ease  to  his 
oppressed  heart  by  thus  venting  his  sorrows  :  thus  he  began 
the  day  and  ended  the  night ;  ended  the  restless  night,  and 
began  the  weary  day  in  lamentations." 

Among  the  crude  theological  scraps  which  the  younger 
Donne  published  in  1651,  and  attributed  to  the  time  just 
before  his  father  entered  Holy  Orders,  he  inserted  some 
prayers  which  seem  to  have  no  connection  with  the  rest. 
One  of  these  appears  to  me  to  belong  to  the  great  spiritual 
crisis  which  we  have  just  been  considering.  It  has  never 
been  unearthed  from  the  very  dull  Essays  in  Divinity  in 
which  it  is  buried,  and  may  be  given  here,  in  part,  as  illus 
trating  the  spiritual  condition  of  Donne's  later  years,  even 
if  it  be  not,  as  I  conjecture  it  to  be,  a  composition  of  the 
exact  period  that  we  have  reached  : — 

"  O  keep  and  defend  my  tongue  from  misusing  Thy 
Name  in  lightness,  passion,  or  falsehood ;  and  my  heart 


READER    AT    LINCOLN'S    INN          103 

from  mistaking  Thy  nature  by  an  inordinate  preferring  Thy 
justice  before  Thy  mercy,  or  advancing  this  before  that. 
And  as,  though  Thyself  hadst  no  beginning,  Thou  gavest  a 
beginning  to  all  things  in  which  Thou  wouldst  be  served  and 
glorified ;  so,  though  this  soul  of  mine,  by  which  I  partake 
Thee,  begin  not  now,  yet  let  this  minute,  O  God,  this 
happy  minute  of  Thy  visitation,  be  the  beginning  of  her 
conversion,  and  shaking  away  confusion,  darkness,  and 
barrenness.  Let  her  now  produce  creatures,  thoughts, 
words,  and  deeds  agreeable  to  Thee.  And  let  her  not 
produce  them,  O  God,  out  of  any  contemplation  or  (I  can 
not  say  idea,  but)  chimera  of  my  worthiness,  either  because 
I  am  a  man  and  no  worm,  and  within  the  pale  of  Thy 
Church  and  not  in  the  wild  forest,  and  enlightened  with 
some  glimmerings  of  natural  knowledge,  but  merely  out  of 
nothing.  .  .  . 

"  Let  my  soul's  creatures  have  that  temper  and  harmony, 
that  they  be  not,  by  a  misdevout  consideration  of  the  next 
life,  stupidly  and  treacherously  negligent  of  the  offices  and 
duties  which  Thou  enjoinest  amongst  us  in  this  life;  nor  so 
anxious  in  these  that  the  other, — which  is  our  better  busi 
ness,  though  this  also  must  be  attended, — be  the  less 
endeavoured.  And  because  in  this  world  my  body  was 
first  made  and  then  my  soul,  but  in  the  next  my  soul  shall 
be  first  and  then  my  body,  in  my  exterior  and  moral 
conversations  let  my  first  and  presentest  care  be  to  give 
them  satisfaction  with  whom  I  am  mingled,  because  they 
may  be  scandalised,  but  Thou,  who  seest  hearts,  canst  not ; 
but,  for  my  faith,  let  my  first  relation  be  to  Thee,  because 
of  that  Thou  art  justly  jealous,  which  they  cannot  be." 

In  the  last  quoted  paragraph  Donne  seems  to  have 
revealed  to  us  the  very  sources  of  the  conduct  which  we 
shall  be  called  upon  to  observe  in  the  remainder  of  his 
earthly  pilgrimage,  the  impulses  which  led  him  to  be  so 
graciously  and  subtly  all  things  to  all  men,  while  never 
flinching  from  the  narrow  path  and  steep  which  led  him  up 
to  the  very  throne  of  God.  So,  in  the  Paradiso,  Dante  sees 
the  saints  flashing  with  sympathy  and  joy  as  they  bend 
towards  one  another,  each  fixed  in  his  eternal  seat  on  some 


io4  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

petal  of  the  Empyrean  Rose,  each  palpably  delighted  with 
the  presence  of  the  others,  and  yet  all  gazing  without 
interruption  on  the  Beatific  Vision. 

The  immediate  result  of  Donne's  recovery  from  the 
depression  caused  by  his  wife's  death,  and  of  his  subsequent 
ecstasy  of  spiritual  life,  was  the  composition  of  two  cycles 
of  sonnets.  The  shorter  series,  entitled  La  Corona^  is 
worthy  of  close  study  from  those  who  desire  to  comprehend 
Donne's  new  attitude  to  religion.  He  offers  to  God  this 

"  crown  of  prayer  and  praise 
Weaved  in  my  lone  devout  melancholy," 

but  the  ambition  of  being  a  poet  in  the  sight  of  the  world 
has  entirely  passed  away — 

" do  not  with  a  vile  crown  of  frail  bays 

Reward  my  Muse's  white  sincerity ; 

But  what  Thy  thorny  crown  gain'd,  that  give  me, 

A  crown  of  glory,  which  doth  flower  always." 

He  feels  a  new  heart  in  his  breast,  a  new  ambition  fires  him. 
That  which  has  so  long  evaded  the  ingenious  theologian 
glows  within  the  newly  awakened  man  of  simple  faith ;  he 
has  discovered  at  last  the  only  goal  worth  striving  for — 

"  The  first,  last  end,  now  zealously  possessed, 
With  a  strong  sober  thirst  my  soul  attends. 
'Tis  time  that  heart  and  voice  be  lifted  high; 
Salvati6n  to  all  that  will  is  nigh." 

In  the  succeeding  sonnets,  linked  together  by  the  artifice 
that  each  one  begins  with  a  repetition  of  the  line  with  which 
its  predecessor  ended,  Donne  surveys  the  career  of  Christ — 
the  Annunciation,  the  Nativity,  in  the  Temple,  on  the 
Cross,  the  Resurrection,  the  Ascension.  The  soul  is  to 
follow  the  ethereal  Pilgrim,  asking  no  questions,  to 

"  Kiss  Him,  and  with  Him  into  Egypt  go." 

The  poet  has  a  singular  reflection  in  reference  to  his  own 
slow  processes  of  conversion.  There  are  those  whose 
nature  putrifies,  and  turns  into  the  horror  of  sin.  His  has 


READER    AT    LINCOLN'S    INN          105 

not  been  so ;  it  has  merely  hardened,  its  vitality  has  been 
arrested  in  a  long  sleep.  It  needs  a  drop  of  Christ's  blood 
to  melt  it  from  that  stony  hardness,  to  rouse  it  from  that 
paralysing  slumber,  else  it  will  remain  faultless,  but  dead, 

"  Nor  can  by  other  means  be  glorified." 

But  that  exquisite  drop  has  fallen,  and  has  transfused  the 
slumberer's  apathy  into  ecstasy,  so  that,  rising,  he  is 
able  to 

"  Salute  the  last  and  everlasting  day/' 

The  close  of  La  Corona  is  striking,  both  spiritually  and 
poetically — 

"  O,  strong  Ram,  which  has  batter'd  Heaven  for  me, 
Mild  Lamb,  which  with  Thy  blood  hast  mark'd  the  path, 
Bright  Torch,  which  shin'st,  that  I  the  way  may  see, 
O  !   with  Thy  own  blood  quench  Thy  own  just  wrath ! 
And,  if  Thy  Holy  Spirit  my  Muse  did  raise, 
Deign  at  my  hands  this  crown  of  prayer  and  praise." 

There  was  published  in  1633,  as  a  "verse-letter,"  a  sonnet 
addressed  "  to  E.  of  D.,"  of  which  Mr.  E.  K.  Chambers  was 
the  firs*,  to  perceive  the  import.  This  is  a  prelude  to  La 
Corona,  and  was  written  before  that  cycle  was  quite  com 
plete,  since  it  speaks  of  the_seventh  sonnet  having  "  still 
some  maim."  There  is  at  present  no  "maim"  or  technical 
imperfection,  unless,  indeed,  the  rhymes  "way"  and  "away" 
should  be  so  considered.  The  letters  "  E.  of  D."  obviously 
mean  "  Earl  of  Doncaster."  There  never  was  an  Earl  of 
Doncaster,  but  Lord  Hay  was,  on  the  5th  of  July  1618, 
created  Viscount  Doncaster.  This  remained  his  title  until 
September  13,  1622,  when  he  was  created  Earl  of  Carlisle. 
It  is  plain,  then,  that  the  letters  "  E.  of  D."  were  not 
applied  by  the  hand  of  Donne  himself,  for  he  would  not 
have  addressed  a  viscount,  who  was  one  of  his  closest 
friends,  as  an  earl.  We  are  therefore  exempted  from 
having  to  believe  that  Lord  Hay  was  Lord  Doncaster  when 
La  Corona  was  being  composed,  and  we  may  confidently 
conclude  that  this  cycle  of  sonnets  belongs  to  1617. 


106  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

Greater  uncertainty  has  hitherto  accompanied  the  most 
important  of  Donne's  spiritual  poems,  the  cycle  of  Holy 
Sonnets.  A  letter  to  Magdalen  Herbert,  which  has  been 
published  in  its  place  in  the  present  memoir,  dated  July 
n,  1607,  speaks  of  "enclosed  holy  hymns  and  sonnets/1 
but  Walton,  in  quoting  this  letter,  says  that  these  poems 
"  are  now  lost  to  us."  Mr.  Chambers  has  found  that  to 
a  MS.  copy  of  La  Corona  and  Holy  Sonnets  *  there  is  appended 
a  statement  that  they  were  "  made  twenty  years  since,"  but 
as  the  date  of  the  MS.  is  unknown,  this  helps  us  little. 
Conjecture  is,  however,  set  at  rest  by  the  discovery  of  the 
seventeenth  sonnet,  beginning — 

"  Since  she,  whom  I  loved,  hath  paid  her  last  debt 
To  Nature,  and  to  hers  and  my  good  is  dead, 
And  her  soul  early  into  heay'n  ravished, 
Wholly  on  heavenly  things  my  mind  is  set," 

which  settles  any  doubt  as  to  the  Holy  Sonnets  being 
subsequent  to  August  1617.  Internal  evidence,  I  think, 
points  to  1617  (or  1618  at  latest)  as  the  year  of  their 
composition. 

The  Holy  Sonnets,  which  are  nineteen  in  number,  have 
never,  until  now,2  been  printed  in  complete  form.  Twelve 
were  published  in  1633;  four  more  were  added  in  1635, 
and  the  entire  series  is  complete  only  in  the  Westmore 
land  MS.  In  the  last-named  there  are  not  merely  nume 
rous  variations  of  the  text,  some  of  them  absolutely 
luminous,  but  the  entire  order  of  the  sonnets  is  altered, 
much,  as  I  think,  to  the  advantage  of  their  intelligibility. 
I  have,  therefore,  thought  it  well  to  give,  in  an  appendix 
to  the  present  volume,  the  Westmoreland  text,  with  a  careful 
collation  of  the  1633  and  1635  editions. 

We  know  from  Walton  that  Donne's  life  at  this  time 
was  as  a  shining  light  among  his  old  friends.  This  radi 
ance  beams  from  the  Holy  Sonnets,  where  the  voice  of 
personal  emotion  is  more  clearly  audible  than  anywhere 
else  in  the  religious  poetry  of  Donne.  The  accent  is  that 
of  a  man  who  has  discovered  the  truth  so  late,  and  has 

1  Harl.,  4955.  2  See  Appendix  C. 


READER    AT    LINCOLN'S    INN          107 

such  a  sense  of  the  passage  of  time  and  of  the  nearness  of 
his  dissolution,  that  he  hardly  dares  to  hope  that  he  may 
yet  work  for  God.  But  he  pours  himself  out  in  prayer  to 
be  preserved  a  little  longer  to  serve  his  Lord  and  Master. 
Rarely  was  the  natural  language  of  the  heart  sustained  so 
long  by  Donne  in  his  verse  as  in  this  noble  sonnet,  which 
opens  the  series  as  it  is  now  usually  printed,  but  which  was 
not  published  until  1635 — 

"  Thou  hast  made  me,  and  shall  Thy  work  decay  ? 

Repair  me  now,  for  now  my  end  doth  haste ; 

I  run  to  death,  and  death  meets  me  as  fast, 
And  all  my  pleasures  are  like  yesterday. 
I  dare  not  move  my  dim  eyes  any  way ; 

Despair  behind,  and  Death  before,  doth  cast 

Such  terror,  and  my  feeble  flesh  doth  waste 
By  sin  in  it,  which  it  towards  hell  doth  weigh. 
Only  Thou  art  above,  and  when  towards  Thee 

By  Thy  leave  I  can  look,  I  rise  again ; 
But  our  old  subtle  foe  so  tempteth  me, 

That  not  one  hour  myself  I  can  sustain. 
Thy  grace  may  wing  me  to  prevent  his  art 
And  Thou  like  adamant  draw  mine  iron  heart." 

He  attributes  his  condition  of  mind,  softened  and  crushed 
so  as  to  receive  the  impress  of  God's  signet,  to  the  agony 
caused  by  his  bereavement.  But  he  fears  lest  this  natural 
affection  may  have  taken  an  excessive  fleshly  form,  may 
have  been  "idolatry."  Yet  this  temporal  sorrow  has 
wrought  in  him  a  "holy  discontent,"  which  is  obviously 
salutary.  Thrown  out  of  the  comfortable  security  of 
domestic  life,  he  falls,  he  is  bruised,  but  only  to  be  lifted 
tenderly  by  the  Divine  hands.  Nor  is  "vehement  grief" 
the  only  cause  of  the  helpless  physical  condition  in  which 
he  finds  himself.  Not  bereavement  only,  but  "  sickness, 
death's  herald  and  champion,"  has  assailed  him.  As  he 
reflects  upon  his  frailty,  his  old  intellectual  ingenuity  comes 
back  to  him ;  we  are  startled  at  the  sudden  cry — 

"  I  am  a  little  world  made  cunningly 
Of  elements,  and  an  angelic  sprite ; 
But  black  sin  hath  betray'd  to  endless  night 
My  world's  both  parts,  and  oh !   both  parts  must  die." 


io8  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

He  calls  on  the  discoverers  of  America  to  lend  him  their 
new  seas  to  add  to  the  old,  and  make  a  flood  deep  enough 
to  quench  the  fires  of  lust  and  envy  before  they  have 
consumed  his  soul  away,  since  he  wishes  to  save  as  much 
of  that  soul  as  possible  to  be  the  prey  of  a  very  different 
conflagration,  the  zeal  of  the  Lord  and  of  His  house 
burning  him  up. 

With  strenuous  abhorrence  he  repudiates  the  World, 
the  Flesh,  and  the  Devil,  and  for  the  future  his  life  shall 
be  dedicated  wholly  to  God.  But,  he  reflects  again,  how 
little  of  that  wasted  life  is  left !  This  is  his  "  play's  last 
scene,"  his  "  pilgrimage's  last  mile,"  his  "  span's  last  inch." 
He  conceives  that  death  is  absolutely  upon  him,  and  he 
breaks  forth  into  a  burst  of  almost  Miltonic  magnifi 
cence — 

"  At  the  round  earth's  imagined  corners  blow 

Your  trumpets,  angels,  and  arise,  arise 

From  death,  you  numberless  infinities 
Of  souls,  and  to  your  scattered  bodies  go ; 
All  whom  the  flood  did,  and  fire  shall  overthrow, 

All  whom  war,  death,  age,  agues,  tyrannies, 

Despair,  law,  chance  hath  slain,  and  you,  whose  eyes 
Shall  behold  God,  and  never  taste  death's  woe." 

But  he  'has  no  sooner  summoned  this  cloud  of  witnesses 
than  he  considers  again  how  unready  he  is,  with  no  day's 
work  done,  to  join  the  cohorts.  In  the  course  of  the 
argument,  we  reach  another  phrase,  which  it  is  difficult 
indeed  to  believe  that  Milton  did  not  read  and  recollect— 

"  that  tree 
Whose  fruit  threw  death  on  else-immortal  us." 

From  this  he  passes  to  one  of  those  invocations  of  Death 
himself,  which  were  peculiarly  in  the  spirit  of  the  age — 

"  Death,  be  not  proud,  though  some  hare  called  thee 
Mighty  and  dreadful,  for  thou  art  not  so." 

In  this  there  seems  to  be  more  than  an  accidental  resem 
blance  to  the  famous  appeal  to  "  eloquent,  just,  and  mighty 
Death,"  which  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  had  published  in  1614. 


READER    AT    LINCOLN'S    INN          109 

If  so — *n<i  I  feel  it  difficult  to  question  the  reminiscence- 
then  this  has  its  interest  as  an  almost  solitary  example  in 
which  the  work  of  an  English  contemporary  is  found 
exercising  an  influence  on  the  style  of  Donne. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  of  the  Holy  Sonnets  is 
the  ninth  of  1633  (thirteenth  in  1635).  In  it  we  have  a 
memorable  instance  of  the  clairvoyance  with  which  Donne, 
from  the  vantage-ground  of  his  conversion,  looked  back 
upon  his  profane  past.  Donne's  reference  here  to  his  old 
erotic  poetry  is,  to  my  mind,  a  singularly  characteristic  one, 
and  helps  to  explain  why  he  preserved  so  carefully,  to  the 
very  last,  though  he  never  would  publish,  the  evidences  of 
his  early  enslavement  to  the  flesh.  This  sonnet  is  a  dialogue 
with  his  soul,  whom  he  bids — as  the  approach  of  nightfall 
suggests  the  thought,  "  What  if  the  present  were  the  world's 
last  night  ? " — to  turn  through  the  gathering  twilight  and 
see  whether  it  quails  to  watch,  whitening  on  the  wall,  the 
picture  of  Christ  crucified.  Can  that  sweet  face  mean  to 
doom  the  soul  to  hell  ? 

"  No  !  no  !  but  as  in  my  idolatry 

I  said  to  all  my  profane  mistresses, 

Beauty  of  pity,  foulness  only  is 
A  sign  of  rigour  ;  so  I  say  to  thee, 
To  wicked  spirits  are  horrid  shapes  assigned ; 
This  beauteous  form  assumes  a  piteous  mind." 

In  another  mood  he  conceives  himself  a  helpless,  beleaguered 
city  held  by  a  hateful  and  tyrannic  foe.  The  city,  unarmed, 
cannot  resist,  cannot  even  make  a  sign,  but  with  all  its  heart 
it  yearns  after  its  besieger ;  and  so  the  soul,  bound  and 
betrothed  to  Satan,  and  occupied  by  his  armed  forces,  dearly 
loves  God,  and  would  fain  see  His  victorious  army  enter  its 
gates  and  drive  out  the  abhorred  usurper. 

The  three  sonnets  which  are  now  added  to  the  series  have 
a  peculiar  importance.  It  is  evident  that  they  were  sup 
pressed  by  the  editors  of  1633  and  1635  because  of  the 
leaning  which  they  betrayed  to  certain  Romish  doctrines. 
In  this  they  offer  to  us  a  remarkable  contribution  to  our 
knowledge  of  the  inner  mind  of  Donne.  They  seem  to 
prove  that  even  after  the  death  of  his  wife,  and  his  subse  - 


no  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

quent  conversion,  he  hankered  after  some  tenets  of  the 
Roman  faith,  or  at  least  that  he  still  doubted  as  to  his 
attitude  with  regard  to  them.  In  this  it  is  probable  that 
he  found  a  sympathiser  in  secret  in  Lord  Doncaster,  and 
it  is  not  unworthy  of  notice  that,  by  a  special  direction,  he 
bequeathed  to  that  nobleman  a  picture  of  the  Blessed  Virgin 
Mary,  which,  until  the  last  days  of  his  life,  hung  in  his 
private  dining-room  in  the  Deanery  of  St.  Paul's.  In  the 
early  seventeenth  century,  in  England,  such  pictures  were 
appreciated  for  their  subject  more  and  for  their  artistic 
merit  less  than  has  since  become  the  fashion.  Donne  would 
not  have  kept  for  ever  before  his  eyes  in  privacy,  and  have 
passed  on  to  Lord  Doncaster  (then  Earl  of  Carlisle),  as  a 
peculiar  treasure,  a  painting  of  the  Virgin  Mary,  unless 
they  had  both  preserved  a  tender  interest  in  her  cult,  and 
were  equally  out  of  sympathy  with  the  iconoclastic  puritanism 
of  the  age  in  England. 

It  has  been  conjectured  that  to  this  point  of  Donne's 
life  belongs  the  long  exercise  in  couplets,  a  paraphrase  of 
the  five  opening  chapters  of  the  Lamentations  of  Jeremiah. 
He  was  aided  in  its  composition  by  the  commentary  of  the 
German  divine,  Emanuel  TremelJius  (1510-1580). 

In  his  transcendental  ecstasy  of  new  faith  and  sacrifice 
Donne  might  have  slipped  away  wholly  from  worldly  re 
sponsibilities  ;  but  he  was  held  fast  to  earth  by  the  seven 
fold  chain  of  his  young  family,  so  pathetically  appealing  to 
him  for  care  and  protection.  He  was  now  in  comfortable 
conditions,  and  the  love  of  "that  noble  Society"  of  the 
Benchers  of  Lincoln's  Inn  "was  expressed  to  him  many 
ways."  They  found  a  house  for  him  within  their  own 
precincts,  where  "  fair  lodgings  were  set  apart  and  newly 
furnished  for  him  with  all  necessaries."  It  appears  from 
the  records  of  the  Society  that  his  stipend  was  £60  per 
annum,  "with  diet  for  himself  at  the  Bench  table  and 
for  one  servant  with  the  Benchers'  clerks."  His  eldest 
daughter  Constance,  now  in  her  sixteenth  year,  was  doubt 
less  a  not  inefficient  housekeeper,  and  marshalled  the  troop 
of  brothers  and  sisters  like  a  mother.  We  have  evidence 
of  the  peculiar  tenderness  with  which  Donne  regarded  this 


READER    AT    LINCOLN'S    INN          in 

his  first-born  child.  Meanwhile  his  relations  with  the 
Benchers  were  the  most  affectionate  and  cordial  that  can 
be  conceived.  To  what  they  had  already  done  "other 
courtesies  were  also  daily  added ;  indeed,  so  many  and  so 
freely,  as  if  they  meant  their  gratitude  should  exceed  his 
merits ;  and  in  this  love-strife  of  desert  and  liberality  they 
continued  for  the  space  of  two  years,  he  preaching  faith 
fully  and  constantly  to  them,  and  they  liberally  requiting 
him."  Whether  he  was  at  once  admitted  into  the  full 
privileges  of  a  Bencher  or  no  seems  a  little  doubtful ;  the 
language  used  by  the  Society  in  accepting  his  resignation 
in  1622  is  ambiguous;  it  might  mean  that  the  office  of 
Bencher  was  then  conferred  upon  him  in  consideration  of  his 
services,  or  else  that  he  held  it  while  he  was  Preacher.  In 
any  case,  his  relations  with  Lincoln's  Inn  were  as  gratifying 
as  possible. 

Of  Donne's  sermons  preached  at  Lincoln's  Inn  we  are 
not  aware  that  we  possess  more  than  fourteen.  They 
are  sometimes  shorter  than  his  other  discourses,  and  they 
seem,  in  their  easy,  graceful  address,  to  be  intended  for 
an  audience  of  cultivated  men,  who  were  also  men  of 
business. 

We  may  gain  a  pleasant  picture  of  Donne,  from  an 
entirely  fresh  point  of  view,  by  considering  him  as  he  stood 
in  the  pulpit  of  the  Benchers  of  Lincoln's  Inn.  These  were 
the  lawyers  who  had  known  him  from  his  very  boyhood, 
to  whom,  in  their  own  season  of  levity,  he  had  been  "  Jack 
Donne,"  the  Lord  Keeper's  fantastical  and  paradoxical  sec 
retary,  the  poet  about  whose  escapades  so  many  mysterious 
tales  had  floated  about.  As  years  passed  on,  they  had  seen 
him  become  more  sober.  They  had  watched  the  growth  of 
his  intellect,  but  without  being  able  to  perceive,  perhaps, 
that  his  attitude  towards  spiritual  things  had  grown  much 
more  edifying.  It  needed  great  courage  for  Donne  to  stand 
up  and  discourse  of  righteousness  and  judgment  to  come 
before  men  of  the  calibre  of  the  Benchers,  who  knew  the 
world  so  well,  and  knew  the  preacher  too,  and  would  not 
be  deceived  by  any  pretence  or  insincerity.  Donne  took 
this  difficult  charge  with  dignity,  turning  to  his  old  com- 


ii2  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

rades  as  a  "  converted  "  man,  in  the  fulness  of  his  new-born 
spiritual  strength,  conceding  nothing  to  their  purely  intel 
lectual  pretensions,  shrinking  not  a  whit  from  their  ready 
and  outspoken  criticism,  but  setting  before  them,  with  the 
studied  grace  of  delivery  which  their  mental  rank  de 
manded,  the  most  solemn  and  searching  truths  of  God. 
One  is  reminded  of  Antoine  Arnauld,  in  the  next  genera 
tion,  coming  back  to  preach  to  the  lawyers  of  the  University 
of  Paris,  among  whom  his  youth  had  been  passed ;  but 
with  this  difference,  that  there  is  no  evidence  of  Arnauld's 
having  passed  through  those  fires  of  experience  in  which 
the  fierce  and  complex  soul  of  Donne  had  been  forced  to 
purge  away  its  impurities. 

The  Lincoln's  Inn  sermons  do  not  offer  us  many  per 
sonal  touches  which  help  us  in  forming  a  portrait  of  the 
preacher.  An  anthology  of  the  elaborate  illustrations 
fashionable  at  that  time,  and  specially  encouraged  by 
Donne,  might  be  culled  from  them,  and  this  would  be  a 
prominent  example : — 

"When  our  Saviour  forbids  us  to  cast  pearl  before 
swine,  we  understand  ordinarily,  in  that  place,  that  by  pearl 
are  understood  the  Scriptures,  and  when  we  consider  the 
natural  generation  and  production  of  pearl,  that  they  grow 
bigger  and  bigger  by  a  continual  succession  and  devolution 
of  dew  and  other  glutinous  moisture  that  falls  upon  them, 
and  there  condenses  and  hardens,  so  that  a  pearl  is  but  a 
body  of  many  shells,  many  crusts,  many  films,  many  coats 
enwrapped  upon  one  another,  to  this  scripture  which  we 
have  in  hand  doth  that  metaphor  of  pearl  very  properly 
appertain." 

Once  only  was  Donne  persuaded  to  recount  to  the 
Benchers  an  anecdote  of  his  visit  to  Aix-la-Chapelle,  the 
ancient  Aquisgranum,  in  1612  : — 

"  Lying  at  Aix,  at  Aquisgrane,  a  well-known  town  in 
Germany,  and  fixing  there  some  time  for  the  benefit  of 
those  baths,  I  found  myself  in  a  house  which  was  divided 
into  many  families,  and  indeed  so  large  as  it  might  have 
been  a  little  parish,  or  at  least  a  great  limb  of  a  great  one ; 
but  it  was  of  no  parish,  for  when  I  asked  who  lay  over  my 


READER    AT    LINCOLN'S    INN          113 

head,  they  told  me  a  family  of  Anabaptists.  And  who 
over  theirs  ?  Another  family  of  Anabaptists  ;  and  another 
family  of  Anabaptists  over  theirs,  and  the  whole  house  was 
a  nest  of  these  boxes,  several  artificers,  all  Anabaptists.  I 
asked  in  what  room  they  met  for  the  exercise  of  their 
religion ;  I  was  told  they  never  met,  for  though  they  were 
all  Anabaptists,  yet  for  some  collateral  differences,  they 
detested  one  another,  and  though  many  of  them  were  near 
in  blood  and  alliance  to  one  another,  yet  the  son  would 
excommunicate  the  father  in  the  room  above  him,  and  the 
nephew  the  uncle.  As  St.  John  is  said  to  have  quitted 
that  bath  into  which  Cerinthus  the  heretic  came,  so  did  I 
this  house.  I  remember  that  Hezekiah  in  his  sickness 
turned  himself  in  his  bed  to  pray  to  that  wall  that  looked 
to  Jerusalem,  and  that  Daniel  in  Babylon,  when  he  prayed 
in  his  chamber,  opened  those  windows  that  looked  towards 
Jerusalem ;  for  in  the  first  dedication  of  the  temple  at 
Jerusalem  there  is  a  promise  annexed  to  the  prayers  made 
towards  the  temple,  and  I  began  to  think  how  many  roofs, 
how  many  floors  of  separation,  were  made  between  God 
and  my  prayers  in  that  house.  And  such  is  this  multi 
plicity  of  sins  which  we  consider  to  be  got  over  us  as  a 
roof,  as  an  arch ;  many  arches,  many  roofs ;  for  though 
these  habitual  sins  be  so  of  kin,  as  that  they  grow  from 
one  another,  and  yet  for  all  this  kindred  excommunicate 
one  another  (for  covetousness  will  not  be  in  the  same  room 
with  prodigality),  yet  it  is  but  going  up  another  stair,  and 
there  is  the  other  Anabaptist ;  it  is  but  living  a  few  years 
and  then  the  prodigal  becomes  covetous.  All  the  way 
they  separate  us  from  God  as  a  roof,  as  an  arch,  and  then 
an  arch  will  bear  any  weight,  an  habitual  sin,  got  over  our 
head  as  an  arch,  will  stand  any  sickness,  any  dishonour,  any 
judgment  of  God,  and  never  sink  towards  any  humilia 
tion." 

In  1617  there  was  printed  at  Douai  a  fine  edition  of  the 
Vulgate,  in  six  folio  volumes,  with  the  commentary  of  the 
mediaeval  father  Nicholas  de  Lyra,  and  the  gloss  of  Wala- 
fridus  Strabo.  This  handsome  work  seems  to  have  supplied 
Donne  with  his  references,  and,  to  mark  its  intimate  con- 

VOL.   II.  H 


n4  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

nection  with  the  Divinity  Lectureship,  Donne  presented  it 
to  the  Benchers  when,  on  being  made  Dean  of  St.  Paul's, 
he  quitted  their  pulpit.  This  book  is  preserved  as  a 
treasure  in  the  library  of  Lincoln's  Inn,  and  on  the  fly-leaf  of 
its  first  volume  bears  the  following  inscription  in  the  hand 
writing  of  the  donor  : — 

"  In  Bibliotheca  Hospitii  Lincoln  :   London  : 

Celeberrimi  in  Urbo,  in  Orbe, 
Juris  Municipalis  Professorum  Collegii, 

Reponi  voluit  (petit  potius) 

Haec  sex  in  universas  scripturas  volumina, 

Sacras  Theologian  Professor 

Serenissmo  Munificentissmo 

Regi  Jacobo 

a  sacris 
JOHANNES  DONNE, 

Qui  hue,  in  prima  juventute,  ad  perdiscondas  leges,  missus 

Ad  alia,  tarn  studia,  quam  negotia,  et  peregrinationes  deflectens, 

Inter  quae  tamon  nunquam  studia  theologica  intermiserat, 

Post  multos  annos,  agente  Spiritu  Sto,  suadente  Rege, 

Ad  Ordines  Sacros  evectus, 
Munere  suo  frequenter  et  strenue  hoc  loco  concionandi 

Per  quinque  annos  functus, 
Novi  Sacelli  primis  saxis  sua  manu  positis 

Et  ultimis  fero  paratis 

Ad  Decanatum  Ecclesias  Cathedr  :   S.  Pauli,  London  : 
A  Rege  (cui  benedicat  Dominus) 

Migrare  jussus  est 

A°  L°  jEtat.  suas,  et  sui  Jesu 

CID.  ID.  cxxi. 

It  is  supposed  that  the  first  painted  window  on  the 
south  side  of  the  chapel  of  Lincoln's  Inn,  which  is  inscribed, 
"Jo.  Donne,  Dec.  Paul.  F.F.,"  was  put  up  at  his  expense. 
But  we  have  been  led  too  far  on  in  his  history,  and  must 
return  to  the  year  1617. 

Donne  made  his  first  appearance  as  a  preacher  at 
Paul's  Cross  on  the  24th  of  March  1617,  about  ten  days 
after  the  King  had  started  on  a  visit  to  Scotland,  where 
he  proposed  to  introduce  certain  ecclesiastical  changes 


READER    AT    LINCOLN'S    INN          115 

of  no  popular  kind.  James  I.  started  on  the  I5th  of 
March,  but  he  did  not  reach  Edinburgh  until  the  i6th 
of  May,  and,  in  the  meanwhile,  the  English  clergy  had 
amply  sounded  the  note  which  the  King  desired  should 
be  caught  up  by  his  "  barbarous "  kinsfolk  in  the  North. 
Donne's  sermon,  on  the  very  suggestive  text,  "  He  that 
loveth  pureness  of  heart,  for  the  grace  of  his  lips  the  King 
shall  be  his  friend,"  was  almost  a  political  pronouncement, 
and  it  was  listened  to  by  the  most  prominent  men  who 
had  been  left  behind  in  London,  "by  the  Lords  of  the 
Council  and  other  Honourable  Persons,"  such  as  the  Arch 
bishop  of  Canterbury  (Abbot),  the  Lord  Keeper  (Bacon), 
the  Lord  Privy  Seal  (Winwood),  the  Master  of  the  Rolls 
(Sir  Julius  Caesar),  the  Master  of  the  Wardrobe  (Hay),  and 
"  divers  other  great  men."  We  are  told  that  "  Dr.  Donne 
made  them  a  dainty  sermon  on  Proverbs  xxii.  n,  and  was 
exceedingly  liked  generally,  the  rather  that  he  did  Queen 
Elizabeth  right,  and  held  himself  close  to  the  text  without 
flattering  the  time  too  much." 

This  sermon  contains  a  warm  exhortation  to  reprove 
and  rebuke  those  false  puritans,  Catharists  and  Cathari, 
who  indulge  in  a  kind  of  affectation  of  singularity.  In 
this  he  has  been  thought  to  point,  almost  without  disguise, 
at  the  Presbyterians,  who  were  involved  in  the  reforming 
anger  of  James  I.  precisely  because  they  persisted  in  "  quar 
relling  with  men,  with  states,  with  churches,  and  attempting 
a  purifying  of  sacraments  and  ceremonies,  doctrine  and  dis 
cipline,  according  to  their  own  fancy."  But  it  is  perhaps 
more  likely  that  this  sermon  was  connected  with  Laud's 
action  against  the  Puritans,  set  on  by  the  King.  Laud  had 
opened  this  campaign  at  Gloucester  towards  the  close  of 
1616.  The  expression  "quarrelling  with  states"  seems  to 
refer,  therefore,  to  the  anti-Spanish  feeling  of  the  English 
Puritans,  and  does  not  appear  to  be  applicable  to  any 
movement  then  proceeding  in  Scotland.  Donne  soon  slips 
away  from  what  was  demanded  by  the  exigencies  of  the 
occasion  to  a  singularly  dignified  and  impassioned  appeal 
for  purity  and  cleanness  of  heart,  adorned  with  more 
than  usual  of  his  beauty  of  illustration.  The  length 


n6  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

of  Jacobean  discourses  is  constantly  surprising  us ;  but  this 
famous  first  sermon  at  Paul's  Cross  is  extremely  long,  even 
when  judged  by  a  contemporary  standard.  It  will  be  found 
that  to  deliver  it  in  an  ordinary  tone  of  voice  will  occupy 
not  less  than  two  hours  and  forty  minutes.  The  "  Lords 
of  the  Council  and  other  Honourable  Persons,"  who 
listened  to  it,  must  have  possessed  extraordinary  powers 
of  endurance,  or  must  have  indulged  in  slumber  before 
it  was  closed.  So  unduly  vast,  indeed,  is  this  celebrated 
sermon,  that  we  are  tempted  to  believe  that  Donne 
did  not  deliver  it  all,  but  selected  portions  of  it  for  his 
audience,  sending  the  entire  MS.  to  the  King  for  his  ap 
proval.  In  spite  of  its  timeliness,  this  sermon  was  not 
published  during  the  lifetime  of  Donne. 

The  personal  history  of  Donne  is  very  dim  to  us  during 
these  early  years  of  his  popularity  as  a  preacher.  The 
composition  of  so  many  sermons,  so  learned  in  contents, 
so  extended  in  form,  must  have  absorbed  his  entire  leisure ; 
we  possess  very  little  of  his  private  correspondence  from 
this  time.  The  following  letter  I  am  inclined  to  attribute 
to  the  year  1617,  notwithstanding  the  style  in  which  it 
appears  in  the  Letters  of  1651.  It  is  there  addressed  to 
Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  but  the  references  to  Polesworth  show 
that  it  must  have  been  written  to  Sir  Henry  Goodyer.  "  My 
service  at  Lincoln's  Inn  being  ended  for  next  term,"  shows 
that  the  letter  is  subsequent  in  date  to  1616.  The  edition 
of  1651  dates  it,  however,  "  Drury  House  the  22nd  of 
December  1607,"  which  must  be  wholly  wrong.  My  own 
belief  is  that  John  Donne,  junior,  misread  "1617"  for 
"  1607,"  and  knowing  that  his  father  resided  at  Drury 
House  in  the  latter  year,  he  added  that  address  on  his  own 
authority.  Lucy  Goodyer,  the  daughter  who  is  mentioned 
as  having  sent  word  of  Sir  Henry's  health,  was  married, 
still  very  young,  to  Sir  Francis  Nethersole  in  1619,  and 
would  have  been  an  infant  in  1607.  We  may  then,  I 
think,  safely  believe  that  this  pleasant  letter  of  delicate 
and  sensitive  friendship  was  written  on  the  22nd  of  Decem 
ber  1617. 


READER    AT    LINCOLN'S    INN          117 

[To  Sir  HENRY  GOODYER.*] 

"  SIR, — Because  in  your  last  letter  I  have  an  invitation 
to  come  to  you,  though  I  never  thought  myself  so  fallen 
from  my  interest,  which,  by  your  favour,  I  prescribe  in,  in 
you,  and  therefore  when  in  the  spring  I  hoped  to  have 
strength  enough  to  come  into  those  parts,  upon  another 
occasion,  I  always  resolved  to  put  myself  into  your  presence 
too,  yet  now  I  ask  you  more  particularly  how  you  dispose 
of  yourself;  for  though  I  have  heard  that  you  purpose  a 
journey  to  the  Bath,  and  from  thence  hither,  yet  I  can 
hope,  that  my  service  at  Lincoln's  Inn  being  ended  for  next 
term,  I  may  have  intermission  enough  to  wait  upon  you  at 
Polesworth,  before  the  season  call  you  to  Bath. 

"  I  was  no  easy  apprehender  of  the  fear  of  your  depart 
ing  from  us ;  neither  am  I  easy  in  the  hope  of  seeing  you 
entirely  over-suddenly.  God  loves  your  soul,  if  He  be  loth 
to  let  it  go  inch-meal,  and  not  by  swallowings;  and  He 
loves  it  too,  if  He  build  it  up  again  stone  after  stone ;  His 
will  is  not  done  except  His  way  and  His  leisure  be  observed. 
In  my  particular,  I  am  sorry  if  my  ingenuity  and  candour 
in  delivering  myself  in  those  points,  of  which  you  speak 
to  me,  have  defaced  those  impressions  which  were  in  you 
before ;  if  my  freedom  have  occasioned  your  captivity,  I 
am  miserably  sorry.  I  went  unprofitably  and  improvidently 
to  the  utmost  end  of  truth,  because  I  would  go  as  far  as  I 
could  to  meet  peace,  if  my  going  so  far  in  declaring  myself 
brought  you  where  you  could  not  stop.  But  I  was  as  con 
fident  in  your  strength  as  in  mine  own,  so  am  I  still  in 
Him,  who  strengthens  all  our  infirmities,  and  will,  I  doubt 
not,  bring  you  and  me  together  in  all  those  particulars,  so 
as  we  shall  not  part  in  this  world  nor  the  next. 

"  Sir,  your  own  soul  cannot  be  more  zealous  of  your 
peace  than  I  am ;  and  God,  who  loves  that  zeal  in  me,  will 
not  suffer  you  to  suspect  it.  I  am  surprised  with  a  neces 
sity  of  writing  now  in  a  minute ;  for  I  sent  to  Bedford 
House  to  inform  myself  of  means  to  write,  and  your 
daughter  sent  me  word  of  a  present  messenger,  and  there- 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


n8  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

fore  the  rest  of  this  I  shall  make  up  in  my  prayers  to  our 
blessed  Saviour,  for  all  happinesses  to  you. 

"  Your  poor  servant  in  Christ  Jesus, 

"J.  DONNE." 

\_December  22,  1617.] 

In  1618,  a  Jesuit  of  Arras,  Angelinus  Gazaeus,  pub 
lished  at  Douai  a  tiny  volume  of  Latin  verse,  Pia  Hilaria 
Variaque  Carmina^  which  fell  into  Donne's  hands.  Some 
thing  in  one  of  these  little  pieces,  "Vota  amico  facta," 
struck  Donne  so  forcibly  that  he  translated  or  paraphrased 
it  thus — 

"  God  grant  thee  thine  own  wish,  and  grant  thee  mine, 
Thou  who  dost,  best  friend,  in  best  things  outshine ; 
May  thy  soul,  ever  cheerful,  ne'er  know  cares, 
Nor  thy  life,  ever  lively,  know  grey  hairs, 
Nor  thy  hand,  ever  open,  know  base  holds, 
Nor  thy  purse,  ever  plump,  know  pleats,  or  folds, 
Nor  thy  tongue,  ever  true,  know  a  false  thing, 
Nor  thy  word,  ever  mild,  know  quarrelling, 
Nor  thy  works,  ever  equal,  know  disguise, 
Nor  thy  fame,  ever  pure,  know  contumelies, 
Nor  thy  prayers  know  low  objects,  still  divine ; 
God  grant  thee  thine  own  wish,  and  grant  thee  mine." 

Though  these  verses  were  founded  on  the  expression  of 
another  man,  they  are  eminently  characteristic  of  Donne 
himself,  and  they  are  instinct  with  grace  and  sincerity. 

In  the  eighteenth  of  his  Holy  Sonnets  Donne  had  spoken 
of  that  Church  of  Christ  which, 

"  robb'd  and  lorn, 
Laments  and  mourns  in  Germany. " 

He  was  now  to  have  an  opportunity  of  studying  her 
features.  In  1617  the  attention  of  Europe  had  been 
riveted  on  the  dangerous  condition  of  Protestant  Bohemia, 
where  the  Emperor  Matthias,  an  elderly  and  childless  man, 
was  king,  and  where  the  Bohemian  Estates  had  just 
accepted  as  their  future  monarch  an  intolerant  Catholic, 
the  Emperor's  cousin,  Ferdinand  of  Styria,  a  prince  who 
was  entirely  in  the  hands  of  the  Jesuits.  Into  the  in- 


READER    AT    LINCOLN'S    INN          119 

cidents  of  the  revolution  which,  in  consequence,  broke 
out  in  Bohemia  in  1618,  it  is  impossible  for  us  to 
go  here ;  enough  to  say  that  the  sudden  importance 
gained  by  the  Elector  Palatine,  Frederick  V.,  and  the 
danger  to  religious  liberty  threatened  in  Bohemia  itself, 
gave  an  extreme  interest  to  the  whole  movement  in  English 
eyes.  A  sort  of  apprehension  passed  over  Europe ;  the 
horrors  of  the  Thirty  Years'  War  were  dimly  felt  ap 
proaching.  Spain  was  almost  certain  to  be  drawn  into 
the  imbroglio,  and  if  Spain,  then  probably  England  also. 
James  I.,  though  still  personally  inclined  to  Spain,  was 
beginning  to  see  that  he  would  be  obliged  to  favour 
the  Bohemians  in  their  struggle  to  maintain  their 
religious  independence,  perhaps  with  an  inadequate  sense 
of  the  remoteness  of  the  sphere  of  action  in  which  he 
desired  to  make  his  influence  felt. 

He  was  encouraged,  however,  to  estimate  that  influence 
highly,  for  all  parties  competed  for  his  help.  In  January 
1619  Baron  Christopher  Dohna  arrived  with  confidential 
messages  from  the  Elector  Palatine,  and  especially  to  break 
to  the  King  of  England  the  news  that  the  Bohemians  had 
determined  to  reject  the  candidature  of  Ferdinand  of 
Styria,  and,  on  the  death  of  Matthias,  to  elect  the  Palatine 
Frederick  as  their  king.  This  news  was  very  distasteful 
to  James,  who  distrusted  his  son-in-law's  judgment  and 
ability,  and  fancied  himself  drawn  by  this  relationship  into 
very  dangerous  combinations.  England  was  at  that  moment 
within  an  ace  of  war  with  Spain.  By  the  close  of  the  month 
the  King  had  seen  that  it  was  all-important  for  him  to 
know  at  first-hand  what  was  going  on  in  Bohemia.  He 
determined  to  send  Sir  Henry  Wotton  from  Venice  to 
Prague,  but  presently  cancelled  the  appointment  in  favour 
of  Viscount  Doncaster.  As  Mr.  Samuel  R.  Gardiner,  whose 
investigations  into  the  whole  question  of  the  Bohemian 
Revolution  have  made  him  the  first  authority  on  the 
subject,  has  said  : — 

"The  selection  of  the  man  who,  as  Lord  Hay,  had 
unwillingly  broken  ofF  the  French  treaty,  and  whose  sym 
pathies  as  a  Scotchman  were  all  on  the  side  of  France,  was 


120  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 


nevertheless  spoken  of  as  highly  satisfactory  by  the  agents 
of  the  Spanish  Government.  The  explanation  probably  is 
that  Doncaster,  who  was  apt  to  echo  the  sentiments  of 
those  with  whom  he  lived,  had  for  the  time  taken  his  cue 
from  James  and  Buckingham.  It  was  his  opinion,  he  said, 
that  Gondomar  had  gained  more  for  his  master  in  England 
by  his  courtesy  than  the  most  famous  captain  could  have 
gained  by  his  sword." 

The  events  attending  Doncaster' s  mission  are  interest 
ing  to  us  here  only  in  so  far  as  they  affected  Donne.  His 
health  had  become  more  and  more  unsatisfactory,  and  that 
settled  melancholy,  which  filled  the  Benchers  of  Lincoln's 
Inn  with  anxiety,  doubtless  was  perceived  by  the  King  him 
self.  The  suggestion  does  not  seem  to  have  come  from 
Doncaster,  but  from  his  royal  master,  that  Donne  should 
accompany  the  Bohemian  embassy  as  chaplain ;  it  would 
be,  however,  warmly  welcomed  by  Doncaster,  whose  affec 
tion  for  Donne  and  delight  in  his  company  and  conversation 
were  unfeigned.  The  appointment  was  soon  generally 
known ;  on  the  3Oth  of  March  Dr.  Joseph  Hall  writes  to 
Dr.  Samuel  Ward  at  Dortrecht :  "  My  Lord  of  Doncaster 
will  shortly  see  you  in  his  way  to  Germany,  whither  he 
goes  ambassador ;  Dr.  Dun  goes  his  chaplain."  It  was  not 
correct,  however,  to  say  that  Donne  travelled  as  Viscount 
Doncaster' s  chaplain ;  on  the  contrary,  the  King  further 
graced  the  embassy,  and  added  to  it  a  special  dignity,  by 
directing  his  own  chaplain  to  accompany  it.  The  position 
seems  from  the  first  to  have  been  a  sinecure,  and  to  have 
been  intended  to  give  Donne  an  opportunity  of  resting  his 
overworked  brain,  of  recovering  nervous  strength,  and  of 
relaxing  the  extreme  tension  of  his  spirits  with  the  enter 
tainment  of  travel  without  responsibility  or  expense.  In 
this  spirit  Donne  accepted  the  charge  ;  he  warned  his  friends 
that  he  might  not  write  home  much,  and,  in  fact,  two  letters 
from  abroad  are  all  that  we  possess.  He  was  to  "  assist " 
Doncaster  with  his  "  conversation  and  discourse,"  but 
nothing  was  said,  and  certainly  nothing  appears  to  have 
been  done,  in  the  direction  of  secretarial  work. 

Before  leaving  England  Donne  put  his  house  in  order. 


READER    AT    LINCOLN'S    INN          121 

It  is  evident  that  he  was  far  from  confident  of  bringing  his 
weary  bones  back  to  his  native  country.  The  letters  which 
he  wrote  to  various  friends  on  leaving  them  are  touching 
in  the  extreme.  He  received  his  appointment  in  the  be 
ginning  of  March  1619.  It  may  be  well  to  say  that  Noel 
Caron,  Seigneur  of  Schonewal,  was  the  Dutch  minister  in 
England,  and  that  Richard  Martin  had  died  on  the  3ist 
of  October  1618,  only  one  month  after  having  been  made 
Recorder  of  the  City  of  London.  It  would  appear  from 
this  letter  that  Sir  Henry  Goodyer  had  been  asked  to 
induce  Donne  to  write  an  elegy  on  Martin,  from  whom 
the  poet  had  received  favours,  more  or  less  substantial, 
in  the  old  Mitcham  days.  The  present  letter  shows  that 
Donne  acknowledged  the  claim  on  his  muse,  but  found 
it  impossible  to  be  inspired.  He  was,  indeed,  in  an 
"infirm  and  valetudinary"  state,  and  of  this  there  were 
many  "  visible  signs."  He  believed  himself  to  be  in  a 
consumption,  and  his  friends  feared  the  same,  "his 
troubled  mind,  with  the  help  of  his  uninterrupted 
studies,  hastening  the  decays  of  his  weak  body." 

"  To  Sir  H[ENRY]  GOODYER  at  Polesworth.1 

"SiR, — It  is  true  that  Mr.  Gerrard  told  you,  I  had  that 
commandment  from  the  King  signified  to  me  by  my  Lord 
and  am  still  under  it,  and  we  are  within  fourteen  days  of 
our  time  for  going.  I  leave  a  scattered  flock  of  wretched 
children,  and  I  carry  an  infirm  and  valetudinary  body,  and 
I  go  into  the  mouth  of  such  adversaries  as  I  cannot  blame 
for  hating  me,  the  Jesuits,  and  yet  I  go.  Though  this  be 
no  service  to  my  Lord,  yet  I  shall  never  come  nearer  doing 
him  a  service,  nor  do  anything  liker  a  service  than  this. 

"Yesterday  we  had  news  by  Sir  Noel  Caron  from  Paris, 
that  the  Duke  of  Savoy  was  elected  King  of  Bohemia, 
which  would  cut  off  a  great  part  of  the  occasion  of  our 
going ;  but  it  is  not  much  credible  in  itself,  nor  at  all 
believed  here,  because  it  is  not  signified  from  Savoy,  nor 
Heidelberg.  Since  Mr.  Gerrard  continues  your  gazetteer, 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


122  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

I  need  tell  you  nothing  of  the  Queen  of  France's  estate.  For 
your  commandment  in  memory  of  Mr.  Martin,  I  should  not 
have  sat  so  many  processes,  if  I  could  incline  my  thoughts 
that  way.  It  is  not  laziness,  it  is  not  gravity,  nor  coldness 
towards  his  memory  or  your  service ;  for  I  have  thought 
of  it  oftener  and  longer  than  I  was  wont  to  do  in  such 
things,  and  nothing  is  done.  Your  last  packet,  in  which 
your  daughter  and  I  were  joint-commissioners,  was  brought 
to  me,  because  she  was  at  Hampton  with  the  Queen's 
body  ;  but  I  sent  her  part  to  her,  and  my  Lady  Uvedale's  to 
her,  who  presents  her  service  to  you  by  me  now,  and  says 
she  will  write  next  week,  and  so  will  I  too,  by  God's  grace. 
You  forget  me  absolutely  and  entirely  whensoever  you 
forget  me  to  that  noble  Countess.  God  bless  you  in  all, 
Amen. 

"Your  true  servant  in  Jesus  Christ, 

"J.  DONNE. 

"9/£  March  [1619]." 

There  is  reason  to  suppose  that  Buckingham  favoured 
Doncaster's  appointment  to  an  embassy  which  was  highly 
attractive  to  the  gorgeous  and  ostentatious  taste  of  the 
latter.  Through  March  the  ambassador  made  his  prepara 
tions,  hoping  to  start  before  that  month  was  over.  The 
death  of  the  Queen  (March  2)  was  not  important,  but  the 
grave  illness  of  the  King  (at  the  end  of  the  month  James  I. 
was  thought  to  be  dying)  was  a  serious  cause  of  delay. 
The  ambassador's  departure  was  postponed,  moreover,  by 
reports  which  reached  England  of  the  failing  health  of 
the  Emperor  Matthias,  whose  death  would  throw  open 
the  doors  behind  which  the  angry  passions  of  Germany 
and  Bohemia  were  growling.  It  was  probably  in  April 
1619  that  Donne  sent  the  following  letter  to  the  Countess 
of  Montgomery.1 

She  belonged  to  the  Herbert  set  of  Donne's  friends. 

1  This  letter  was  printed,  without  a  date,  in  the  Letters  of  1651.  The  late  Mr. 
O'Flahertie  met  with  the  original,  and  the  text  as  here  given  has  many  corrections 
supplied  by  his  MS.  copy.  The  sermon  referred  to  was  on  St.  Matthew  xxi.  44,  and 
was  probably  identical  with  the  discourse  printed,  as  preached  on  the  2 1st  February 
1623,  in  the  folio  of  1649. 


THE    GERMAN    TOUR  123 

She  was  Susan,  daughter  of  Edward  Vere,  seventeenth  Earl 
of  Oxford,  and  she  had  married,  on  the  4th  of  January 
1605,  Sir  Philip  Herbert,  who  had  shortly  afterwards  been 
created  Earl  of  Montgomery.  She  was  the  mother  of  seven 
sons  and  three  daughters. 

"  'To  the  Right  Honourable  the  Countess  of  MONTGOMERY. 

"MADAM, — Of  my  ability  to  do  your  Ladyship  service, 
anything  spoken  may  be  an  emblem  good  enough ;  for  as 
a  word  vanisheth,  so  doth  any  power  in  me  to  serve  you ; 
things  that  are  written  are  fitter  testimonies,  because  they 
remain  and  are  permanent :  in  writing  this  sermon,  which 
your  Ladyship  was  pleased  to  hear  before,  I  confess  I 
satisfy  an  ambition  of  mine  own,  but  it  is  the  ambition  of 
obeying  your  commandment,  not  only  an  ambition  of  leav 
ing  my  name  in  your  memory  or  in  your  cabinet ;  and  yet, 
since  I  am  going  out  of  the  kingdom  (and  perchance  out 
of  the  world),  when  God  shall  have  given  my  soul  a  place 
in  heaven,  it  shall  the  less  diminish  your  Ladyship  if  my 
poor  name  be  preserved  about  you.  I  know  what  dead 
carcasses  things  written  are  in  respect  of  things  spoken.  But 
in  things  of  this  kind,  that  soul  that  inanimates  them  never 
departs  1  from  them  :  The  Spirit  of  God  that  dictates  them 
in  the  speaker  or  writer,  and  is  present  in  his  tongue  or 
hand,  meets  himself  again  (as  we  meet  ourselves  in  a  glass)  in 
the  eyes  and  ears  and  hearts  of  the  hearers  and  readers ;  and 
that  spirit,  which  is  ever  the  same  to  an  equal  devotion, 
makes  a  writing  and  speaking  equal  means  to  edification. 
In  one  circumstance,  my  preaching  and  my  writing  this 
sermon  is  too  equal :  that  that  your  Ladyship  heard  in  a 
hoarse  voice  then,  you  read  in  a  coarse  hand  now ;  but  in 
thankfulness  I  shall  lift  up  my  hands  as  clean  as  my  infirmi 
ties  can  keep  them,  and  a  voice  as  clear  as  His  spirit  shall  be 
pleased  to  tune  in  my  prayers  for  your  Ladyship  in  all  places 
of  the  world,  which  shall  either  sustain  or  bury — Your  Lady 
ship's  humble  servant  in  Christ  Jesus,  J.  D." 

1  These  words  exemplify  the  danger  of  trusting  (as,  unhappily,  we  too  often  are 
obliged  to  do)  to  the  text  of  1651  ;  they  are  there  printed  receives  debts! 


i24  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

With  that  highly  characteristic  desire  to  preserve  all  his 
finished  writings,  although  he  would  not  be  persuaded  to 
publish  them,  Donne  circulated  among  his  most  intimate 
friends  copies  both  of  his  Poems  and  of  his  still  more 
confidential  Biathanatos.  It  was  at  this  time,  I  believe,  that 
several  copies  of  his  works  in  verse,  and  particularly  that 
which  is  known  as  the  Westmoreland  MS.,  were  made. 
The  last-mentioned  was  prepared  for  Rowland  Woodward ; 
the  following  letter  speaks  of  one  promised  to  Sir  Robert 
Ker.  The  highly  important  expressions  with  regard  to 
the  treatise  of  Self-Homicide  speak  for  themselves. 


"70  Sir  ROBERT  KER  with  my  book  '  Biathanatos '  at  my 
going  into  Germany.1 

"  SIR, — I  had  need  do  somewhat  towards  you  above  my 
promises ;  how  weak  are  my  performances  when  even  my 
promises  are  defective  ?  I  cannot  promise,  no,  not  in  mine 
own  hopes,  equally  to  your  merit  towards  me.  But  besides 
the  poems,  of  which  you  took  a  promise,  I  send  you  another 
book  to  which  there  belongs  this  history.  It  was  written 
by  me  many  years  since,  and  because  it  is  upon  a  misinter- 
pretable  subject,  I  have  always  gone  so  near  suppressing  it, 
as  that  it  is  only  not  burnt ;  no  hand  hath  passed  upon  it 
to  copy  it,  nor  many  eyes  to  read  it;  only  to  some  par 
ticular  friends  in  both  universities,  then  when  I  writ  it,  I 
did  communicate  it.  And  I  remember  I  had  this  answer, 
that  certainly  there  was  a  false  thread  in  it,  but  not  easily 
found.  Keep  it,  I  pray,  with  the  same  jealousy ;  let  any 
that  your  discretion  admits  to  the  sight  of  it  know  the  date 
of  it,  and  that  it  is  a  book  written  by  Jack  Donne,  and  not 
by  Dr.  Donne.  Reserve  it  for  me  if  I  live,  and  if  I  die  I 
only  forbid  it  the  press  and  the  fire ;  publish  it  not,  but 
yet  burn  it  not,  and  between  those  do  what  you  will  with 
it.  Love  me  still  thus  far  for  your  own  sake,  that  when 
you  withdraw  your  love  from  me  you  will  find  so  many  un- 
worthinesses  in  me  as  you  grow  ashamed  of  having  had  so 

1  Letters  of  1651. 


THE    GERMAN   TOUR 


125 


long,  and  so  much,  such  a  thing  as — Your  poor  servant  in 
Christ  Jesus, 

"  J.DONNE." 

[April  1619.] 


"  To  the  Noblest  Knight  Sir  EDWARD  HERBERT.1 

"  SIR, — I  make  account  that  this  book  hath  enough  per 
formed  that  which  it  undertook,  both  by  argument  and 
example.  It  shall  therefore  the  less  need  to  be  itself  another 
example  of  the  doctrine.  It  shall  not  therefore  kill  itself, 
that  is,  not  bury  itself,  for,  if  it  should  do  so,  those  reasons 
by  which  that  act  should  be  defended  or  excused  were  also 
lost  with  it.  Since  it  is  content  to  live  it  cannot  choose  a 
wholesomer  air  than  your  library,  where  authors  of  all  com 
plexions  are  preserved.  If  any  of  them  grudge  this  book  a 
room,  and  suspect  it  of  new  or  dangerous  doctrine,  you  who 
know  us  all  can  best  moderate.  To  those  reasons  which  I 
know  your  love  to  me  will  make  in  my  favour  and  dis 
charge,  you  may  add  this,  that  though  this  doctrine  hath 
not  been  taught  nor  defended  by  writers,  yet  they,  most  of 
any  sort  of  men  in  the  world,  have  practised  it. — Your  very 
true  and  earnest  friend  and  servant  and  lover, 

"J.  DONNE." 

\_Apnl  1619.] 

The  Emperor  Matthias  died  on  the  2Oth  of  March, 
and  again  the  embassy  to  the  German  States  was  delayed. 
James  I.,  ever  doubtful  of  his  proper  policy,  desired  to  see 
what  effect  this  event  would  have  in  Bohemia.  It  was 
feared  at  Heidelberg  that  the  King  of  England  was  losing 
interest  in  the  whole  affair,  and  Von  Plessen,  one  of  the 
Elector's  councillors,  was  sent  post-haste  to  London.  The 
following  letter,  begun  on  the  1st  of  April  and  despatched 
on  the  4th,  reflects  the  uncertainty  of  the  writer  as  to  their 
date  of  departure.  Whether  it  was,  indeed,  written  to  Sir 
Thomas  Lucy  I  greatly  doubt ;  the  tone  is  more  that  of  a 
letter  to  Sir  Henry  Goodyer.  No  verse-letter,  which  can 

1  Letters  of  1651,  but  collated  with  the  original  MS.  in  the  Bodleian. 


i26  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

be  identified  with  that  which  is  here  announced,  exists  ad 
dressed  to  either  friend ;  Donne  was  indeed  abandoning 
poetry  when  he  could  speak  of  "  descending  to  express  him 
self  in  verse."  The  "  noblest  Countess  "  is  probably  Lady 
Bedford,  and  the  passages  refers  to  her  ancient  and  intimate 
friendship  with  the  charming  Electress  Elizabeth. 

"  To  Sir  THOMAS  Lucv.1 

"  SIR, — This  ist  of  April  I  received  yours  of  2  ist  March, 
which,  being  two  days  after  the  ordinary  Smithfield  day,  I 
could  do  no  more  but  seal  this  letter  to  be  sent  to  you  next 
Tuesday,  because  I  foresee  that  I  shall  not  then  be  in  town. 
Whatsoever  I  should  write  now  of  any  passages  of  these 
days  would  lose  the  verdure  before  the  letter  came  to  you, 
only  give  me  leave  to  tell  you  that  I  need  none  of  those 
excuses,  which  you  have  made  to  yourself  in  my  behalf,  for 
my  not  writing.  For  your  son-in-law  came  to  me  so  near 
the  time  of  his  going  away,  as  it  had  been  impossible  to 
have  recovered  him  with  a  letter  at  so  far  a  distance  as  he 
was  lodged.  And  my  Lord  Hunt[ingdon]'s  messenger  re 
ceived  that  answer,  which,  I  hope,  before  this  time,  you 
know  to  be  true,  that  I  had  sent  the  day  before  by  the 
infallible  carrier  of  Smithfield. 

"  The  Emperor's  death  may  somewhat  shorten  our  way ; 
for  I  discern  now  no  reason  of  going  to  Vienna,  but  I 
believe  it  will  extend  our  business,  so  that  I  promise  myself 
no  speedier  return  by  that.  If  I  write  no  letters  into 
England  out  of  these  parts,  I  cannot  be  without  your 
pardon  if  I  write  not  to  you ;  but  if  I  write  to  any  and 
leave  you  out,  lay  all  the  faults  which  you  have  ever 
pardoned  in  me  to  my  charge  again.  I  foresee  some  reasons 
which  may  make  me  forbear,  but  no  slackness  of  mine  own 
shall. 

"  Sir,  if  I  have  no  more  the  commodity  of  writing  to 
you  here,  in  England  (as  we  may  be  gone  before  next 
Tuesday),  I  tell  you,  in  this  departing  from  you,  with  the 
same  truth,  and  earnestness  as  I  would  be  believed  to  speak 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


THE    GERMAN   TOUR  127 

in  my  last  departing  and  transmigration  from  the  whole 
world,  that  I  leave  not  behind  me  a  heart  better  affected 
to  you,  nor  more  devoted  to  your  service,  than  I  carry  with 
me.  Almighty  God  bless  you  with  such  a  reparation  in 
your  health,  such  an  establishment  in  your  estate,  such 
a  comfort  in  your  children,  such  a  peace  in  your  conscience, 
and  such  a  true  cheerfulness  in  your  heart,  as  may  be  strong 
seals  to  you  of  His  eternal  gracious  purpose  upon  you. 

"This  morning  I  spend  in  surveying  and  emptying  my 
cabinet  of  letters,  and,  at  the  top  of  all,  I  light  upon  this 
letter  lately  received,  which  I  was  loth  to  bury.  I  choose 
to  send  it  you,  to  mine  own  condemnation ;  because  a  man 
so  busy  as  he  is,  descending  to  this  expressing  of  himself 
in  verse,  I  am  inexcusable  towards  you  for  disobeying  a 
commandment  of  yours  of  that  kind ;  but  I  rely  upon  the 
general,  that  I  am  sure  you  are  sure  that  I  never  refuse 
anything  for  laziness  nor  morosity,  and  therefore  make 
some  other  excuse  for  me. 

"You  have  been  so  long  used  to  my  hand,  that  I  stand 
not  to  excuse  the  hasty  raggedness  of  this  letter.  The 
very  illness  of  the  writing  is  a  good  argument  that  I  forced 
a  time,  in  the  fulness  of  business,  to  kiss  your  hand  and  to 
present  my  thanks  as  for  all  your  favours  and  benefits,  so, 
principally,  for  keeping  me  alive  in  the  memory  of  the 
noblest  Countess,  whose  commandment,  if  it  had  been  her 
Ladyship's  pleasure  to  have  anything  said  or  done  in  her 
service  at  Heidelberg,  I  should  have  been  glad  to  have 
received.  Sir,  God  bless  you,  and  spiritu  principals  confirmet 
te  ^  and 

"  Your  very  true  and  affectionate 

servant  in  Christ  Jesus, 

"J.  DONNE. 

"4//&  April  1619." 

At  length  Sir  Isaac:  Wake,  who  was  to  precede 
Doncaster,  started  on  the  2yth  of  April.  The  States 
General  of  Holland  announced,  through  Sir  Dudley  Carle- 
ton,  that  preparations  were  made  to  receive  the  Viscount 

1  The  reference  is  to  the  Vulgate,  Psalm  1,  14. 


128  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

and  his  train  with  all  proper  dignity  at  The  Hague.  They 
got  so  far  as  Canterbury ;  they  got  so  far  as  Dover ;  and 
still  they  were  not  permitted  to  leave.  During  this  nervous 
period  of  anticipation,  Donne  indited  a  very  fine  "  Hymn 
to  Christ,"  which  ranks  among  the  most  personal  of  his 
sacred  poems  : — 

«« In  what  torn  ship  soever  I  embark, 
That  ship  shall  be  the  emblem  of  Thy  ark  ; 
What  sea  soever  swallow  me,  that  flood 
Shall  be  to  me  an  emblem  of  Thy  blood  ; 
Though  Thou  with  clouds  of  anger  do  disguise 
Thy  face,  yet  through  that  mask  I  know  those  eyes, 
Which,  tho'  they  turn  away  sometimes,  yet  never  will  despise. 

I  sacrifice  this  island  unto  Thee, 
And  all  whom  I  love  there,  and  who  love  me ; 
When  I  have  put  our  seas  'twixt  them  and  me, 
Put  Thou  Thy  seas  betwixt  my  sins  and  Thee. 
As  the  tree's  sap  doth  seek  the  root  below 
In  winter,  in  my  winter  now  I  go 
Where  none  but  the  Eternal  Root  of  true  love,  I  may  know. 

Nor  Thou,  nor  Thy  religion  dost  control 
The  amorousness  of  an  harmonious  soul ; 
But  Thou  would  have  that  love  Thyself;  as  Thou 
Art  jealous,  Lord,  so  I  am  jealous  now ; 
Thou  lov'st  not,  till  from  loving  more  Thou  free 
My  soul ;  whoever  gives,  takes  liberty ; 
Oh  !  if  Thou  car'st  not  whom  I  love,  alas  !  Thou  lov'st  not  me. 

Seal  then  this  bill  of  my  divorce  to  all 
On  whom  those  fainter  beams  of  love  did  fall ; 
Marry  those  loves,  which  in  youth  scattered  be 
On  fame,  wit,  hopes — false  mistresses — to  Thee. 
Churches  are  best  for  prayer  that  have  least  light ; 
To  see  God  only,  I  go  out  of  sight ; 
And,  to  scape  stormy  days,  I  choose  an  everlasting  night." 

At  last,  on  the  I2th  of  May  1619,  surely  with  a  sigh  of 
infinite  relief,  Doncaster  started  with  a  magnificent  suite  of 
attendants  from  Dover,  and  arrived  next  day  at  Calais.  Here 
the  Ambassador  and  his  personal  suite  were  received  by  the 
Governor  with  great  respect,  and  were  even  admitted  to 
view  the  Citadel,  which  it  was  unusual  to  permit  strangers,  of 


THE    GERMAN    TOUR  129 

whatever  quality,  to  see.  They  stayed  a  few  hours  at 
Calais  to  rest,  and  then  passed  on  to  Gravelines,  intending, 
by  easy  stages  along  the  coast,  to  arrive  at  The  Hague.  At 
Antwerp,  however,  something  occurred  to  change  Don- 
caster's  plans,  and,  with  lavish  excuses  to  Sir  Dudley 
Carleton,  and  promises  to  pay  their  respects  to  the  States 
on  their  return,  they  proceeded  to  Brussels. 

At  this  point  the  real  excitement  of  the  journey  began, 
and  we  cannot  doubt  that  the  experiences  of  the  next  eight 
months  were  of  singular  benefit  to  Donne's  physical  and 
mental  health.  We  hear  no  more,  for  the  time,  of  his 
premonitions  of  fast-approaching  death,  no  more  of  his 
weariness  and  exhaustion  of  brain  and  hand.  To  a  man  of 
Donne's  extremely  neurotic  temperament,  undermined  by 
actual  disease,  or  tendency  to  disease,  of  the  nature,  appar 
ently,  of  what  we  know  as  gastritis — with  its  collapses, 
agonies  of  pain,  and  consequent  intense  dejection,  brought 
on  by  anxiety  or  worry  more  than  by  material  causes — to 
such  a  man  nothing  could  be  more  salutary  than  a  journey 
conducted  without  haste,  through  towns  of  a  romantic 
novelty,  in  conditions  combining  the  maximum  of  luxury 
with  the  minimum  of  responsibility.  Donne,  there  can  be 
no  doubt,  enjoyed  himself  as  he  had  ceased  to  suppose  it 
possible  that  he  could  ever  do  again.  His  duties  were  to 
drive,  often  no  doubt  in  close  propinquity  to  his  ever- 
delightful  friend,  the  gorgeous  Ambassador,  through  varie 
gated  crowds  in  a  particularly  easy  coach  ;  to  discuss  with 
his  patron,  over  a  glass  of  Rhine  wine,  the  diplomacy  of 
to-morrow  ;  or  to  prepare,  on  very  unusual  occasions,  one  of 
his  rich  sermons  before  delivering  it  in  a  court  chapel  to 
a  Queen  of  Hearts  and  her  companions.  It  is  needless 
to  insist  on  the  charm,  to  a  man  of  Donne's  learning  and 
curiosity,  in  passing  through  the  centre  of  Europe,  so  little 
known  to  Englishmen  of  that  day,  under  auspices  so  safe 
and  so  favourable. 

They  arrived  at  Brussels  on  the  2ist  of  May,  and  were 
solemnly  met  outside  the  gates  of  the  city  by  the  repre 
sentatives  of  the  Archduke,  who  sent  from  twenty-five  to 
thirty  state  coaches  to  meet  the  English  ambassador  and 

VOL.   II.  I 


130  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

accompany  him  into  Brussels.  There  was,  however,  an 
instant  disappointment,  for  it  was  discovered  that  the 
Archduke  was  ill,  and  absent  in  his  palace  of  Mariemont. 
The  Embassy  hung  about  in  Brussels  for  several  days,  but 
on  the  25th  the  Ambassador  and  his  particular  suite  left  for 
the  little  town  of  Binche,  not  far  from  the  present  frontier 
of  France.  Here  the  Due  d'Aumale  and  the  courtiers  of 
the  Archduke  met  and  conducted  them  to  Mariemont, 
where  the  acuteness  of  Doncaster  was  unable  to  decide 
whether  or  no  the  Archduke  was  quite  so  ill  as  he  repre 
sented  himself  to  be.  After  an  unsatisfactory  visit  the 
Embassy  returned  to  Brussels,  and  left  for  Germany  on  the 
1st  of  June. 

On  the  4th  they  reached  Cologne  {or  Cullen,  as 
English  people  then  pronounced  it),  and  a  flotilla  of  boats 
started  with  them  up  the  Rhine  next  day.  The  voyage 
closed  at  Frankfort  on  the  8th,  but,  as  they  must  have 
been  dragged  by  horses  against  the  stream,  no  time  had 
been  lost.  At  Frankfort  they  received  messages  from 
Heidelberg,  announcing  that  the  Elector  Palatine  was  at 
Heilbronn  attending  a  congress  of  the  Princes  of  the 
Union.  Here  Doncaster  had  no  business,  especially  as 
Sir  Henry  Wotton  had  gone  to  Heilbronn  precisely  to 
represent  the  King  of  England ;  after  due  rest,  therefore, 
the  Ambassador  pushed  on  for  Heidelberg,  where  the 
Electress  Elizabeth  was  awaiting  them.  At  Bensheim,  on 
the  loth,  they  met  the  coaches  which  she  had  sent  to  fetch 
them,  while  she  despatched  other  messengers  to  hurry  the 
Elector  home  from  Heilbronn. 

On  the  arrival  of  the  Embassy  at  Heidelberg,  an  amiable 
and  adroit  discussion  took  place  as  to  where  they  should 
lodge.  The  Electress  desired  them  to  take  up  their  abode 
instantly  in  the  Castle ;  Lord  Doncaster  replied  that  it  was 
impossible  to  take  advantage  of  the  hospitality  of  an  absent 
prince.  She  replied  that  it  was  her  husband's  wish  and 
expectation  that  they  should  lodge  at  his  cost  from  the 
first ;  Lord  Doncaster,  with  profound  gratitude  and  apology, 
yet  sent  to  order  lodgings  in  the  town  for  his  suite  and 
himself.  The  Electress  then  took  a  step  eminently  charac- 


THE    GERMAN    TOUR  131 

teristic  of  her  impetuous  and  merry  temper.  She  issued 
a  proclamation  forbidding  the  markets  of  Heidelberg  to 
supply  any  of  the  necessaries  of  life  to  any  member  of  the 
English  Embassy.  Conquered  by  this  violent  hospitality, 
literally  starved  into  submission,  Doncaster  and  his  suite 
took  possession  of  the  magnificent  apartments  which  had 
been  prepared  for  them  in  the  Castle. 

Next  day  (June  n,  1619)  the  Elector  came  back  post 
haste  from  Heilbronn.  Nothing  could  exceed  his  cordiality. 
Doncaster  wrote  a  week  later  to  James  I.  an  account  which 
was  all  painted  in  the  most  glowing  rose-colour.  The 
English  King  was  revered  and  "  redoubted  "  by  the  Elector  ; 
while  as  for  the  Electress,  the  Ambassador  could  say  "no 
more  than  that  she  is  that  same  devout,  good,  sweet  Princess 
your  Majesty's  daughter  should  be,  and  she  ever  was, 
obliging  all  hearts  that  come  near  her  by  her  courtesy,  and 
so  dearly  loving  and  beloved  of  the  Prince  her  husband, 
that  it  is  a  joy  to  all  that  behold  them." 

Of  the  personal  charm  of  this  misguided  and  unlucky 
pair  there  was  never  any  question ;  and  Donne  did  not 
come  under  it  now  for  the  first  time.  He  had  composed 
for  their  wedding  the  most  beautiful  of  all  his  epithalamia ; 
he  had  known  the  Electress  in  her  disciplined  and  careful 
childhood.  One  of  her  earliest  demands  now  was  that  he 
should  preach  before  her;  and  he  delivered,  in  fact,  two  elabo 
rate  discourses,  of  which  one,  preached  on  the  1 6th  of  June, 
has  been  preserved.  She  was  a  great  admirer  of  his  delivery, 
and  an  enthusiastic  listener.  Long  afterwards,  as  the  luck 
less  Queen  of  Bohemia,  she  referred  to  the  delight,  "  and  I 
hope  some  measure  of  edification,"  with  which  she  had 
always  listened  to  the  messages  of  God  from  Dr.  Donne. 

From  Heidelberg  in  June,  Lord  Doncaster  wrote  directly 
to  James  I.,  asking  that  Francis  Nethersole  might  be  sent 
out  to  be  his  secretary  in  the  place  of  Sir  Albert  Morton. 
This  was  done  ;  and  in  September  Nethersole  was  knighted, 
and  appointed  to  an  honorary  position  at  the  court  of  the 
Electress  Elizabeth.  He  had  just  married  Lucy,  the 
daughter  of  Sir  Henry  Goodyer,  and  was  therefore  com 
mended  to  Donne  in  several  capacities.  His  business  was 


132  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

to  go  to  and  from  the  Ambassador  to  London,  The  Hague, 
or  wherever  a  trusty  messenger  was  needed,  and  he  was 
doubtless  the  channel  through  which  Donne  communicated 
with  his  family. 

Policy  obliged  the  Elector  Palatine  to  return  almost 
immediately  to  Heilbronn.  Nor  did  the  English  Embassy 
enjoy  more  than  about  a  fortnight  of  the  Electress's  hospi 
tality.  They  were  at  Ulm  on  the  24th  of  June,  at  Augs 
burg  on  the  2 yth,  at  Munich  on  the  3Oth,  engaged  in  a 
hunt  after  the  evasive  King  Ferdinand  of  Bohemia.  Here 
Donne  seems  to  have  met,  for  a  brief  space,  his  old 
friend  Sir  Henry  Wotton.  They  all  believed  that  Ferdi 
nand  was  in  Vienna ;  but  he  was  really  making  for  Salz 
burg,  thence  to  issue  proclamations  to  his  Bohemian  and 
Hungarian  subjects,  and  to  the  Princes  of  Europe.  The 
Embassy  had  actually  arrived  at  Wasserburg,  and  was 
making  arrangements  to  be  taken  in  boats  down  the  Inn 
and  so  down  the  Danube  to  Vienna,  when  a  postillion  told 
a  farrier  of  Lord  Doncaster's  that  Ferdinand  would  be  in 
Salzburg  on  the  yth  of  July.  Thus  casually  did  high  news 
of  state  travel  in  those  romantic  days.  Turning  up-stream 
instead  of  down,  the  English  Embassy  reached  Salzburg  on 
the  5th,  and  had  two  days  for  rest  before  witnessing  the 
entry  of  King  Ferdinand  with  a  train  of  fifty  persons. 

With  the  nature  of  Doncaster's  delicate  and  not  very 
sagacious  negotiations  we  have  nothing  to  do.  We  are 
merely  chronicling  the  movements  of  James  I.'s  chaplain. 
After  the  departure  of  Ferdinand  there  was  nothing  to 
keep  the  Embassy  in  Salzburg.  It  took  them  seven  days, 
travelling  twelve  hours  a  day,  through  torrents  of  drench 
ing  rain,  to  reach  Nuremberg.  Being  so  near,  they  turned 
aside  to  Ansbach,  and  were  the  guests  of  the  hereditary 
Marquis ;  thence  to  Heidelberg,  and,  on  the  2Oth,  on  to 
Hanau,  in  Hesse-Cassel,  where,  close  to  Frankfort,  but  not 
in  it,  Doncaster  could  treat  by  correspondence  with  the 
powers  there  assembled.  He  was  not  allowed  to  enter 
Frankfort,  because  of  Ferdinand's  election,  which  came  off 
on  the  1 8th  of  August,  and  was  a  grave  defeat  for  the 
Palatinate  party.  After  three  weeks  of  dangling  in 


THE    GERMAN    TOUR  133 

Hanau,  Doncaster  conceived  his  further  stay  in  the  heart 
of  Germany  useless,  and  announced  his  intention  of  with 
drawing  to  Spa.  The  Bohemians  now  elected  the  Pals 
grave  as  their  King.  Doncaster  was  highly  incensed  both 
with  Ferdinand  and  the  Spanish  Ambassador,  and  sick  of 
the  way  in  which  he  had  been  twisted  round  their  subtle 
fingers.  He  announced  that  he  should  remain  at  Spa, 
until  he  had  time  to  receive  from  James  I.  an  answer  to 
his  request  to  be  allowed  to  come  home  to  England. 

He  was  not  permitted  to  do  so,  however,  and  on  the 
3  ist  of  August  Donne  wrote,  as  follows,  to  Sir  Dudley 
Carleton  at  The  Hague,  to  announce  that  they  were  on 
their  way  to  Holland : — 

"  fo  Sir  DUDLEY  CARLETON. J 

"  I  present  to  your  Lordship  here  a  hand  which  I  think 
you  never  saw,  and  a  name  which  carries  no  such  merit  with 
it  as  that  it  should  be  well  known  to  you ;  but  yet  it  is  the 
hand  and  the  name  of  a  person  very  much  devoted  to  your 
Lordship's  service.  If  that  be  not  enough  to  excuse  my 
present  importunity,  this  is  abundantly  enough,  that  herein 
I  execute  a  commandment  of  my  Lord  of  Doncaster's,  who, 
having  formerly  written  to  Calandrini  to  Nuremberg  to 
change  the  place  of  the  receipt  of  his  moneys,  and  to  send 
those  bills  which  are  to  serve  him  at  Amsterdam  to  your 
Lordship  (which  he  doubteth  not  before  this  time  is  per 
formed  by  Calandrini),  hath  commanded  me  now  to  accom 
pany  this  servant  of  his,  Mr.  Whitlow,  with  this  address  to 
your  Lordship,  that  he  'may  receive  such  bills  as  Calandrini 
hath  consigned  to  your  hands  for  his  use.  He  commanded 
me  also  to  let  your  Lordship  know,  that  the  Count  Palatine, 
after  his  having  been  elected  King  of  Bohemia,  despatched 
the  Baron  Donah  into  England,  from  whom  in  his  passing 
by  Cologne  his  Lordship  received  a  letter,  and  with  yet 
another  from  the  Count  Palatine  himself,  from  the  resultance 
of  which,  and  of  other  advices,  my  Lord  doth  not  think 

1  Holograph,  State  Papers,  Holland.     This  letter  was  discovered  by  Mr.  S.  R. 
Gardiner,  and  printed  for  the  Camden  Society  in  1868. 


134  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

that  he  abuses  himself  in  believing  that  the  Count  Palatine 
hath  a  disposition  to  accept  of  that  crown. 

"  Before  Baron  Donah's  passing,  my  Lord  (who  under 
stood  otherwise  of  the  election)  had  sent  his  secretary,  Mr. 
Nethersole,  into  England  to  present  more  effectually  than 
letters  could  do,  and  more  clearly  than  yet  was  apprehended, 
the  state  of  the  affairs  here,  and  now  is  come  to  Maestricht, 
where  he  proposes  to  attend  his  secretary's  return.  And, 
howsoever  his  Majesty  shall  be  pleased  to  dispose  of  him 
further  in  this  negotiation,  my  Lord  hath  already  conceived 
much  comfort  in  this,  that  he  hath  already  instruction,  when 
he  shall  return,  to  return  by  Holland,  when  he  may  declare 
his  affection  to  them  [the  States  General  ?],  and  his  desire 
to  empty  himself  freely  in  all  things  conducing  to  his 
Majesty's  service  in  your  Lordship's  bosom. 

"  It  is  such  a  general  business  that  even  so  low  and  poor 
a  man  as  I  have  a  part  in  it,  and  an  office  to  do  for  it,  which 
is  to  promove  it  with  the  same  prayers  as  I  present  for  mine 
own  soul  to  the  ears  of  Almighty  God.  In  which  I  shall 
never  be  defective,  nor  in  anything  wherein  I  might  declare 
in  particular  my  desire  to  be  esteemed  by  your  Lordship 
"  Your  Lordship's 

"  Most  humble  servant  in  Christ  Jesus, 

"J.  DONNE. 

"Maestricht,  31  August  1619,  stylo  vetcre." 

It  is  probable  that  Lord  Doncaster  felt  obliged  still 
further  to  apologise  for  Donne's  absence,  since  the  following 
letter  is  found  in  the  archives  of  the  Society  : — 

"Viscount  DONCASTER  to  the  BENCHERS  of 
LINCOLN'S  INN. 

"When  I  received  his  Majesty's  command  for  this 
negotiation  in  Germany,  I  received  his  command  also  to 
take  Doctor  Donne  in  my  company.  At  that  time  I  could 
not  suspect  that  I  should  do  an  act  so  prejudicial  to  your 
service  as  to  frustrate  you  of  him  so  long  a  time.  But  since 
these  businesses  are  not  yet  so  composed  as  that  his 


THE    GERMAN    TOUR  135 

Majesty  may  receive  full  satisfaction  in  my  present  return, 
the  same  command  that  drew  Doctor  Donne  forth  lies 
upon  him  still.  Since  therefore  I  am  a  continual  witness 
of  his  desire  to  return  to  the  service  of  your  society,  I 
thought  it  fittest  for  me  to  give  you  this  signification  of 
the  reason  of  his  absence,  with  an  undoubted  assurance  that 
he  shall  suffer  no  prejudice  in  your  good  opinions  thereby, 
because  he  is  not  altogether  absent  from  that  society  now 
whilst  he  is  with  me,  who,  by  your  favour,  have  the  honour 
of  being  a  member  of  your  society.  Neither  is  he  absent 
from  the  service  of  God's  Church,  and  is  in  obedience 
to  his  Master's  commandment.  In  my  particular  1  shall 
receive  it  for  a  singular  favour  from  you,  that  you  would 
so  long  spare  to  me  from  yourselves  a  person  so  necessary  to 
you  and  so  agreeable  to  me.  I  hope  to  restore  him  to  you 
by  the  midst  of  Michaelmas  term,  and  for  your  favour  to  me 
and  him  shall  ever  apprehend  any  occasion  to  show  myself. 

"[September]  1619." 

The  receipt  of  this  application  was  thus  entered  in  the 
books  of  Lincoln's  Inn  : — 

"  Council  held  on  October  I4th,  1619.  Fifteen  Benchers 
present. 

"  At  this  Council  was  presented  and  read  a  letter  from 
the  Lord  Viscount  Doncaster,  tending  to  excuse  the  stay 
of  Mr.  Doctor  Donne,  who,  by  the  King's  direction  or 
command,  accompanied  him  to  Germany  for  services  not 
yet  admitting  return.  With  which  letter  the  whole  Bench 
stood  well  satisfied,  the  rather  for  that  good  hope  was  given 
that  his  place  should  be  from  time  to  time  supplied  till  his 
return." 

Doncaster  found,  however,  that  to  visit  Holland  at  this 
time  was  impossible ;  he  had  to  push  back  into  Germany. 
He  stayed  at  Maestricht  until  the  8th  of  September,  when 
he  was  preparing  to  leave  for  Frankfurt.  In  writing  to  Sir 
George  Calvert,  he  begged  for  still  further  increase  of  leave 
of  absence  for  Donne  : — 


136  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

"  I  beseech  you  be  pleased  to  do  Dr.  Donne  this  favour 
for  my  sake.  At  the  beginning  of  the  term  he  will  be 
expected  at  Lincoln's  Inn  with  some  impatience,  except  you 
write  a  letter  to  the  Masters  of  the  Bench  there,  that  his 
coming  being  by  his  Majesty's  command,  he  cannot  return 
till  I  do,  which  they  may  justly  believe  will  be  shortly.  Mr. 
Brooke,  a  person  (I  think)  known  to  you,  will  wait  upon 
you  for  such  a  letter." 

The  object  of  the  Embassy  in  Frankfurt  was  to  con 
gratulate  the  new  Emperor,  and,  on  leaving  Maestricht,  by 
the  King's  orders,  they  put  off  their  mourning  for  the 
Queen's  death.  They  were  tugged  in  boats  up  the  Rhine 
past  Cologne,  and  at  Frankfurt  were  lucky  enough  to  catch 
the  Emperor  before  his  departure. 

From  Cologne  Donne  wrote  as  follows  :  — 

"  To  Sir  TOBIE  MATTHEW. 

"CoLLEYN  [COLOGNE]. 

"  SIR,  —  At  Ratisbon  I  had  your  letter  from  Brussels  ; 
and,  in  it,  you.  For,  my  former  knowledge  of  your  in 
genuity,  and  mine  own  conscience  of  having  demerited  in 
nothing  toward  you,  are  assurances  to  me,  that  your  profes 
sions  are  in  earnest.  I  dare  put  myself  upon  the  testimony 
of  very  many  very  good  companies  in  England,  where  your 
person,  and  your  history,  have  been  the  discourse,  that  I 
have  never  forsaken  your  honour  and  reputation.  And  you 
may  be  pleased  to  make  this  some  argument  of  my  disposi 
tion  toward  you,  that  when  I  have  been  told  that  you  have 
not  been  so  careful  of  me  abroad,  I  have  not  been  easy  in 
believing  it  ;  and  when  at  sometimes  the  authority  of  the 
reporter  hath  brought  me  to  a  half-belief  of  it,  I  have 
found  other  excuses  in  your  behalf,  than  a  mere  disaffection 
to  me  ;  and  now  I  am  safely  returned  to  my  first  station 
again,  not  to  believe  it.  If  it  could  be  possible  that  any 
occasion  of  doing  you  a  real  service  might  be  presented 
me,  you  should  see,  that  that  tree  which  was  rooted  in  love, 
and  always  bore  leaves,  ready  to  shadow  and  defend  from 
other's  malice,  would  bear  fruit  also.  You  know,  we  say  in 


. 


THE    GERMAN    TOUR  137 

the  schools  that  grace  destroys  not  nature;  we  may  say 
too,  that  forms  of  religion  destroy  not  morality,  nor  civil 
offices.  That  which  I  add,  I  am  far  from  applying  to  you, 
but  it  is  true,  that  we  are  fallen  into  so  slack  and  negligent 
times,  that  I  have  been  sometimes  glad  to  hear,  that  some 
of  my  friends  have  differed  from  me  in  religion.  It  is  some 
degree  of  an  union  to  be  united  in  a  serious  meditation  of 
God,  and  to  make  any  religion  the  rule  of  our  actions. 
Our  sweet  and  blessed  Saviour  bring  us  by  His  way  to  His 
end !  And  be  you  pleased  to  be  assured,  that  no  man 
desires  to  renew,  or  continue,  or  increase  a  friendship  with 
you  more  than,  &c. 

[signature  lost.] 

[September  \$th  (?)  1619.] 

The  Emperor  presently  left,  and  took  all  the  coaches  in 
the  city  with  him,  so  that  the  English  Embassy  was  bound 
to  stay  at  Frankfurt,  whether  they  pleased  or  no.  Doncaster 
took  occasion  of  the  delay  to  pay  a  flying  visit  to  Heidel 
berg,  but  Donne,  on  this  solitary  occasion,  was  not  with 
him.  Doncaster,  who  had  been  appointed  in  his  absence 
Grand-Master  of  the  Hunt,  when,  as  he  complained,  all  he 
could  hunt  was  an  emperor,  was  eager  to  return  to  England, 
but  late  in  September  orders  came  to  him  in  Frankfurt 
to  continue  to  pursue  the  Emperor  Ferdinand,  if  need  be, 
even  to  Vienna.  All  through  October  the  Embassy  were 
making  their  way  through  the  heart  of  Germany,  under 
great  disadvantages,  and  this  must  have  been  the  most 
disagreeable  part  of  the  whole  expedition.  They  passed 
through  Rothenburg  and  Nuremberg,  and  were  announced 
as  having  arrived  in  Vienna  by  Zorzi  Giustiniani  in  a 
despatch  to  the  Doge  of  Venice  on  the  2nd  of  November. 

Doncaster  had  never  been  to  Venice,  and  had  a  great 
desire  to  see  that  city,  in  which  we  may  believe  that  he 
was  not  discouraged  by  Donne.  Accordingly,  having  left 
Vienna,  and  having  at  length  caught  their  Emperor  at 
Gratz,  they  started  for  Italy.  Unluckily,  it  was  too  late  in 
the  year,  the  passes  were  closed,  and  they  had  to  turn  back 
to  Salzburg.  They  got  as  far  as  Dogna,  a  little  town  a 


138  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

few  miles  south  of  Pontebba,  on  the  road  to  Venice ;  from 
Dogna  Doncaster  wrote  on  the  yth  of  November.  They 
returned  by  the  Tyrol,  Nuremberg,  Heidelberg,  and  Worms, 
at  which  last  city  they  were  expected  on  the  26th  of  Nov 
ember.  They  were  at  Arnhem  on  the  loth  of  December, 
where  they  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Sir  Francis  Nethersole 
with  letters  and  despatches.  At  last,  after  a  weary  per 
ambulation,  they  arrived  at  The  Hague  about  the  I4th  of 
December.  After  a  cordial  and  gratifying  reception  from 
the  States  General,  the  Embassy  found  its  way  back  to  Eng 
land  in  the  first  days  of  1620. 

The  States  General  presented  to  Donne  at  The  Hague  a 
medal  in  gold  representing  the  Synod  of  Dort,  apparently 
as  a  compliment  for  his  having  preached  before  them,  on 
the  1 9th  of  December,  the  very  long  sermon  which  he 
afterwards  divided  into  two  parts,  in  1630,  at  Abrey  Hatch, 
during  his  last  illness.  This  gold  medal  Donne  ultimately 
bequeathed  to  his  young  friend  Henry  King. 

Donne  returned  from  Germany,  after  his  long  holiday, 
"  with  his  sorrows  moderated  and  his  health  improved,  and 
betook  himself  to  his  constant  course  of  preaching "  at 
Lincoln's  Inn  and  at  Whitehall.  The  following  letter, 
which  may  belong  to  the  year  1620,  shows  that  Donne 
did  not  treat  the  incumbency  of  Keyston,  in  Huntingdon 
shire,  which  he  held  by  the  gift  of  the  Benchers,  entirely  as  a 
sinecure.  Donne  may,  however,  have  gone  to  Keyston  only 
to  collect  his  tithes.  Wrest  was  the  residence  of  the  Earl 
of  Kent,  with  whom  Donne  was  acquainted  for  the  remainder 
of  his  life. 

"  To  Sir  H[ENRY]  GOODYER.* 

"SiR, — Agreeably  to  my  fortune  and  thoughts  I  was 
crawled  this  back  way  from  Keyston ;  through  my  broken 
casement  at  Bedford  I  saw,  for  my  best  dish  at  dinner, 
your  coach  :  I  studied  your  guests,  but  when  I  knew  where 
you  were  I  went  out  of  this  town  in  a  doubt  whether  I  should 
turn  in  to  Wrest;  and  you  know  the  wisdom  of  the  Parlia 
ment  is  to  resolve  ever  in  the  negative.  Therefore  it  is 

1  Letters  of  1651. 


THE    GERMAN    TOUR  139 

likeliest  I  shall  not  come  in  there ;  yet  let  me  give  you  in 
passing  thus  much  account  of  myself.  I  thought  to  kiss 
my  Lady  Spencer's  hands  at  one  house,  and  have  passed 
three.  If  you  know  nothing  to  the  contrary  risen  since  I 
came  from  London,  I  am  likely  to  have  a  room  in  my  Lord 
of  Don.'s *  train  into  the  country;  if  I  have,  I  do  not  ask  but 
use  the  leave  of  waiting  upon  you  at  home.  There  and 
ever  elsewhere,  our  blessed  Saviour  bless  you  and  all  yours,  in 
which  number,  I  pray,  account  ever — Your  very  thankful 
servant  in  Christ  Jesus, 

"J.  DONNE." 

The  career  of  Donne  during  1620  and  the  first  half  of 
1621  seems  to  have  been  absolutely  without  incidents  of  a 
notable  kind.  He  was  selected  to  conduct  the  funeral  in 
St.  Paul's  Cathedral  of  Dr.  John  King,  Bishop  of  London, 
who  died  on  the  3<Dth  of  March  1621.  This  prelate  had 
been  an  old  friend;  he  was  chaplain  to  the  Lord  Keeper 
when  Donne  was  secretary,  and  the  latter  speaks  of  King  as 
"  a  companion  to  me  in  my  first  studies."  It  is  believed 
that  King  ordained  Donne  when  he  entered  the  Church ; 
both  his  own  sons  had  taken  orders,  and  both  were  now 
prebendaries  of  the  Chapter  of  St.  Paul's.  Of  these  the 
younger,  Henry,  a  man  now  of  thirty  years,  was  to  become 
Bishop  of  Chichester,  and  to  be  distinguished  as  a  poet. 

Donne  was  dissatisfied  with  his  position,  and  perhaps 
weary  of  the  labours  of  his  lectureship.  A  rumour  reached 
him  that  Dr.  John  Bowie  was  about  to  resign  the  Deanery 
of  Salisbury.  There  was  to  be  a  shuffling  of  places.  The 
Dean  of  Westminster  was  John  Williams,  afterwards 
Bishop  of  Lincoln,  who  was  also  Lord  Keeper.  It  was 
supposed  that  if  Williams  was  made  a  bishop  Bowie  would 
be  translated  to  Westminster,  and  Donne  hoped  for  Salis 
bury.  This  ingenious  little  arrangement,  however,  came 
to  nothing,  for  Williams  did  not  resign  Westminster,  and 
Bowie  continued  to  hold  the  Deanery  of  Salisbury  until  he 
was  made  Bishop  of  Rochester  in  February  1630.  The 

1  Printed  "Dov.,"  but  Lord  Dover  is  impossible,  and  the  name  was  doubtless 
Doncaster. 


1 40  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

following  letter l  refers  to  Donne's  anxiety.  It  must  be  ad 
mitted  that  a  certain  want  both  of  dignity  and  of  candour 
(for  Donne's  fortune  was,  if  moderate,  no  longer  at  all  "pen 
urious  ")  is  to  be  regretted  in  it.  But  a  begging-letter  of 
the  beginning  -of  the  seventeenth  century  is  not  to  be 
measured  by  modern  standards  : — 

"  To  the  Right  Honourable  my  singular  good  Lord  the 
Marquess  of  BUCKINGHAM. 

"  May  it  please  your  Lordship, — Ever  since  I  had  your 
Lordship's  letter  I  have  esteemed  myself  in  possession  of 
Salisbury,  and  more  than  Salisbury,  of  a  place  in  your 
service ;  for  I  took  Salisbury  as  a  scale  of  it.  I  hear  that 
my  Lord  Keeper  finds  reason  to  continue  in  Westminster, 
and  I  know  that  neither  your  Lordship  nor  he  knows  how 
narrow  and  penurious  a  fortune  I  wrestle  with  in  this 
world.  But  I  am  so  far  from  depending  upon  the  assist 
ance  of  any  but  your  Lordship,  as  that  I  do  not  assist 
myself  so  far  as  with  a  wish  that  my  Lord  Keeper  would 
have  left  a  hole  for  so  poor  a  worm  as  I  am  to  have  crept 
in  at.  All  that  I  mean  in  using  this  boldness,  of  putting 
myself  into  your  Lordship's  presence  by  this  rag  of  paper, 
is  to  tell  your  Lordship  that  I  lie  in  a  corner,  as  a  clod  of 
clay,  attending  what  kind  of  vessel  it  shall  please  you 
to  make  of  your  Lordship's  humblest  and  thankfullest 
and  devotedest  servant, 

"J.  DONNE. 

"8M  August  1621." 

The  following  very  interesting  letter,  hitherto  obscured 
by  the  carelessness  of  the  editor  of  1651,  who  misdated  it 
161 1,  would  lend  itself  to  much  contemporary  commentary 
had  we  the  space  here  to  devote  to  it.  The  "  accident " 
of  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  was  his  misfortune,  while 
out  hunting,  to  kill  a  keeper  with  a  barbed  arrow  from  a 
cross-bow.  The  man  was  out  of  sight  among  the  brush 
wood,  and  had  been  warned  that  he  was  in  danger,  but  none 

1  Published  in  the  Proceedings  of  the  Camden  Society  for  1871  (p.  157). 


THE    GERMAN    TOUR  141 

the  less  the  incident  placed  the  Primate  in  a  terrible 
position.  Abbot  never  recovered  from  the  shock  of  it, 
although  the  King,  who  was  not  wanting  in  sympathy 
for  sportsmen,  roundly  refused  to  listen  to  the  Arch 
bishop's  enemies,  and  declared  that  "an  angel  might  have 
miscarried  in  this  sort."  The  scandal,  however,  grew  and 
grew,  the  question  having  to  be  tried  whether  Abbot  had 
not  ceased  to  be  capable  of  holding  the  see  of  Canterbury 
in  consequence  of  his  involuntary  homicide.  A  com 
mission  was  appointed  to  inquire  into  it,  which,  on  the 
loth  of  November  1621,  reported  to  the  King  that  there 
was  no  irregularity  in  the  Archbishop's  authority.  Abbot, 
however,  was  a  broken  man,  although  he  lived  on  until  the 
4th  of  August  1633,  retaining  the  Primacy  to  the  last. 
The  references  to  the  fall  of  Bacon  add  nothing  to  our 
knowledge  of  that  famous  event;  they  leave  us  still  un 
certain  as  to  the  amount  of  Donne's  personal  acquaintance 
with  Bacon.  They  must  often  have  met,  but  they  seem  to 
have  had  little  in  common.  Lady  Nethersole  was  Sir  Henry 
Goodyer's  daughter  Lucy,  whose  marriage  in  1619  we  have 
already  recorded. 

The  passage  about  his  "  circumference  "  gives  us  some 
indication  of  Donne's  habits  at  this  time.  Peckham  was 
still  inhabited  by  a  cluster  of  his  old  friends,  among  whom 
was  the  Master  of  the  Rolls  here  mentioned,  the  excellent 
Sir  Julius  Caesar.  At  Highgate  lived  Sir  Henry  Hobart, 
Lord  Chief -Justice  of  Common  Pleas;  at  Chelsea  the 
Herberts  ;  at  Bedington,  Donne's  brother  -  in  -  law,  Sir 
Nicholas  Carew. 

"  fo  the  Honourable  Knight  Sir  H[ENRY]  GooDYER.1 

"  SIR, — I  have  but  one  excuse  for  not  sending  you  the 
sermon  that  you  do  me  the  honour  to  command,  and  I 
foresee  that  before  I  take  my  hand  from  this  paper  I  shall 
lose  the  benefit  of  that  excuse ;  it  is  that  for  more  than 
twenty  days  I  have  been  travailed  with  a  pain  in  my  right 
wrist  so  like  the  gout  as  makes  me  unable  to  write.  The 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


i42  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

writing  of  this  letter  will  implore  a  commentary  for  that, 
that  I  cannot  write  legibly ;  for  that  I  cannot  write  much 
this  letter  will  testify  against  me.  Sir,  I  beseech  you,  at 
first,  tell  your  company  that  I  decline  not  the  service  out 
of  sullenness  nor  laziness,  nor  that  any  fortune  damps  me 
so  much  as  that  I  am  not  sensible  of  the  honour  of  their 
commanding  it,  but  a  mere  experience  whether  I  be  able  to 
write  eight  hours  or  no ;  but  I  will  try  next  week,  and 
either  do  it  for  their  service,  or  sink  in  their  service. 

"This  is  Thursday,  and  upon  Tuesday  my  Lady 
Bedford  came  to  this  town ;  this  afternoon  I  presented  my 
service  to  her  by  Mrs.  Withrington,  and  so  asked  leave  to 
have  waited  upon  them  at  supper,  but  my  messenger  found 
them  ready  to  go  into  their  coach,  so  that  a  third  letter 
which  I  received  from  Mrs.  Dadley,  referring  me  to  Mrs. 
Withrington's  relation  of  all  that  State,  I  lose  it  till  their 
return  to  this  town. 

"  To  clear  you  in  that  wherein  I  see  by  your  letter  that  I 
had  not  well  expressed  myself  in  mine,  Sir  Ed.  Herbert 
writ  to  Sir  Ed.  Sackville  not  to  press  the  King  to  fix  any 
certain  time  of  sending  him,  till  he  was  come  over  and  had 
spoken  with  the  King ;  Sir  Ed.  Sackville  collects  upon 
that  that  Sir  Ed.  Herbert  means  to  go  again;  I  think  it  is 
only  that  he  would  have  his  honour  so  saved,  as  not  to 
seem  to  be  recalled,  by  having  a  successor  before  he  had 
emptied  the  place. 

"  We  hear  nothing  from  my  Lord  of  Doncaster,  nor 
have  we  any  way  to  send  to  him.  I  have  not  seen  my 
Lady  Doncaster,  for  she  crossed  to  Penhurst  and  from 
thence  to  Petworth ;  my  Lady  Isabella  came  to  this  town, 
where,  before  her  coming,  a  letter  attended  her  from  my 
Lady  of  Titchfield ;  and  thither  she  went  with  their  servants, 
who  stayed  her  coming.  Hither  came  lately  letters  with 
good  speed  from  Vienna,  in  which  there  is  no  mention  of 
any  such  defeat  as  in  rumour  Count  Mansfield  hath  been 
said  to  have  given  to  the  Duke  of  Bavyer  [Bavaria],  but  their 
forces  were  then  within  such  distance  as  may  have  procured 
something  before  this  time.  Those  which  watched  advan 
tages  in  the  Court  of  the  Emperor  have  made  that  use  of 


THE    GERMAN    TOUR 


Count  Mansfield's  proceedings,  as  that  my  Lord  Digby 
complains  that  thereby  the  forwardness  in  which  his 
negotiation  was  is  somewhat  retarded.  He  proceeds  from 
thence  into  Spain. 

"  The  Duke  of  Bavyer  hath  presented  the  Emperor  an 
account  of  ^12,000,000  sterling  in  that  war,  to  be  reim 
bursed  ;  and  finding  the  Palatinate  to  be  in  treaty  hath  re 
quired  a  great  part  of  Austria  for  his  security,  and  they  say 
it  is  so  transacted,  which  is  a  good  sign  of  a  possibility  in 
the  restitution  of  the  Palatinate.  For  anything  I  discern 
their  fears  are  much  greater  from  Hungary  than  from 
Bohemia,  and  the  loss  of  cannon  in  a  great  proportion,  and 
other  things  at  the  death  of  Bucquoy  was  much  greater  than 
they  suffered  to  be  published. 

"  We  hear  Spinola  is  passed  over  at  Rheinsberg  ;  if  it  be 
so  they  are  no  longer  distracted  whether  he  would  bend 
upon  Juliers  or  the  Palatinate.  I  know  not  what  you  hear 
from  your  noble  son-in-law,  who  sees  those  things  clearly 
in  himself  and  in  a  near  distance,  but  I  hear  here  that  the 
King  hath  much  lost  the  affection  of  the  English  in  those 
parts.  Whether  it  proceed  from  any  sourness  in  him,  or 
that  they  be  otherwise  taken  off  from  applying  themselves 
to  him,  I  know  not. 

"  My  Lord  of  St.  Albans  hath  found  so  much  favour  as 
that  a  pension  of  ,£2000  will  be  given  him ;  he  desires  that 
he  might  have  it  for  [  ]  years,  that  so  he  might  transfer 
it  upon  his  creditors,  or  that  in  place  of  it  he  might  have 
^8000,  for  he  hath  found  a  disposition  in  his  creditors  (to 
whom  I  hear  he  hath  paid  ^3000  since  by  retiring)  to  accept 
;£8ooo  for  all  his  debts,  which  are  three  times  as  much. 

"  I  have  been  sometimes  with  my  Lord  of  Canterbury 
since  his  accident,  to  give  you  his  own  words.  I  see  him 
retain  his  former  cheerfulness  here  and  at  Croydon,  but  I 
do  not  hear  from  court  that  he  hath  any  ground  for  such  a 
confidence,  but  that  his  case  may  need  favour  and  not  have 
it.  That  place,  and  Bedington,  and  Chelsea,  and  High- 
gate,  where  that  very  good  man  my  Lord  Hobard  is,  and 
Hackney,  with  the  Master  of  the  Rolls,  and  my  familiar 
Peckham,  are  my  circumference. 


i44  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

"No  place  so  eccentric  to  me  as  that  I  lie  just  at 
London,  and  with  those  fragmentary  recreations  I  must 
make  shift  to  recompense  the  missing  of  that  contentment 
which  your  favour  opens  to  me,  and  my  desire  provokes 
me  to  the  kissing  of  your  hands  at  Polesworth.  My 
daughter  Constance  is  at  this  time  with  me,  for  the  empti 
ness  of  the  town  hath  made  me,  who  otherwise  live  upon 
the  alms  of  others,  a  housekeeper  for  a  month,  and  so  she 
is  my  servant  below  stairs  and  my  companion  above ;  she 
was  at  the  table  with  me  when  your  letter  was  brought, 
and  I  pay  her  a  piece  of  her  petition  in  doing  her  this 
office,  to  present  her  service  to  my  Lady  Nethersole  and 
her  very  good  sister.  But  that  she  is  gone  to  bed  two 
hours  before  I  writ  this  she  should  have  signed,  with  such 
a  hand  as  your  daughter  Mary  did  to  me,  that  which  I 
testify  for  her,  that  she  is  as  affectionate  a  servant  to  them 
all  as  their  goodness  hath  created  anywhere.  Sir,  I  shall 
recompense  my  tediousness  in  closing  mine  eyes  with  a 
prayer  for  yours,  as  for  mine  own  happiness,  for  I  am 
almost  in  bed ;  if  it  were  my  last  bed,  and  I  upon  my  last 
business  there,  I  should  not  omit  to  join  you  with 
"  Your  very  humble  and  very  thankful 
servant  in  Christ  Jesus, 

"J.  DONNE. 
"August  30,  i6n[2i]." 

In  1621,  upon  the  death  of  the  Countess  of  Pembroke, 
the  paraphrase  of  the  Psalms,  which  she  and  her  illustrious 
brother  had  made,  fell  in  MS.  into  Donne's  hands.  He 
a  wrote  poem  on  the  occasion,  ending  with  these  lines  : — 

"  So  though  some  have,  some  may  some  psalms  translate, 
We  thy  Sidneian  psalms  shall  celebrate, 
And,  till  we  come  th'  extemporal  song  to  sing — 
Learn'd  the  first  hour  that  we  see  the  King, 
Who  hath  translated  these  translators — may 
These  their  sweet  learned  labours  all  the  way 
Be  as  our  tuning,  that  when  hence  we  part, 
We  may  fall  in  with  them,  and  sing  our  part !  " 


JOHN    DONNE 

From  an   Engraving,  published  in   1640,  by  M.   MERION,  of 
an   Original  Portrait  fainted  in   1615 


MADE   DEAN   OF   ST.   PAUL'S 

1621-1624 


VOL.   II, 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MADE  DEAN  OF  ST.  PAUL'S 

1621—1624 

THE  time  had  now  come  when  Donne  might  reasonably 
expect  promotion  in  the  Church.  He  had  been  promised 
Salisbury,  but  there  had  been  no  vacancy  there;  he  was 
now  to  receive  a  deanery  much  more  suited  to  his  tastes 
and  habits.  Three  deans  were  raised  to  the  episcopate  in 
1621,  Williams  being  promoted  from  Westminster  to 
Lincoln,  Laud  from  Gloucester  to  St.  David's,  and  Carey 
from  St.  Paul's  to  Exeter.  Of  these  three  deaneries  it  was 
obviously  the  last  for  which  Donne  was  pre-eminently  fitted. 
Cotton,  Bishop  of  Exeter,  died  on  the  26th  of  August,  and 
a  fortnight  later  Valentine  Carey  was  nominated  to  succeed 
him.  Carey  was  a  man  unknown  as  a  writer  and  unvalued 
as  a  divine,  but  a  person  of  undaunted  "  push " ;  he  was 
elected  to  the  see  of  Exeter  on  the  27th  of  September. 

It  would  appear  that  Donne,  in  his  anxiety  to  see  the 
matter  of  the  Deanery  of  St.  Paul's  settled,  had  turned  to 
Villiers. 

"  ¥0  the  Marquis  of  BUCKINGHAM.1 

"Mv  MOST  HONOURED  LORD, — I  most  humbly  beseech 
your  Lordship  to  afford  this  rag  of  paper  a  room  amongst 
your  evidences.  It  is  your  evidence,  not  for  a  manor,  but 
for  a  man.  As  I  am  a  priest,  it  is  my  sacrifice  of  prayer 
to  God  for  your  Lordship ;  and  as  I  am  a  priest  made  able 
to  subsist,  and  appear  in  God's  service,  by  your  Lordship, 
it  is  a  sacrifice  of  myself  to  you.  I  deliver  this  paper  as 
my  image ;  and  I  assist  the  power  of  any  conjuror  with 


1  From  Cabala. 
M7 


148  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

this  imprecation  upon  myself,  that  as  he  shall  tear  this 
paper,  this  picture  of  mine,  so  I  may  be  torn  in  my  fortune 
and  in  my  fame,  if  ever  I  have  any  corner  in  my  heart 
dispossessed  of  a  zeal  to  your  Lordship's  service.  His 
Majesty  hath  given  me  a  royal  key  into  your  chamber, 
leave  to  stand  in  your  presence ;  and  your  Lordship  hath 
already  such  a  fortune,  as  that  you  shall  not  need  to  be 
afraid  of  a  suitor  when  I  appear  there.  So  that,  I  protest 
to  your  Lordship  I  know  not  what  I  want,  since  I  cannot 
suspect,  nor  fear  myself,  for  ever  doing,  or  leaving  undone, 
anything  by  which  I  might  forfeit  that  title  of  being  always 
your  Lordship's,  &c.,  J.  D. 

"September  13,  1621." 

Donne  was  immediately  assured  of  his  succession  in  the 
picturesque  way  described  by  Walton  : — 

"The  king  sent  to  Dr.  Donne,  and  appointed  him  to 
attend  him  at  dinner  the  next  day.  When  his  Majesty  was 
sat  down,  before  he  had  eat  any  meat,  he  said,  after  his 
pleasant  manner,  c  Dr.  Donne,  I  have  invited  you  to  dinner, 
and,  though  you  sit  not  down  with  me,  yet  I  will  carve  to 
you  of  a  dish  which  I  know  you  love  well ;  for,  knowing 
you  love  London,  I  do  therefore  make  you  Dean  of  Paul's ; 
and  when  I  have  dined,  then  do  you  take  your  beloved  dish 
home  to  your  study,  say  grace  there  to  yourself,  and  much 
good  may  it  do  you.' ' 

Donne  could  not,  however,  to  continue  King  James's 
"pleasant"  humour,  fall  to  at  the  beloved  dish  then  and 
there.  The  case  of  Archbishop  Abbot,  threatened  with 
deprivation  for  the  involuntary  homicide  of  a  keeper  in 
Lord  Zouch's  park,  was  dragging  on,  and  certain  ecclesias 
tical  acts  had  to  be  postponed  till  the  status  of  the  Primate 
was  defined.  Meanwhile  Williams  refused  consecration  from 
Abbot,  and  after  some  delay  all  the  new  bishops  were  con 
secrated  by  the  Bishop  of  London  as  the  Archbishop's 
commissary.  Abbot  refrained  from  the  performance  of  all 
metropolitical  acts  until  after  the  Commission  had  decided 
upon  his  case.  It  is  not  accurate  to  say  that  the  promo- 


MADE    DEAN    OF    ST.    PAUL'S          149 

tion  of  Donne  was  directly  affected  by  Abbot's  case,  since 
the  Archbishop  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  installa 
tion  of  a  Dean  of  St.  Paul's,  which  was  performed  by  the 
Bishop  of  London.  But  indirectly  there  was  a  connection, 
since  Valentine  Carey  did  not  vacate  the  office  of  Dean 
until  he  was  consecrated  on  November  18.  The  Deanery 
was  in  the  King's  gift,  and  would  pass  to  Donne  imme 
diately  that  Carey  became  Bishop  of  Exeter. 

The  following  letter,  written  probably  to  Sir  Thomas 
Lucy,  refers  to  several  court  appointments  of  the  moment. 
Sir  Richard  Weston  succeeded  the  poet  Fulke  Greville, 
Lord  Brooke,  as  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer;  Lionel, 
Lord  Cranfield,  shortly  to  be  made  first  Earl  of  Middlesex, 
was  appointed  Lord  High  Treasurer  in  September  1621. 
Lord  Digby  did  not  actually  start  for  Spain  till  the  spring 
of  1622.  The  Archbishop's  Commission  sat  from  the  3rd 
to  the  27th  of  October;  and  their  report  being  in  the 
main  favourable  to  him,  the  King  was  recommended  to 
dispense  with  all  irregularity.  The  ecclesiastical  machine 
was  set  in  order  again,  Williams  being  consecrated  on  the 
nth  of  November  and  the  other  bishops  on  the  i8th. 

"  To  Sir  T.  H.  [  ?  Sir  T.  Lucy].1 

"SiR, — This  evening,  which  is  5th  October,  I  find  your 
letter  of  Michaelmas  Day,  and  though  I  see  by  it  that  it  is 
a  return  of  a  letter,  not  of  the  last  week's,  and  thereupon 
make  account  that  my  last  week's  letter  hath  satisfied  you 
in  some  things  which  this  letter  commands  concerning 
Paul's,  yet  for  other  things  I  would  give  you  a  drowsy 
relation,  for  it  is  that  time  of  night,  though  I  called  it 
evening.  At  the  King's  going  from  hence  upon  Monday 
last,  we  made  account  to  have  seen  Sir  John  Sutciin  Secre 
tary  and  Sir  Richard  Weston  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer, 
but  they  are  not  done,  but  both  are  fixed ;  my  Lord  Cran 
field  received  his  staff,  with  these  two  suits  obtained  from 
the  King,  that  all  assignations  might  be  transferred  into 
the  Exchequer,  and  so  no  payments  charged  upon  the 

1  Letters  of  1651. 


150  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

Customs,  nor  Receivers,  nor  the  Court  of  Wards,  &c. 
And  that  for  a  time  there  might  be  a  damp  cast  upon 
pensions,  till  they  might  be  considered. 

"  In  the  Low  Countries  the  armies  stir  not.  In  the 
Palatinate  Sir  H.  Vere  attempting  the  regaining  of  Stenie 
Castle,  was  surprised  with  the  enemy  in  so  much  strength, 
that  they  write  it  over  for  a  masterpiece  that  he  was  able  to 
make  a  retreat  to  Mannheim  ;  so  that  now  the  enemy  is  got 
on  that  side  the  river  which  Heidelberg  is  on,  and  I  know 
nothing  that  can  stand  in  his  way.  My  Lord  Digby  comes 
from  Vienna,  before  he  goes  into  Spain,  by  Count  Mansfield, 
by  the  Palatinate,  by  Paris ;  and  therefore  upon  his  coming 
I  shall  be  able  to  say  something  to  you.  In  Sir  John  Sutclin 
I  presume  you  see  an  end  of  Sir  Robert  Naunton,  and  we 
see  an  end  of  Mr.  Thomas  Murray  too ;  I  believe  he  comes 
no  more  to  the  Prince.  For  the  trial  of  my  Lord  of  Can 
terbury's  irregularity,  there  is  a  Commission  to  six  bishops, 
London,  Winchester,  Rochester,  and  three  only  elect, 
Lincoln,  St.  David's,  and  Exeter ;  two  judges,  Lord 
Hobard  and  Dodridge ;  two  civilians,  Sir  H.  Martin  and 
D.  Steward.  The  consecration  of  these  elect  bishops,  and, 
consequently,  my  being  Dean,  must  attend  the  issue  of  this 
Commission.  Sir  Thomas  Roe  is  gone.  The  proclama 
tions  of  putting  off  the  Parliament  till  February  are  like 
to  outrun  this  letter.  It  is  very  late ;  and  it  is  one  act  to 
say  grace  after  supper,  and  to  commend  myself  into  the 
hands  of  my  blessed  Saviour  in  my  bed,  and  so  close  this 
letter,  and  mine  eyes,  with  the  same  blessing  upon  all  your 
family.  Amen.  Your  poor  servant  in  Christ  Jesus, 

"J.  DONNE. 

"October^  [1621]." 

"  To  the  Worthy  Knight  Sir  THOMAS  Lucv.1 

"  SIR, — Your  letter  comes  to  me  at  grace  after  supper  ; 
it  is  part  of  the  prayer  of  that  grace  that  God  will  bless 
you  and  all  yours  with  His  best  blessings  of  both  kind. 
I  would  write  you  news ;  but  your  love  to  me  may  make 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


MADE    DEAN    OF    ST.    PAUL'S          151 

you  apt  to  over-believe  news  for  my  sake.  And  truly  all 
things  that  are  upon  the  stage  of  the  world  now  are  full  of 
such  uncertainties,  as  may  justly  make  any  man  loth  to 
pass  a  conjecture  upon  them ;  not  only  because  it  is  hard 
to  see  how  they  will  end,  but  because  it  is  misinterpretable 
and  dangerous  to  conjecture  otherwise  than  some  men 
would  have  the  event  to  be.  That  which  is  especially  in 
my  contemplation,  which  is  the  issue  of  my  Lord  of  Can 
terbury's  business  (for  thereupon  depends  the  consecration 
of  my  predecessor,  upon  which  the  Deanery  devolves  to 
the  King),  is  no  farther  proceeded  in  yet,  than  that  some 
of  the  ten  commissioners  have  met  once  ;  and  upon  Saturday 
next  there  will  be  a  fuller  meeting,  and  an  entrance  into 
the  business,  upon  which  much,  very  much  in  consequence, 
depends. 

"  Of  my  Lord  of  Doncaster  we  are  only  assured  that  he 
is  in  a  good  way  of  convalescence ;  but  of  any  audience 
nothing  yet.  Slacken  not  your  hold  of  my  Lord  Treasurer, 
for  I  have  been  told  that  you  are  in  his  care.  I  send  you  a 
copy  of  that  sermon,  but  it  is  not  my  copy,  which  I  thought 
my  Lord  of  Southampton  would  have  sent  me  back.  This 
you  must  be  pleased  to  let  me  have  again,  for  I  borrow  it ; 
for  the  other,  I  will  pretermit  no  time  to  write  it ;  though 
in  good  faith  I  have  half  forgot  it.  If  in  any  letter  I  leave 
out  the  name  of  the  Lady  Huntingdon  or  Lady  Burdell  or 
your  daughters,  tell  them  that  I  named  them.  I  take  the 
falsehood  upon  me ;  for  I  intend  it  very  really,  and  very 
humbly,  where  I  am  good  for  anything  in  any  of  their 
services.  Our  blessed  Saviour  continue  and  enlarge  His 
blessings  to  you  all.  Amen. — Your  humble  servant  in 
Christ  Jesus,  J.  DONNE. 

"  l\th  October  1621. 

"Why  do  you  say  nothing  of  my  'little  book  of 
Cases?" 

Of  the  "little  book  of  Cases"  of  conscience  nothing 
further  is  known.  It  has  been  conjectured  that  they  were 
short  exercises  in  casuistry,  long  since  lost.  I  would  rather 


152  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

suggest  that  they  may  have  been  identical  with  the  Paradoxes 
and  Problems^  which  appeared  posthumously  in  a  small  quarto 
in  1633.  In  neither  case  is  it  probable  that  they  were  or 
are  of  much  importance,  except  as  illustrating  the  restless 
ingenuity  of  Donne's  mind. 

"  To  Sir  H[ENRY]  G[OODYER]  at  Polesworth.1 

"SiR, — This  25th  I  have  your  letter  of  2ist,  which  I 
tell  you  so  punctually,  because  by  it,  nor  by  any  other,  I  do 
not  discern  that  you  received  my  packet  of  books  ;  not  that 
I  looked  for  so  quick  a  return  of  the  sermon,  nor  of  my 
Cases  of  Conscience,  but  that  I  forget  so  absolutely  what  I 
write,  and  am  so  sure  that  I  write  confidently  to  you,  that 
it  is  some  pain  to  remain  in  any  jealousy  that  any  letter 
is  miscarried.  That  which  I  write  to  you  of  my  Lord 
Treasurer's  disposition  to  you  I  had  from  Mr.  Haringtori, 
and  I  understood  it  to  be  his  desire  to  convey  it  through 
me.  The  last  account  which  we  have  of  my  Lord  Doncaster 
is  by  letters  of  the  2nd  of  this ;  by  which  also  we  saw  that 
the  first  letters  of  his  convalescence  were  but  prophetical, 
for  he  was  let  blood  a  second  time,  and  is  not  strong  enough 
yet  to  receive  audience.  Though  I  be  not  Dean  of  Paul's 
yet,  my  Lord  of  Warwick  hath  gone  so  low  as  to  command 
of  me  the  office  of  being  master  of  my  game  in  our  wood 
about  him  in  Essex.  I  pray  be  you  content  to  be  my  officer 
too,  the  steward  of  my  services  to  all  to  whom  you  know 
them  to  be  due  in  your  walk,  and  continue  your  own 
assurance  that  I  am  your  affectionate  servant  in  Christ 
Jesus,  J.  DONNE. 

"Oct.  25  [1621]." 

The  appointment  of  the  new  Dean  was  made  in  the 
following  terms  : 2 — 

"JAMES  REX. 

"  Right  reverend  father,  right  trusted  and  well-beloved 
and  trusted  and  well-beloved,  we  greet  you  well.  Whereas 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651.   -  2  St.  Paul's  Library  MSS. 


MADE    DEAN    OF    ST.    PAUL'S          153 

our  Cathedral  Church  of  St.  Paul's,  London,  is  destitute  of 
a  principal  minister  by  the  promotion  of  Valentine  Carey, 
Doctor  of  Divinity,  late  Dean  there,  which  office  and  dignity 
appertaining  to  our  disposition,  we  have  appointed  for  the 
supply  thereof,  in  consideration  of  his  learning  and  other 
virtues  enabling  him  to  a  place  of  sure  dignity,  John  Donne, 
Doctor  of  Divinity  and  one  of  our  Chaplains-in-Ordinary. 
Wherefore  we  require  you  the  President  and  Chapter  of 
\that  Church  that,  assembling  yourselves,  in  due  manner, 
vou  proceed  forthwith  to  your  election  of  the  said  Dean 
and  to  the  same,  to  name,  and  admit  him  the  said  Doctor 
Donne.  And  that  done,  that  you  the  Bishop  and  Chapter 
do  perform  and  put  in  execution  all  other  thing  which 
appertain  to  you  and  every  of  you  jointly  and  severally  for 
the  tiaking  up  and  perfecting  of  this  our  determination. 
Given  under  our  signet  at  our  Palace  of  Westminster  the 
nineteenth  day  of  November  in  the  nineteenth  year  of  our 
reign  of  England,  France,  and  Ireland,  and  of  Scotland  the 
five  and  fiftieth." 

The  consecration  of  Valentine  Carey  having  cleared  the 
ground  at  last,  Donne  was  elected  Dean  of  St.  Paul's  on 
the  1 9th  of  November  1621.  This  was  the  crisis  of  his 
life  and  its  principal  material  event.  We  learn  from 
Walton  that  the  new  Dean's  first  solicitude  was  for  the 
preservation  of  the  ancient  private  chapel  annexed  to  the 
Deanery.  This  he  immediately  employed  workmen  to 
repair  and  adorn,  "  suffering,  as  holy  David  once  vowed, 
c  his  eyes  and  temples  to  take  no  rest  till  he  had  first 
beautified  the  house  of  God."  The  Mansion  House,  as 
the  Deanery  was  styled,  was  a  large  building  fronting  the 
north,  with  wings  of  irregular  construction.  It  had 
spacious  paved  courtyards  both  before  and  behind,  and 
the  back  court  opened  into  Carter  Lane ;  with  a  gate 
house  and  a  porter's  lodge  at  each  entrance.  At  the  east 
side  there  was  a  fine  grass  lawn  running  the  breadth  of  the 
house.  This  "fair  old  mansion,"  one  of  the  beautiful 
objects  of  that  ancient  London  which  the  Fire  destroyed, 
was  valued  at  a  rental  of  ^150  a  year,  equivalent  to  at 


154  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

least  ^1000  to-day.     It  stood  in  the  parish  of  St.  Gregory 
by  Paul's. 

Donne  was  now  in  affluent  circumstances,  and  at  Christ 
mas  1621,  when  his  father-in-law,  Sir  George  More,  whom 
extravagance  and  a  vast  family  of  children  had  greatly 
reduced  in  means,  came  to  pay  him  his  customary  quarterly 
interest  on  his  late  wife's  fortune,  the  Dean  refused  to 
receive  it,  and  said,  "  It  is  enough.  You  have  been  kind 
to  me  and  mine :  I  know  your  present  condition  is  such  as 
not  to  abound,  and  I  hope  mine  is  or  will  be  such  as  not  to 
need  it ;  I  will  therefore  receive  no  more  from  you  upon 
that  contract,"  and,  to  show  his  sincerity,  he  returned  the 
bond  to  Sir  George  More.  His  generosity  was  the  greater, 
inasmuch  as  he  was  now  about  to  resign  his  appointment  at 
Lincoln's  Inn,  and  was  threatened  with  the  loss  of  his 
incumbency  of  Keyston.  As  far  as  the  former  is  con 
cerned,  he  parted  from  his  old  friends  upon  the  most 
delightful  terms.  We  have  already  spoken  of  his  gift  of  a 
splendid  copy  of  the  Vulgate  to  the  Library  of  Lincoln's 
Inn.  When  he  ultimately  resigned  his  Preachership,  on 
the  nth  of  February  1622,  the  Benchers  made  the  follow 
ing  entry : — 

"Council  held  on  February  n,  1622.  Eighteen 
Benchers  present. 

"Mr.  Doctor  Donne  being  lately  advanced  by  the 
King's  Majesty  to  the  Deanery  of  Paul's,  by  reason  whereof 
he  cannot  conveniently  supply  the  place  of  a  public  preacher 
of  God's  Word  in  this  House,  as  formerly  he  have  done,  in 
signification  of  the  continuance  of  his  love  to  this  Society 
hath  now,  at  this  council,  presented  to  the  Members  of  the 
Bench,  as  a  free  gift  from  him,  six  volumes  of  the  Bible, 
with  the  comment  of  Lyra,  etc.,  and  the  Glosse,  etc.,  which 
volumes  were  accordingly  received  and  delivered  unto  Mr. 
Foster,  one  of  the  members  of  the  Bench  and  now  member 
of  the  Library,  there  to  be  kept  to  the  use  of  the  House. 
And  the  Members  of  the  Bench  acknowledging,  this  and 
many  others,  the  kind  and  loving  respects  of  the  said  Mr. 


MADE    DEAN    OF    ST.    PAUL'S          155 

Doctor  Donne  towards  them,  whereof  they  have  had  good 
experience,  have  now  entered  into  consideration  of  some 
fitting  retribution  to  express  their  thankful  remembrance 
of  him.  And  to  the  end  it  may  appear  that  though  they 
are  glad  of  his  preferment,  yet  being  loath  wholly  to  part  with 
him,  and  that  he  may  at  his  pleasure  and  convenient  leisure 
repair  to  this  House,  being  a  worthy  member  thereof,  and 
be  no  stranger  here,  have  thought  fit,  and  with  one  voice 
and  assent  have  so  ordered  that  the  said  Mr.  Doctor  Donne 
shall  continue  his  chamber  in  this  House  which  he  now 
hath,  as  a  Bencher  of  this  House,  with  such  privileges 
touching  the  same  as  the  Members  of  the  Bench  now  have 
and  ought  to  have  for  their  several  and  respective  chambers 
in  this  House." 

This  has  been  interpreted  as  meaning  that  Donne  was 
affirmed  in  the  pecuniary  advantages  which  the  office  of  a 
Bencher  conferred.  I  hardly  think  so ;  it  seems  to  me 
merely  to  make  the  Dean  of  St.  Paul's  an  honorary  fellow 
of  the  College,  as  we  might  say,  with  privileges  at  bed  and 
board  if  he  should  choose  to  avail  himself  of  them,  which, 
with  a  luxurious  house  of  his  own  hard  by,  he  would  practi 
cally  never  do. 

Mr.  John  Preston,  of  QueeriV  Co  liege,  Cambridge,  was, 
on  the  2  ist  of  May,  elected  to  succeed  Donne  as  Preacher. 

It  appears  from  a  document  recently  discovered  that 
Donne  was  by  no  means  willing  to  relinquish  the  in 
cumbency  of  Keyston  without  a  struggle.  This,  it  will 
be  remembered,  was  a  cure  in  Huntingdonshire,  which 
Donne  held  in  gift  from  the  Benchers  of  Lincoln's  Inn, 
and  it  seems  to  have  been  regarded  by  some  persons  as 
forming  part  of  the  emoluments  of  his  office  as  Preacher. 
At  all  events,  when  he  resigned  the  preachership,  a  Mr. 
Silliard  seems  to  have  taken  for  granted  that  the  rectorship 
was  vacant,  and  to  have  approached  the  new  Bishop  of 
Lincoln,  in  whose  diocese  Keyston  then  was,  with  a  request 
to  be  nominated  as  rector.  Donne  went  to  law  upon  the 
question,  and  the  case  was  brought  before  Sir  Henry 
Marten,  the  Judge  of  the  Prerogative  Court,  who  referred 


156  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

it  to  the  Lord  Keeper.     Silliard  persisted  in  his  claim,  and 
Donne  wrote  the  following  letter  : — 


"  To  Sir  HENRY  MARTEN. 

"SiR, — I  waited  upon  you  heretofore  when  a  cause  which 
concerned  me  was  brought  before  you  and  others,  in 
another  way,  as  delegates.  It  is  for  a  pretended  resig 
nation  of  the  church  of  Keyston,  upon  which  pretence  one 
Mr.  Silliard  procured  a  superinstruction.  To  my  Lord 
Keeper  I  have  declared  the  direct  truth  of  the  whole 
proceedings  for  matter  of  fact ;  and,  for  matter  of  law,  I 
have  told  him  and  them,  that  if  any  man  learned  in  either 
law,  of  Mr.  Silliard's  own  counsel,  would  say  that  the 
church  upon  such  a  resignation  was  void,  I  would  relinquish 
it.  And  now,  I  am  informed  that  my  Lord  Keeper  hath 
referred  that  point  to  you.  If  I  had  not  come  home  from 
Bedfordshire  late  and  weary  I  would  have  waited  upon, 
but  it  had  been  only  to  salute,  you,  not  much  to  solicit  you 
(for  that  I  know  needs  not)  that  you  will  be  pleased  to 
take  that  point  into  your  good  consideration ;  and  so,  Sir, 
1  rest — Yours  ever  to  be  disposed, 

"J.  DONNE. 

"  At  my  house  at  St.  Paul's, 
May  9,  1622." 

Sir  Henry  Marten  drew  up  a  report,1  on  the  I3th  of 
May,  dealing  with  the  legal  points  of  the  case.  This  I 
have  been  unable  to  see,  but  it  appears  that  the  contest 
resulted  in  a  drawn  game.  Donne  was  obliged  to  relinquish 
the  living,  but  Silliard's  appointment  was  not  confirmed, 
and  Keyston  remained  without  a  rector  from  1622  to  1643. 
Donne  had  no  such  trouble  with  his  rectory  of  Sevenoaks, 
which  he  continued  to  hold  until  his  death,  but  here  there 
was  a  vicar,  William  Turner  (1614-1644),  both  before  and 

1  A  rough  draft  of  this  report  is  in  existence  among  the  MSS.  at  Hinton  Windrist 
Manor  (see  Hist.  MSS.  Comm.  xiii.,  app.  4),  and  would  be  of  great  interest.  I  have, 
however,  been  unable  to  see  it.  On  my  asking  Captain  Loder-Symonds  for  permis 
sion  to  do  so,  my  request  was  refused,  on  the  ground  that  "it  would  take  a  week  to 
find  "  the  paper. 


MADE    DEAN    OF    ST.    PAUL'S          157 

after  Donne's  sinecure  but  lucrative  incumbency,  so  that, 
after  the  fashion  of  looking  at  such  appointments  in  the 
seventeenth  century,  Donne  was  in  nobody's  way  at 
Sevenoaks. 

Donne  had,  however,  for  some  years  past  received  the 
promise  of  other  pieces  of  preferment.  One  of  these  was 
an  advowson  in  the  gift  of  his  friend,  Charles  Grey  of 
Ruthyn,  Earl  of  Kent,  whose  sister-in-law,  Lady  Elizabeth 
Grey  of  Ruthyn,  was  a  patroness  of  Selden  and  a  blue 
stocking  of  her  day.  The  appointment  was  to  Blunham 
(or  Blonham),  a  large  parish  with  a  very  small  population, 
in  Bedfordshire ;  the  hamlet  stands  on  the  river  Ivel,  about 
equidistant  from  Bedford  and  Biggleswade.  There  was  a 
mansion  at  Blunham  occupied  by  the  old  Lord  Kent,  and 
here,  it  would  appear,  Donne*  resided  when  he  went  down 
to  take  charge  of  the  parish.  Blunham  does  not  appear  to 
have  been  a  sinecure  in  the  sense  that  Sevenoaks  and 
Keyston  were.  The  following  letter  explains  itself: — 

"  To  the  best  Knight  Sir  H[ENRY]  G^ODYER].* 

"SiR, — At  your  conveniency,  I  pray  send  my  Lady 
Bedford  this  enclosed,  but  be  pleased  to  put  yourself  to 
some  inconvenience  (if  it  be  so)  to  kiss  my  Lady  Ruthyn's 
hands  in  my  name,  and  to  present  my  very  humble  service 
to  her,  and  tell  her  that  no  ill  conscience  of  having  deserved 
her,  but  only  an  obedience  to  her  commandments,  keeps 
me  from  saying  to  herself  thus  much,  that  this  day  I  re 
ceived  a  letter  from  my  Lord  of  Kent,  written  yesterday  at 
Wrest.  In  that  his  Lordship  sends  me  word  that  that 
favour  which  he  hath  formerly  done  me,  in  giving  me 
Blonham,  is  now  likely  to  fall  upon  me  because  the  incum 
bent  is  dangerously  ill ;  and  because  this  is  the  season  in 
which  he  removes  from  Wrest  thither,  he  desires  (for  I  give 
you  his  own  word)  that  he  may  be  accommodated  there  (if  it 
fall  now)  as  heretofore.  Out  of  my  absolute  and  entire 
readiness  to  serve  that  family  I  sent  back  his  messenger 
with  this  answer,  that  I  esteemed  it  a  great  part  of  my  good 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


158  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

fortune  that  I  should  become  worthy  to  be  commanded  by 
him.  If  my  Lady  will  be  pleased  to  direct  me  in  what  par 
ticular  manner  I  may  best  serve  her  purposes,  I  shall  gladly 
wait  upon  her  at  any  time,  to  receive  her  command  with  as 
much  devotion  and  thankfulness  as  I  received  the  benefit. 
I  beseech  you  make  her  believe  it,  as  in  any  place  you 
believe — Your  poor  servant  in  Christ  Jesus, 

"J.  DONNE. 

"26  February  1 621  [2]." 

However  harshly  the  name  of  the  king's  profuse  am 
bassador  may  be  treated  by  historians,  the  biographer  of 
Donne  carries  away  none  but  pleasant  impressions  of  Lord 
Doncaster.  His  acts  of  friendship  were  unfailing,  his 
courtesy  and  consideration  beyond  praise.  It  is  evident 
that  he  surrounded  Donne  with  little  evidences  of  his 
affectionate  good-nature.  On  the  22nd  of  April  1622  he 
was  again  appointed  Ambassador-Extraordinary  to  France, 
and  on  the  I9th  of  May  he  found  time  to  send  a  tun  of 
claret  home  to  Donne  from  Bordeaux.  "  Love  me  still," 
he  said  in  a  hasty  note  to  his  dear  Dean,  "and  reserve 
this  tun  of  excellent  wine  against  your  Michaelmas  hos 
pitality,  where  I  mean  to  be."  He  was  back  in  time  for 
that,  and  for  his  own  reward,  the  Earldom  of  Carlisle ;  it 
was  he  who  in  September  handed  to  the  King  the  MS.  of 
the  Dean's  sermon  and  transmitted  James  I.'s  message  that 
it  was  "a  piece  of  such  perfection,  as  could  admit  neither 
addition  nor  diminution.  He  longs  to  see  it  in  print," 
added  the  kind  and  serviceable  ambassador.  It  was  Lord 
Carlisle,  too,  who  suggested  the  wisdom  of  dedicating  the 
Sermon  to  my  Lord  of  Buckingham,  and  Donne  took  his  ad 
vice.  It  was  several  years  past,  and  yet  in  1622  Carlisle  was 
still  assuring  his  "  dearest  Dean  "  of  the  pleasure  and  profit 
which  their  long  journey  together  had  been  to  him.  "  I 
live  upon  the  crumbs  of  my  German  devotions,"  he  wrote, 
"  which,  if  I  had  carefully  gathered  up,  had  been  an  eternal 
feast."  In  all  his  lifelong  dealings  with  Donne,  Lord 
Carlisle  bears  out  Sir  Anthony  Weldon's  description  of  him, 
"  a  most  complete  and  well-accomplished  gentleman,  modest 


MADE    DEAN    OF    ST.    PAUL'S          159 

and  court-like,  and  of  so  fair  a  demeanour  as  made  him  be 
generally  beloved." 

When  Donne  was  made  Dean  of  St.  Paul's  it  had  been 
the  custom  for  the  afternoon  Sunday  sermons  to  be  preached 
by  selected  preachers  from  outside.  He  altered  this,  and 
arranged  that  in  term-time  these  sermons  should  be  preached 
by  himself  or  the  residentiaries.  The  Chapter  of  St.  Paul's 
consisted  of  thirty  prebendaries,  of  whom  the  Dean  was 
one,  and  the  duties  of  these  officials  were  definitely  laid 
down  by  the  cathedral  statutes.  Dr.  Jessopp  says : — 

"  The  Psalter  was  divided  up  among  the  thirty  pre 
bendaries,  each  of  whom  was  supposed  to  recite  his  five 
psalms  daily,  and  to  make  them  his  special  subject  of  medita 
tion.  .  .  .  Donne's  five  psalms  were  the  62nd  to  the  66th 
inclusive.  As  prebendary  he  was  required  to  preach  upon 
the  Monday  in  Whitsun  week.  As  dean  he  preached  on 
Christmas  Day,  Easter  Sunday,  and  Whit  Sunday.  Every 
one  of  the  Easter  sermons  have  been  preserved,  and  are  to 
be  found  in  the  printed  volumes ;  so  are  all  those  which  he 
delivered  on  Whit  Sunday.  Twice,  owing  to  severe  illness, 
he  was  unable  to  preach  on  Christmas  Day ;  but  the  eight 
Christmas  sermons  that  he  did  deliver  at  St.  Paul's  are 
among  the  most  carefully  thought  out  and  most  eloquent 
of  any  that  have  survived. 

"  The  same  may  be  said  of  the  five  prebend  sermons 
delivered  on  his  allotted  psalms.  On  the  great  festivals  he 
did  not  spare  himself;  and  on  these  important  occasions, 
when  large  congregations  came  expecting  much  from  the 
great  preacher,  he  never  sent  them  empty  away." 

To  this  it  may  be  added  that,  while  Donne's  place  in 
the  Chapter  was  at  its  head,  as  Dean,  he  took  his  share  in 
the  work  as  prebendary  of  Chiswick.  Perhaps  this  prebend 
was  understood  to  go  with  the  Deanery,  for  Cotton  had 
held  it  before  he  was  Dean,  and  kept  it  until  his  death, 
while  Donne  was  apparently  elected  to  it  and  to  the 
Deanery  simultaneously. 

We  possess  about  a  dozen  sermons  preached  during  his 
first  year  as  Dean.  Of  these  the  earliest  is  that  delivered 
in  his  own  cathedral  on  Christmas  Day  1621.  Dr.  Jessopp 


160  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

observes  that  this  sermon  "  is  unlike  any  of  those  which 
he  had  preached  at  Lincoln's  Inn  or  at  the  court.  It  is 
marked  by  an  almost  entire  absence  of  learned  quotations 
or  allusions.  It  is  studiously  direct,  practical,  and  homely; 
and  though  the  structure  and  analysis  of  the  composition  is 
as  minute  as  he  could  not  help  making  it,  this  sermon  is 
marked  by  such  simplicity  of  diction  and  illustration  as 
makes  it  apparent  that  the  preacher  was  thinking  of  his 
congregation  and  not  of  himself,  seeking  to  reach  their 
hearts  and  consciences,  with  never  a  thought  of  merely 
winning  their  admiration  and  applause." 

Three  of  Donne's  sermons  of  1622  deserve  particular 
attention.  At  the  close  of  August  he  preached  at  Han- 
worth  before  the  Marquess  of  Buckingham  ;  Lord  Doncaster 
had  married  Lucy,  daughter  of  the  eccentric  and  unfortu 
nate  ninth  Earl  of  Northumberland,  while  her  father  was 
imprisoned  in  the  Tower,  and  without  his  consent.  The 
entertainment  at  Han  worth  was  prepared,  partly  to  welcome 
Northumberland,  now,  after  so  many  years,  set  at  liberty, 
partly  to  obtain  his  belated  approval  of  a  marriage  which 
he  had  been  powerless  to  prevent.  Donne  preached  a  short 
sermon,  not  printed  till  after  his  death,  and  he  contrived 
to  ingratiate  himself  further  with  the  now  all-powerful 
Buckingham,  to  whom,  at  the  advice  of  the  King,  he  had 
in  1621  offered  his  services. 

Three  weeks  later  Donne  was  instructed  to  explain 
to  the  populace,  in  a  sermon  delivered  at  Paul's  Cross  on 
the  1 5th  of  September  1622,  the  purpose  of  the  King's 
recent  Instructions  to  Preachers,  which  had  created  so  much 
excitement  among  the  Puritan  clergy.  This  was  imme 
diately  published,  by  the  King's  desire,  in  a  small  quarto 
(1622),  and  is  the  earliest  of  Donne's  printed  sermons. 
Donne  appears  to  have  asked  Lord  Doncaster  whether  a 
dedication  to  the  Marquess  of  Buckingham  would  be  well 
received.  He  obtained  the  following  affirmative  answer — 

"Mv  DEAREST  DEAN/ — By  his  Majesty's  command 
ment,  I  return  your  Sermon  with  his  own  word,  *  That  it 

1  From  the  Tobie  Matthew  Collection. 


MADE    DEAN    OF    ST.    PAUL'S 


161 


was  a  piece  of  such  perfection  as  could  admit  neither 
addition  nor  diminution/  He  longs  to  see  it  in  print  as 
concerning  highly  his  service,  and  the  sooner  it  be  de 
spatched  it  will  be  the  only  employment  it  needs.  Your 
other  business  was  moved  by  my  noble  Lord  of  Bucking 
ham,  in  my  hearing,  which  had  a  better  answer  than  was 
desired  or  expected,  whereof  you  shall  have  an  account  at 
our  meeting.  If  you  prefer  an  Epistle,  in  my  opinion, 
it  shall  be  fittest  to  my  Lord  of  Buckingham.  So  I  rest — 
Your  faithful  humble  servant, 

"DONCASTER." 

It  was  accordingly  dedicated  to  George,  Marquess  of 
Buckingham,  in  which  he  informs  the  favourite  that  he, 
Buckingham,  "  loves  the  Church  as  her  foster-brother, 
loved  of  him  [the  King]  who  loves  her."  The  text  seems 
unluckily  chosen  to  illustrate  the  supposed  defiance  of  the 
King  by  the  Puritans — "  The  stars  in  their  courses  fought 
against  Sisera" — but  Sisera  was  highly  pleased  with  his  Dean's 
defence.  There  may  have  been  a  very  large  edition  of  this 
sermon  printed ;  at  all  events  the  copies  went  off  slowly. 
Besides  this  original  issue  of  1622,  the  sheets  were  bound  up 
with  later  work  in  the  Four  Sermons  upon  Special  Occasions  of 
1625,  with  the  same  dedication  to  the  "Marquess,"  although 
Buckingham  had  by  that  time  been  for  two  years  Duke. 
In  1626  the  identical  sheets  figured  again  in  the  Five 
Sermons,  the  dedication,  however,  being  in  those  copies 
which  I  have  seen,  removed. 

Among  copies  of  his  first  published  sermon  which 
Donne  distributed,  one  was  sent  to  his  old  friend,  the 
Electress,  who,  in  the  stress  of  her  political  troubles,  may 
scarcely  have  had  the  heart  to  read  it. 


"  'To  the  QUEEN  OF  BOHEMIA/ 

"May  it  please  your  Majesty, — That  hand,  which 
Almighty  God  sees  at  many  midnights  lifted  up  to  Him  in 
your  Majesty's  behalf,  your  Majesty  hath,  before  this  time, 

1  From  the  Tobie  Matthew  Collection. 
VOL.   II.  L 


162  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

vouchsafed  to  see,  in  this  manner,  offered  to  your  own  eyes. 
I  never  come  to  this  boldness,  but  when  I  have  tried  before 
how  your  royal  father  and  royal  brother  have  accepted 
these  things  which  I  adventure  to  present  to  your  Majesty's 
hand.  In  this  sermon  I  have  more  than  the  acceptation  of 
my  service  in  printing  it,  for  I  have  a  commandment  from 
his  Majesty  to  make  it  public.  And,  in  all  things  that 
have  any  influence  upon  the  public,  the  second  thoughts 
of  every  man  belongs  to  your  Majesty  ;  much  more  in 
me,  who  have  tasted  of  your  easiness,  to  pardon  the 
rashness  and  boldness  of  your  Majesty's  most  humble  and 
devoted,  &c." 

[October  1622.] 

On  the  1 3th  of  November  1622  Donne  was  called 
upon  to  preach  a  sermon  (upon  Acts  i.  8)  before  the 
Honourable  Company  of  the  Virginian  Plantation.  It  has 
been  said  that  Donne  was  himself  one  of  the  "adventurers" 
or  shareholders  in  this  enterprise,  but  I  have  not  found  his 
name,  although  those  of  many  of  his  friends,  in  the  list  of 
adventurers  printed  in  1620.  Perhaps  he  joined  after 
becoming  Dean  of  St.  Paul's.  The  Virginia  Company  had 
now  been  running  twelve  years,  and  in  1622  a  vigorous  effort 
was  being  made  to  place  it  on  a  sounder  financial  basis ; 
the  King  presided,  Lord  Southampton  was  elected 
treasurer,  and  Nicholas  Ferrar,  afterwards  of  Little  Gid- 
ding,  became  deputy-treasurer.  Donne  was  invited  to 
preach  a  missionary  sermon,  and  he  pressed  home,  with  not 
a  little  show  of  local  colour,  the  necessity  of  recollecting 
that  a  duty  lay  upon  the  adventurers  to  convert  the  souls 
of  the  Virginian  Indians  : — 

"  O  if  you  could  once  bring  a  catechism  to  be  as  good 
ware  amongst  them  as  a  bugle,  as  a  knife,  as  a  hatchet ;  O 
if  you  would  be  as  ready  to  hearken  at  the  return  of  a  ship 
how  many  Indians  were  converted  to  Christ  Jesus,  as  what 
trees,  or  drugs,  or  dyes  that  ship  brought,  then  you  were  in 
your  right  way,  and  not  till  then ;  liberty  and  abundance 
are  characters  of  kingdoms,  and  a  kingdom  is  excluded  in 


MADE    DEAN    OF    ST.    PAUL'S          163 

the   text ;    the  Apostles  were  not  to  look  for  it  in  their 
employment,  nor  you  in  this  plantation." 

This  sermon  was  immediately  published,  at  the  com 
mand  of  the  Virginian  Company,  as  a  quarto  pamphlet. 
It  was  reprinted  in  the  Four  Sermons  of  1625.  Donne  did 
not  relinquish  his  interest  in  the  American  colonies,  and  in 
July  1624  he  contributed  to  Captain  John  Smith's  History 
of  Virginia  a  copy  of  commendatory  verses,  in  which  this 
cynical  stanza  occurs — 

"  Nor  wit,  nor  valour,  nowadays  pays  scores 
For  estimation  ;  all  now  goes  by  wealth 
Or  friends ;  tush  !   thrust  the  beggar  out  of  doors 

That  is  not  purse-lin'd  !  Those  which  live  by  stealth 
Shall  have  their  haunts  ;  no  matter  what's  the  guest, 
In  many  places  monies  will  come  best." 

In  1622  we  meet  with  the  earliest  evidence  that  Donne 
was  coming  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  patron  of  poetry  and  a 
master  in  the  art  of  verse.  Early  in  that  year  a  lawyer 
named  Roger  Tisdale  published  what  he  called  a  divine 
rhapsody,  entitled  The  Lawyer's  Philosophy  ;  or,  Law  brought 
to  Light.  This  little  volume,  which  is  now  excessively  rare, 
is  dedicated  in  a  garrulous  epistle  to  "the  learned  and 
Reverend  John  Donne."  From  this  preface  we  learn  that 
Tisdale  was  an  early  friend  of  Donne  (on  whose  name  he 
bluntly  makes  the  usual  pun),  and  that  he  has  long  watched 
his  career  with  interest.  These  sentences  have  a  certain 
biographical  value — 

"  'Tis  you,  dear  Sir,  that,  after  a  soaring  flight  of  many 
years,  have  now  lighted  upon  a  fair  tree  [the  Deanery], 
under  whose  branches  it  is  my  fortune  to  hold  a  poor 
cottage.  .  .  .  The  motion  of  your  wings  was  to  me  a 
warning  of  your  coming,  and  though  it  be  in  the  wane- 
time  of  my  life,  I  could  not  choose  but  open  the  doors  of 
my  heart  to  receive  you.  To  your  friends  I  was  heretofore 
bound  in  duty,  and  (in  our  youthful  society)  to  yourself  in 
love.  ...  I  must  ingeniously  confess,  as  an  ancient  obser 
vant  of  your  youth,  that  your  young  days  were  to  me  of 
as  much  admiration  as  those  days  are  now  of  deserved 


164  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

reverence.  ...  In  respect  of  my  weakness,  you  may  call 
it  [the  poem]  an  April  daisy  in  the  lap  of  winter,  quickly 
blasted  ;  but  in  respect  of  my  aspiring  love  and  your  affect 
ing  goodness,  I  hope  it  shall  be  received  and  welcomed  as  a 
rose  at  Christmas." 

The  Lawyer's  Philosophy  is  not  an  interesting  poem, 
and  Roger  Tisdale,  after  publishing  a  Pax  Fobis  in  Latin 
hexameters  in  1623,  judiciously  subsided  into  silence. 

A  group  of  short  letters  to  Sir  Robert  Ker  belong  to 
the  summer  of  1622.  It  is  apparent  that  Ker  has  thought 
of  employing  in  his  service  some  one  who  had  been  in  Lord 
Doncaster' s  train  in  the  embassy  to  Germany  two  years 
before,  and  that  he  has  asked  Donne  for  a  confidential  re 
port  of  this  man's  fitness,  to  which  the  Dean  returns  a  very 
scrupulous  reply,  his  hesitation  being  founded  on  the  fact 
that  Doncaster  had  not  taken  the  same  gentleman  with  him 
to  Paris  in  April  1622.  A  few  weeks  after  the  third  of 
these  notes,  on  the  I3th  of  September,  Viscount  Doncaster 
was  promoted  to  be  Earl  of  Carlisle,  and  the  courtesy  title 
of  Lord  Doncaster  descended  to  his  son,  the  second  James 
Hay. 

"  'To  the  Honourable  Knight  Sir  ROBERT  KER.1 

"SiR, — The  same  hour  that  I  received  the  honour  of 
your  commandments,  by  your  letter  left  at  my  poor  house, 
I  put  myself  upon  the  way  hither ;  so  that  I  am  here  in 
the  habit  of  a  traveller,  and  (suitable  to  the  rest  of  my  un- 
worthinesses)  unfit  for  great  presences.  Therefore,  I  abstain 
from  waiting  upon  you  presently;  besides  that  in  this 
abstinence  (except  I  misinterpret  the  last  words  of  your 
letter  to  my  advantage)  I  obey  your  directions,  in  sending 
before  I  come  to  you.  However,  Sir,  I  am  entirely  at  your 
disposing,  if  you  will  be  pleased  to  add  this  favour  to  the 
rest,  that  I  may  understand  wherein  you  will  use  your 
authority  and  power,  which  you  have  over  your  poor  and 
humble  servant, 

"JOHN  DONNE." 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


MADE    DEAN    OF    ST.    PAUL'S          165 

"  To  the  Honourable  Knight  Sir  ROBERT  KER.* 

"  SIR, — If  I  would  calumniate,  I  could  say  no  ill  of  that 
gentleman.  I  know  not  whether  my  Lord  or  myself  took 
the  first  apprehension  of  it,  but  I  remember  that  very  soon 
we  concurred  in  a  good  opinion  of  him ;  thereupon  for 
justifying  our  own  forwardness,  we  observed  him  more 
thoroughly,  and  found  all  the  way  good  reason  to  ratify 
our  first  estimation  of  him.  This  gave  my  Lord  occasion 
to  send  him  abroad  in  his  service  after;  how  he  satisfied 
him  in  that  employment,  indeed  I  know  not.  But,  that  I 
disguise  nothing,  I  remember  my  Lord  told  me  sometimes 
in  his  absence  that  he  had  not  account  from  him  of  some 
things  which  he  had  deposed  in  him.  And  at  his  entering 
into  his  coach,  at  his  last  going,  I  asked  my  Lord,  goes  not 
the  gentleman  with  you  ?  and  he  told  me  with  some  cold 
ness  no.  So  that  if  you  be  not  pressed  to  a  resolution,  you 
may  be  pleased  to  forbear  a  few  days,  till  I  may  occasionally 
discern  whether  he  have  demented  or  sunk  in  my  Lord's 
opinion ;  and  then  you  shall  have  another  character  of  him 
from  your  very  humble  and  thankful  servant, 

"J.  DONNE. 

"2$th  July  [1622]." 

"  To  the  Honourable  Knight  Sir  ROBERT  KER.2 

"SiR, — This  is  but  a  postscript  to  the  last  letter,  and  it 
is  only  to  tell  you  that  it  was  an  impertinent  jealousy  that 
I  conceived  of  that  gentleman's  absence  from  my  Lord,  for 
he  gives  that  full  testimony  of  him,  that  he  never  discerned 
any  kind  of  unfitness  in  him  for  any  employment,  except 
too  much  goodness ;  and  conscientiousness  may  sometimes 
make  him  somewhat  less  fit  for  some  kinds  of  business  than  a 
man  of  a  looser  rein.  And  this  is  all  that  I  conceive  to  have 
been  in  the  commandment  wherewith  you  honoured  your 
very  humble  and  thankful  servant  in  Christ  Jesus, 

"JOHN  DONNE. 

"2nd  August  1622." 


1  From  the  Letters  of  1651.  2  Ibid. 


166  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

The  facts  reported  concerning  the  German  war  give  us 
the  approximate  date  of  the  next  letter.  Frederick  had 
had  to  flee  from  Bohemia  after  the  battle  of  the  White 
Mountain  in  November  1620.  The  war,  then,  proceeded 
in  Germany,  with  results  ever  more  and  more  disastrous 
for  his  cause,  and  at  the  close  of  1622,  Heidelberg,  and 
Mannheim  itself,  having  surrendered,  the  only  town  left  to 
him  was  Frankenthal.  Tilly  defeated  Baden  at  Wimpfen  on 
the  6th  of  May,  and  Christian  of  Brunswick  at  Hoelst  on 
the  2Oth  of  June,  capturing  the  entire  Palatinate  in  the 
summer  and  autumn  of  1622. 

Sir  Henry  Goodyer  was  deeply  interested  in  all  these 
particulars,  as  Nethersole,  his  daughter's  husband,  was  in 
attendance  on  the  unfortunate  Elector  Palatine.  The 
celebrated  John  Selden  is  in  this  letter  first  mentioned  as 
an  acquaintance  of  the  Dean  of  St.  Paul's.  He  was  by 
nearly  ten  years  DonneTs  junior,  but  had  early  become 
eminent  in  legal  literature,  and  had  by  this  time  published 
what  remained  his  most  celebrated  books  —  his  'Titles  of 
Honour,  1610,  and  his  History  of  Tithes,  1618. 


"  To  Sir  H[ENRY] 

"SiR,  —  I  have  the  honour  of  your  letter,  which  I  am 
almost  sorry  to  have  received  ;  some  few  days  before  the 
receipt  thereof,  Dr.  Turner,  who  accompanied  my  Lord 
Carow  to  Sion  to  dinner,  showed  me  a  letter  from  you, 
from  which  I  conceived  good  hopes  that  your  businesses 
being  devolved  into  the  hands  of  the  Treasurer,  had  been 
in  much  more  forwardness  than  by  your  letter  to  me  they 
appear  to  be.  I  beseech  God  establish  them,  and  hasten 
them,  and  with  them,  or  without  them,  as  He  sees  most 
conducible  to  His  purpose  upon  you,  continue  in  you  a 
relying  upon  Him,  and  a  satisfaction  in  His  ways.  I 
know  not  whether  any  letter  from  your  son,  or  any  other 
report,  may  have  given  you  any  mention  of  me  ;  he  wrote 
to  me  from  the  Compter  that  he  was  under  a  trifling  arrest, 
and  that  £$  and  some  little  more  would  discharge  him. 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


MADE    DEAN    OF    ST.    PAUL'S          167 

I  sent  my  man  with  that  money,  but  bid  him  see  it  em 
ployed  for  his  discharge ;  he  found  more  actions  and  re 
turned.  Next  day  he  wrote  to  me  that  ^8  would  discharge 
him,  and  that  Mr.  Selden  would  lay  down  half.  But  Mr. 
Selden  and  I  speaking  together  thought  it  the  fittest  way 
to  respite  all  till,  in  a  few  days,  by  his  writing  to  you,  we 
might  be  directed  therein  ;  and  in  the  meantime  took  order 
with  the  keeper  to  accommodate  him,  and  I  bade  my  man 
Martin,  as  from  himself,  to  serve  his  present  want  with 
some  things.  Since  we  told  him  that  we  would  attend  a 
return  of  his  letter  to  you,  I  heard  no  more  of  him,  but  I 
hear  he  is  out. 

Whosoever  serves  you  with  relations  from  this  town, 
I  am  sure  prevents  me  of  all  I  can  say.  The  Pala 
tinate  is  absolutely  lost;  for  before  this  letter  come  to 
you,  we  make  account  that  Heidelberg  and  Frankindale  is 
lost  and  Mannheim  distressed.  Mansfield  came  to  Breda 
and  Gonzales  to  Brussels,  with  great  losses  on  both  sides, 
but  equal.  The  Prince  of  Orange  is  but  now  come  to 
Breda,  and  with  him  all  that  he  is  able  to  make,  even  out 
of  the  garrisons  of  their  towns.  The  ways  of  victual  to 
Spinola's  army  are  almost  all  precluded  by  him,  and  he 
likely  to  put  upon  the  raising  of  Spinola,  between  whom 
and  the  town  there  are  hotter  disputes  than  ever  our  times 
saw.  The  Secretary  of  the  States  here  showed  me  a  letter 
yesternight  that  the  town  spends  6000  pounds  of  powder  a 
day,  and  hath  spent  since  the  siege  250  million  pounds. 
Argit's  regiment  and  my  Lord  Vaux  are  so  diminished  by 
comings  away,  as  that  both  (I  think)  make  not  now  in 
muster  above  600. 

Mr.  Gage  is  returning  to  Rome,  but  of  his  negotia 
tion  I  dare  say  nothing  by  a  letter  of  adventure.  The 
direction  which  his  Majesty  gave  for  preachers  had 
scandalised  many ;  therefore  he  descended  to  pursue  them 
with  certain  reasons  of  his  proceedings  therein ;  and  I 
had  commandment  to  publish  them  in  a  sermon  at  the 
Cross,  to  as  great  a  congregation  as  ever  I  saw  together, 
where  they  received  comfortable  assurance  of  his  Majesty's 
constancy  in  religion,  and  of  his  desire  that  all  men  should 


i68  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

be  bred  in  the  knowledge  of  such  things  as  might  preserve 
them  from  the  superstition  of  Rome.  I  presume  it  is  but 
a  little  wHile  before  we  shall  see  you  here,  but  that  little 
time  is  likely  to  produce  many  things  greatly  considerable. 
Present,  I  pray,  my  thankful  services  to  your  good 
daughters.  I  can  give  them  no  better  a  room  in  my 
prayers  and  wishes  than  my  poor  Constance  hath,  and  they 
have  that;  so  have  you,  Sir,  with  your  very  true  friend 
and  servant  in  Christ  Jesus,  J.  DONNE." 

[September  1622.] 

"  70  Sir  H[ENRY]  GfooDYER].1 

"SiR, — This  is  a  second  letter;  the  enclosed  was 
written  before.  Now  we  are  sure  that  Heidelberg  is 
taken  and  entered  with  extreme  cruelties.  Almost  all  the 
defenders  forsook  their  stations ;  only  Sir  Gerald  Herbert 
maintained  his  nobly,  to  the  repulsing  of  the  enemy  three 
times,  but  having  ease  in  the  other  parts,  800  new  fresh 
men  were  put  upon  his  quarter,  and  after  he  had  broke 
four  pikes,  and  done  very  well,  he  was  shot  dead  in  the 
place.  Mannheim  was  soon  after  besieged,  and  is  still. 
Heidelberg  was  lost  the  6th  of  this  month.  The  King, 
upon  news  of  this,  sent  to  the  Spanish  Ambassador  that 
the  people  were  like  to  resent  it,  and  therefore,  if  he 
doubted  aught,  he  should  have  a  guard ;  but  I  do  not  see 
that  he  seems  to  need  it,  in  his  own  opinion,  neither  in 
truth  does  he ;  the  people  are  flat ;  or  trust  in  God  and 
the  King's  ways.  Sir  Horatio  Vere  hath  written  to  his 
wife  (as  I  am  told)  a  letter  in  the  nature  of  a  will,  for  the 
disposing  of  his  estate  and  children,  as  though  he  did  not 
account  to  see  her  any  more,  but  yet  Mannheim  cannot  be 
lost  but  by  storming.  Your  man  stays,  and  our  bell  rings 
me  into  the  church ;  there,  Sir,  I  shall  recommend  you  to 
God's  goodness  with  your  friend,  J.  DONNE. 

«  24/£  September  [1622]." 


1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


MADE    DEAN    OF    ST.    PAUL'S          169 

"fo  Sir  H[ENRY]  G[OODYER  P].1 

"SiR, — All  our  moralities  are  but  our  outworks,  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  accom 
panied  with  heavy  clouds  of  melancholy,  and  in  our  youth 
we  never  admitted  any.  It  is  the  spleen  of  the  mind,  and 
we  are  affected  with  vapours  from  thence ;  yet,  truly,  even 
this  sadness  that  overtakes  us,  and  this  yielding  to  the 
sadness,  is  not  so  vehement  a  poison  (though  it  be  no  physic 
neither)  as  those  false  ways  in  which  we  sought  our  comforts 
in  our  looser  days.  You  are  able  to  make  rules  to  yourself, 
and  our  Blessed  Saviour  continue  to  you  an  ability  to  keep 
within  those  rules.  And  this  particular  occasion  of  your 
present  sadness  must  be  helped  by  the  rule,  for,  for  ex 
amples  you  will  scarce  find  any,  scarce  any  that  is  not 
encumbered  and  distressed  in  his  fortunes.  I  had  locked 
myself,  sealed  and  secured  myself  against  all  possibilities  of 
falling  into  new  debts,  and,  in  good  faith,  this  year  hath 
thrown  me  ^400  lower  than  when  I  entered  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 
go,  for,  in  good  faith,  I  believe  yours  to  be  so;  but  as 
those,  my  daughters  (who  are  capable  of  such  considera 
tions),  cannot  but  see  my  desire  to  accommodate  them  in 
this  world,  so  I  think  they  will  not  murmur  if  heaven  must 
be  their  nunnery,  and  they  associated  to  the  blessed  virgins 
there.  I  know  they  would  be  content  to  pass  their  lives  in 
a  prison  rather  than  I  should  macerate  myself  for  them, 
much  more  to  suffer  the  mediocrity  of  my  house  and  my 
means,  though  that  cannot  prefer  them  ;  yours  are  such  too, 

1  This  letter  is  addressed,  in  the  Letters  of  1651,  to  Sir  Henry  Wotton,  an 
impossible  attribution. 


LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

and  it  need  not  that  patience,  for  your  fortune  doth  not 
so  far  exercise  their  patience.  But  to  leave  all  in  God's 
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  rags, 
else  I  had  written  less  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  yours,  with  your  true  friend  and 
servant  in  Christ  Jesus,  J.  DONNE. 

"October  the  ^th   1622,  almost  at  midnight" 

In  this  letter  Goodyer  seems  once  more  to  be  in  acute 
financial  difficulties,  and  Donne  excuses  himself  from  giving 
him  any  practical  help. 

The  Countess  of  Huntingdon  mentioned  in  the  follow 
ing  letter,  which  was  evidently  addressed  to  Sir  Henry 
Goodyer,  was  Donne's  old  friend,  who,  as  Lady  Elizabeth 
Stanley,  had  married  the  young  Lord  Hastings  in  1601, 
before  he  succeeded  to  the  earldom.  Why  Sir  Francis 
Nethersole,  Goodyer's  son-in-law,  should  be  imprisoned  for 
debt  immediately  on  his  return  from  his  perilous  continental 
mission,  is  perhaps  not  known.  We  are  more  interested  in 
the  discovery  that  the  passage  of  years  has  brought  Con 
stance  Donne  to  marriageable  estate.  She  was,  indeed,  now 
nineteen  ;  who  the  youth  of  quality  was  who  fled  both 
from  a  spiritual  and  a  temporal  wife  we  can  never  hope  to 
know,  for  Goodyer  evidently  burned  the  "schedule,"  as 
he  was  told  to  do.  Constance  was  to  wait  a  year  before 
making  a  marriage,  comfortable  enough,  one  hopes,  but 
certainly  far  less  fashionable  than  this  projected  one. 

"  fo  the  Honourable  Knight  Sir  G.  P. 
\t.e.  Sir  HENRY  GOODYER. J  1 

"  SIR, — I  would  have  intermitted  this  week  without  the 
writing  if  I  had  not  found  the  name  of  my  Lady  Hunting 
don  in  your  letter.  The  devotion  which  I  owe  (and  in 

1  From  Letters  of  1651. 


MADE    DEAN    OF    ST.    PAUL'S          171 

good  faith)  pay  in  my  best  prayers  for  her  good,  in  all 
kind  awakens  me  to  present  my  humble  thanks  for  this, 
that  her  Ladyship  retains  my  name  in  her  memory;  she 
never  laid  obligation  upon  any  man  readier  to  express  his 
acknowledgment  of  them,  to  any  servant  of  her  servants ;  I 
am  bound  to  say  much  of  this  for  your  indemnity,  because 
though  I  had  a  little  preparation  to  her  knowledge  in  the 
house  where  I  served  at  first,  yet,  I  think,  she  took  her 
characters  of  me  from  you.  And,  at  what  time  soever  she 
thought  best  of  me  in  her  life,  I  am  better  than  that,  for 
my  goodness  is  my  thankfulness,  and  I  am  every  day  fuller 
of  that  than  before  to  her  Ladyship.  I  say  nothing  to  you 
of  foreign  names  in  this  letter  because  your  son,  Sir  Francis, 
is  here.  For  that  which  you  write  concerning  your  son,  I 
only  gave  my  man  Martin  in  charge  to  use  his  interest  in 
the  keeper  that  your  son  should  fall  under  no  wants  there, 
which  it  seems  your  son  discharged,  for  I  hear  not  of  them. 
For  other  trifles  I  bade  my  man  let  him  have  whatsoever 
he  asked  so  as  it  might  seem  to  come  from  him  and  not  me  ; 
and,  laying  that  look  upon  it,  it  came  to  almost  nothing. 

"Tell  both  your  daughters  a  piece  of  a  story  of  my 
Con.,  which  may  accustom  them  to  endure  disappoint 
ments  in  this  world  :  An  honourable  person  (whose  name 
I  give  you  in  a  schedule  to  burn,  lest  this  letter  should  be 
mislaid)  had  an  intention  to  give  her  one  of  his  sons,  and 
had  told  it  me,  and  would  have  been  content  to  accept 
what  I,  by  my  friends,  could  have  begged  for  her ;  but  he 
intended  that  son  to  my  profession,  and  had  provided 
him  already  ^300  a  year  of  his  own  gift  in  church 
livings,  and  hath  estated  ^"300  more  of  inheritance  for 
their  children ;  and  now  the  youth  (who  yet  knows  nothing 
of  his  father's  intention  nor  mine)  flies  from  his  resolu 
tions  for  that  calling,  and  importunes  his  father  to  let  him 
travel.  The  girl  knows  not  her  loss,  for  I  never  told  her 
of  it ;  but,  truly,  it  is  a  great  disappointment  to  me. 
More  than  these,  Sir,  we  must  all  suffer  in  our  way  to  heaven, 
where,  I  hope,  you  and  all  yours  shall  meet  your  poor 
friend  and  affectionate  servant,  J.  DONNE. 

October  1622." 


172  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

"  'To  my  honoured  friend  Mr.  GEORGE  GERRARD, 
over  against  Salisbury  House.1 

"SiR, — I  do  not  make  account  that  I  am  come  to 
London  when  I  get  within  the  wall ;  that  which  makes  it 
London  is  the  meeting  of  friends.  I  cannot  therefore 
otherwise  bid  myself  welcome  to  London  than  by  seeking 
of  you,  which  both  Sir  H.  Goodyer  and  I  do,  with  so  much 
diligence,  as  that  this  messenger  comes  two  days  before  to 
entreat  you  from  us  both  to  reserve  yourself  upon  Saturday, 
so  that  I  may,  at  our  coming  to  London  that  night,  under 
stand  at  my  house  where  I  may  send  you  word  of  our 
supping  place  that  night,  and  have  the  honour  of  your 
company.  So  you  lay  more  obligations  upon  your  poor 
unprofitable  servant,  J.  DONNE." 

[1622?] 

The  next  letter  is  interesting  and  important,  and  has 
never,  I  believe,  been  printed  until  now.  It  is  addressed  to 
James  I.'s  Ambassador  to  the  Ottoman  Porte.  Sir  Thomas 
Roe  had  arrived  at  Constantinople  late  in  December 
1621,  and  he  continued  to  protect  English  interests  in 
Turkey  until  1628.  His  personal  prestige  at  the  Porte 
was  unprecedented,  and  he  contrived  to  enforce  a  respect 
which  had  before  his  visit  been  systematically  refused  to 
European  ambassadors.  What  Donne  reveals  in  this  letter 
of  his  own  methods  as  a  preacher  is  very  interesting.  He  was 
evidently  accustomed  to  preach  without  a  written  sermon, 
but  from  full  notes,  and  if  the  King  or  any  other  person  of 
importance  asked  to  read  what  he  had  said,  he  was  obliged 
to  write  it  out  from  memory  by  the  aid  of  the  notes.  It 
is  therefore  impossible  for  us  to  know  whether  any  one  of 
the  mass  of  printed  discourses  which  we  possess  represents 
with  exactitude  what  was  actually  said  to  an  audience. 
This  may  account  for  the  extreme  length  of  many  of  them  ; 
they  may  represent,  in  their  present  form,  elaborate  expan 
sion  at  the  study-table. 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


MADE    DEAN    OF    ST.    PAUL'S          173 

"  To  the  Right  Honourable  Sir  THOMAS  RoE,1 

Ambassador  for  His  Majesty  of  Great  Britain  to  the 

Grand  Seignior. 

"  If  your  Lordship's  chaplain  be  as  well  shipped  as  my 
letter  is  shipped  in  him,  they  come  both  well  to  your  Lord 
ship.  Mine  is  but  a  vessel  for  another  weather ;  for  now 
when  I  begin  to  write,  I  remember  a  commandment  which 
my  Lord  of  Carlisle  laid  upon  me,  to  call  for  a  letter  from 
him,  upon  your  first  commodity  of  sending  ;  and  before  this 
letter  be  sealed,  I  hope  he  will  return  from  Court.  If  he 
do  not,  I  may  have  leave  to  say  something,  both  of  that 
which  he  would  and  that  which  he  would  not  have  said  in 
his  own  letter.  He  would  not  have  said  that  which  I  may, 
that  he  is  the  directest  man  that  ever  I  knew,  but  he  would 
have  said  that  he  is  as  much  directed  upon  you  as  any,  for, 
in  good  faith,  he  apprehends  everywhere  any  occasion  of 
testifying  well  of  your  Lordship.  To  speak  in  that  lan 
guage  which  you  know  to  be  mine,  that  is  free  in  will  (at 
least)  from  flattery,  he  provides  for  his  ease  and  his  thrift 
in  doing  so ;  for,  truly,  I  have  met  no  case  anywhere,  where 
the  delivering  of  a  good  opinion  of  you,  or  a  judgment  upon 
any  of  your  actions,  costs  any  man  anything,  or  exercises  him 
against  an  opposition.  Our  Blessed  Saviour  give  you  the 
comfort  of  it  all  your  way,  and  your  reward  of  it  at  last. 

"Many  grains  make  up  the  bread  that  feeds  us,  and 
many  thorns  make  up  the  crown  that  must  glorify  us,  and 
one  of  those  thorns  is,  for  the  most  part,  the  stinging 
calumny  of  others'  tongues.  This  (for  anything  that  con 
cerned  the  public)  you  had  not  in  your  last  employment, 
though  then  you  had  a  domestic  Satan,  a  viper,  a  tongue- 
stinger,  in  your  own  house.  In  this  employment  you  have 
been  every  way  delivered  from  it ;  I  never  heard  your  private 
nor  public  actions  calumniated,  so  you  have  the  less  thorns 
to  make  up  that  crown.  But,  Sir,  since  that  crown  is  made 
of  thorns,  be  not  without  them.  When  you  contemplate 
Christ  Jesus  crowned  with  thorns,  remember  that  those 
thorns  which  you  see  stand  out  hurt  Him  not ;  those  which 

]  State  Papers  Domestic,  James  I. 


174  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

wounded  Him  were  bent  inward.  Outward  thorns  of 
calumny  and  misinterpretation  do  us  least  harm ;  inno- 
cency  despises  them,  or  friends  and  just  examiners  of  the 
case  blunt  or  break  them.  Find  thorns  within  ;  a  wounding 
sense  of  sin  bring  you  the  thorns,  and  Christ  will  make  it  a 
crown ;  or  do  you  make  it  a  crown,  when  two  ends  meet 
and  make  a  circle  (consider  yourself,  from  one  mother  to 
another,  from  the  womb  to  the  grave),  and  Christ  will 
make  it  a  crown  of  glory.  Add  not  you  to  my  thorns  by 
giving  any  ill  interpretations  of  my  silence  or  slackness  in 
writing ;  you,  who  have  so  long  accustomed  to  assist  me 
with  your  good  opinion  and  testimonies  and  benefits,  will 
not  easily  do  that ;  but  if  you  have  at  any  time  declined 
towards  it,  I  beseech  you  let  this  have  some  weight  towards 
re-rectifying  you,  that  the  assiduity  of  doing  the  Church  of 
God  that  service  which  (in  a  poor  measure)  I  am  thought 
to  be  able  to  do,  possesses  me,  and  fills  me. 

"  You  know,  Sir,  that  the  astronomers  of  the  world  are 
not  so  much  exercised  about  all  the  constellations  and  their 
motions,  formerly  apprehended  and  believed,  as  when  there 
arises  a  new  and  irregular  meteor.  Many  of  them  this 
treaty  of  the  marriage  of  the  Prince  hath  produced  in  our 
firmament,  in  our  divinity,  and  many  men,  measuring  public 
actions  with  private  affections,  have  been  scandalised,  and 
have  admitted  suspicions  of  a  tepidness  in  very  high  places. 
Some  Civil  Acts,  in  favour  of  the  Papists,  have  been  with 
some  precipitation  ovcr-dangerously  misapplied  too.  It  is 
true  there  is  a  major  proposition,  but  the  conclusion  is  too 
soon  made,  if  there  be  not  a  minor  too.  I  know  to  be 
sorry  for  some  things  that  are  done  (it  is  sorry  that  our 
times  are  overtaken  with  a  necessity  to  do  them)  proceeds 
of  true  zeal,  but  to  conclude  the  worst  upon  the  first 
degree  of  ill  is  a  distilling  with  too  hot  a  fire.  One  of 
these  occurrences  gave  the  occasion  to  this  sermon,  which 
by  commandment  I  preached,  and  which  I  send  your  Lord 
ship.  Some  weeks  after  that  I  preached  another  at  the 
same  place,  upon  the  Gunpowder  Day ;  therein  I  was  left 
more  to  mine  own  liberty,  and  therefore  I  would  I  could 
also  send  your  Lordship  a  copy  of  that,  but  that  one,  which 


MADE    DEAN    OF    ST.    PAUL'S          175 

also  by  commandment  I  did  write  after  the  preaching,  is  as 
yet  in  his  Majesty's  hand,  and  I  know  not  whether  he  will 
in  it,  as  he  did  in  the  other,  after  his  reading  thereof, 
command  it  to  be  printed ;  and  whilst  it  is  in  that  suspense, 
I  know  your  Lordship  would  call  it  indiscretion  to  send  out 
any  copy  thereof;  neither  truly  am  I  able  to  commit  that 
fault,  for  I  have  no  copy. 

"  A  few  days  after  that  I  preached,  by  invitation  of  the 
Virginian  Company,  to  an  honourable  auditory,  and  they 
recompensed  me  with  a  new  commandment  in  their  service 
to  print  that,  and  that,  I  hope,  comes  with  this,  for  with 
papers  of  that  kind  1  am  the  apter  to  charge  your  chaplain. 
In  the  exercise  of  my  ministry  I  have  assisted  in  the  time  of 
sickness,  and  now  attended  at  the  funerals,  the  first  night 
of  my  Lady  Jacob,  and  the  next  of  Sir  Wm.  Killigrew, 
against  whom  the  Bishop  of  Exeter,  my  predecessor  here, 
had  commenced  a  suit  in  Chancery  of  (as  he  laid  it  in 
his  bill)  ,£30,000  value.  The  case  grew  to  a  strange 
point.  That  which  was  laid  to  him  was  indirect  dealing  in 
the  execution  of  a  commission  about  the  value  of  that  land 
which  was  taken  from  the  bishopric.  His  sickness  made 
him  unable  to  answer ;  without  it  they  could  not  proceed. 
There  was  proposed  a  way,  to  appoint  him  a  guardian 
ad  hoc;  but  the  defect  being  not  in  his  understanding, 
some  of  the  judges  said,  that  if  the  case  were  treason,  and 
he  by  the  hand  of  God  become  unable  to  answer,  he  could 
not  be  proceeded  against.  Whilst  they  were  in  further 
deliberation  the  good  man  is  dead,  and  the  charge  being 
personal,  of  which  no  other  man  can  give  an  account,  I 
hope  the  whole  business  is  dead  too ;  though,  if  it  be  pur 
sued,  I  do  not  discern  that  they  are  in  any  danger.  I 
recommend  myself  to  your  Lordship's  prayers,  and  I  enwrap 
you  with  mine  own  soul  in  mine ;  and  our  Blessed  God 
enwrap  in  the  righteousness  of  His  Son  both  you  and 
"  Your  Lordship's  humblest  and 

thankfulest  servant  in  Christ  Jesus, 

"J.  DONNE. 

"  At  my  poor  house  at  St.  Paul's,  London, 
1st  December  1622." 


176  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

The  next  letter,  also  now  printed  for  the  first  time,1 
must  have  been  written  while  Buckingham  was  in  Spain 
with  the  Prince  of  Wales  on  the  business  of  the  marriage 
with  the  Infanta.  The  two  young  men  entered  Madrid  on 
the  yth  of  March  1623,  and  on  the  i8th  of  May  Bucking 
ham,  who  is  here  styled  a  Marquess,  was  created  a  Duke. 

"  'To  the  Most  Honourable  and  my  most  honoured  Lord,  the 
Marquess  of  BUCKINGHAM. 

"  MOST  HONOURED  LORD, — I  can  thus  far  make  myself 
believe  that  I  am  where  your  Lordship  is,  in  Spain,  that, 
in  my  poor  library,  where  indeed  I  am,  I  can  turn  mine 
eye  towards  no  shelf,  in  any  profession  from  the  mistress 
of  my  youth,  Poetry,  to  the  wife  of  mine  age,  Divinity, 
but  that  I  meet  more  authors  of  that  nation  than  of  any 
other.  Their  authors  in  Divinity,  though  they  do  not 
show  us  the  best  way  to  heaven,  yet  they  think  they  do. 
And  so,  though  they  say  not  true,  yet  they  do  not  lie, 
because  they  speak  their  conscience. 

"And  since  in  charity  I  believe  so  of  them  for  their 
divinity,  in  civility  I  believe  it  too  for  civil  matters  that 
therein  also  they  mean  as  they  say,  and  by  this  time  your  Lord 
ship  knows  what  they  say.  I  take  therefore  this  boldness, 
and  congratulate  thus  with  your  Lordship  the  great  honour 
which  you  receive  in  being  so  great  an  instrument  of  that 
work  in  which  the  peace  of  Christendom  so  much  consists. 
How  to  use  a  sword  when  it  is  out  we  know  you  know. 
Think  you  that  commandment  of  our  Saviour  to  be 
directed  upon  you :  "  Put  up  the  sword,  study  the  ways  of 
peace ! "  The  hardest  authors  in  the  world  are  kings. 
And  your  Lordship  hath  read  over  the  hardest  of  them. 
Since  you  have  passed  from  the  text  of  the  King  of  kings, 
the  Book  of  God,  by  the  commentary  of  the  wisest  King 
among  men,  the  counsels  of  our  Sovereign,  the  knowledge 
of  other  states  and  other  kings,  is  down-hill  and  obvious 
to  your  Lordship,  and  you  find  it  in  posting.  And  for  this 
blessed  clearness  in  your  Lordship,  Almighty  God  receives 

1  From  the  Tanner  MSS.  in  the  Bodleian. 


MADE    DEAN    OF    ST.    PAUL'S          177 

every  day,  not  the  prayers  (their  time  is  not  when  the 
thing  is  given  already),  but  the  thanks  of  your  Lordship's 
humblest  and  devotedst  and  thankfulest  servant  in  Christ 
Jesus, 

"J.  DONNE." 

The  preceding  letter  is  remarkable  for  its  statements 
with  regard  to  Donne's  Spanish  studies.  From  poetry  to 
divinity  he  had  more  books  in  that  language  than  in  any 
other.  I  have  ventured  to  send  a  copy  of  this  letter  to 
my  friend  Mr.  James  Fitzmaurice-Kelly,  the  accomplished 
historian  of  Spanish  literature,  with  a  request  that  he 
would  indicate  to  me  what  Donne's  acquaintance  with 
Spanish  books  might  be.  He  is  kind  enough  to  reply : — 
"  Surely  Donne  may  have  read  everybody  from  Boscan  and 
Garcilaso  to  the  early  Lope  de  Vega,  whose  Dragontea 
was  published  in  1598  and  his  Rimas  in  1602.  He  may 
also  have  read  the  Romancero  General,  that  great  anthology 
of  past  and  contemporary  poets  which  was  published  in 
Madrid  in  1600-05.  He  may  even  have  known  the  early 
work  of  Gdngora  in  Espinosa's  Flores  de  Poetas  ilustres 
(1605).  In  fact,  with  the  exception  of  the  drama,  he  may 
have  possessed  on  his  shelves  nearly  all  that  is  best  worth 
reading  in  Spanish  verse. 

"  In  prose,  no  doubt,  he  was  familiar  with  the  mystics. 
He  must  have  read  Luis  de  Leon,  Santa  Teresa,  San  Juan 
de  la  Cruz,  Granada,  Juan  de  los  Angeles,  and  the  rest 
down  to  Malon  de  Chaide's  Conversion  de  la  Magdalena. 
Of  course  Donne  cannot  have  known  Luis  de  Leon's  verse 
(unless  he  saw  it  in  MS.,  which  I  think  most  unlikely) ; 
that  was  not  published  till  1631,  the  year  of  Donne's 
death,  when  Quevedo  brought  it  out  as  an  antidote  to 
Gongorism." 

It  is  curious  to  see  Donne  turning  resolutely  away 
from  the  literature  of  his  native  country,  which  we  know 
he  contemned,  while  expending  his  full  attention  on  that 
of  Spain.  He  stands  in  a  singular  position  therefore ; 
he  is  an  Englishman  of  the  late  Elizabethan  and  early 
Jacobean  age,  wholly  indifferent  to  Shakespeare,  but  eager 

VOL.  II.  M 


178  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

to  read  the  elegies  of  Herrera,  perfectly  languid  in  the 
presence  of  Bacon,  but  an  ardent  admirer  of  Luis  de 
Granada  and  Jorge  de  Montemor.  Yet  we  must  remember 
that  he  went,  in  response  to  an  imperious  instinct,  where 
his  peculiarly  southern  and  Catholic  intellect  found  the 
food  that  it  required. 

"  T0  GEORGE  ABBOT,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury.1 

"May  it  please  your  Grace, — Upon  the  28th  of  this 
month  I  received  this  packet  thus  directed  to  your  Grace 
by  one  of  those  merchants  that  trade  at  Frankfurt.  By 
that  letter,  by  which  they  were  accompanied  and  re 
commended  to  me  by  the  author,  I  find  them  to  have 
been  consigned  into  that  merchant's  hands  September  21. 
But  the  books  are  now  brought  hither  by  so  great  a 
circuit  as,  coming  with  them,  I  imagine,  this  packet  to 
your  Grace  has  suffered  no  other  diversion  than  the  rest.  If 
the  author  be  formerly  known  to  your  Grace  it  may  ill 
become  me  to  add  anything.  If  he  be  not,  your  Grace 
may  be  pleased  to  receive  this  testimony  of  him  from  me, 
that  in  those  parts  where  I  have  had  some  conversation 
with  him  he  hath  the  approbation  of  a  learned  and  painful 
man  in  his  ministry,  and  is  otherwise  in  the  affairs  of  the 
world  an  intelligent  person.  Sometimes  I  receive  letters 
from  him  and  return  some.  And  if  your  Grace  be  pleased 
to  use  my  service,  by  which  anything  may  be  said  to  use 
him  hereafter,  I  most  humbly  offer  to  your  Grace  in  this 
and  all  wherein  your  Grace  shall  be  pleased  to  command 
it,  the  service  of 

"  Your  Grace's  humblest  and  thankfulest  servant, 

"J.  DONNE." 

The  Archbishop's  brief  acknowledgment  begins,  "Good 
Mr.  Dean,"  and  was  therefore  written  after  November  1621. 
I  perceive  no  other  indication  of  date,  and  have  therefore 
tentatively  introduced  the  letter  here.  I  have  come  across 
no  other  examples  of  Donne's  correspondence  with  Abbot ; 

1  From  the  Tobie  Matthew  Collection. 


MADE    DEAN    OF    ST.    PAUL'S 


179 


the  tone  of  these  notes  is  studiously  courteous,  but  no  more, 
and  I  believe  that  the  writers  had  little  sympathy  with  one 
another. 

Various  points  indicate  the  approximate  date  of  the 
next  letter.  The  Earl  of  Carlisle  had  returned  from  his 
embassy  to  France ;  Olivarez's  change  of  policy  about  the 
Spanish  marriage  was  not  yet  known  in  England ;  Mans- 
f eld's  move  on  Bavaria  was  reported  in  London.  These 
facts  narrow  us  down  to  the  early  part  of  July  1623,  and 
the  letter  is  of  some  biographical  value  because  we  see  from 
the  tenor  of  it  that  Donne's  dangerous  illness  had  not 
yet  developed. 

"  To  Sir  H[ENRY]  G[OODYER.]  x 

"SiR, — You  husband  my  time  thriftily,  when  you  com 
mand  me  to  write  by  such  a  messenger,  as  can  tell  you  more 
than  I  can  write,  for  so  he  doth  not  only  carry  the  letter, 
but  is  the  letter.  But  that  the  naming  of  some  things  may 
give  you  occasion  to  ask  him  further,  and  him  to  open 
himself  unto  you,  give  me  leave  to  tell  you  that  the  now 
Spanish  Ambassador  proceeds  in  the  old  pace,  the  King 
hath  departed  from  his  ordinary  way  so  far  as  to  appoint 
nine  of  the  council  to  treat  with  him ;  but  when  they  came 
to  any  approaches  he  answered  that  he  brought  only  com 
mission  to  propose  certain  things,  which  he  was  ready  to 
do,  but  he  had  no  instructions  to  treat,  but  expected  them 
upon  another  return  from  his  master.  So  that  there  is  no 
treaty  for  the  marriage  begun  yet;  for  I  know  you  have 
heard  Olivarez  his  free  acknowledgment,  that  till  the  Prince 
came  there  was  no  thought  of  it.  The  King  in  his  jests 
of  this  progress  hath  determined  it,  not  as  heretofore,  at 
Windsor,  but  at  Farnham  during  pleasure.  So  he  is  within 
a  journey  of  Southampton,  and  even  that  circumstance  adds 
to  some  other  reasons,  that  he  expects  the  Prince  this 
summer,  and  that  Sir  W.  Crofts,  in  his  last  despatches, 
enlarged  the  Prince  in  his  liberty  from  his  father,  to  come 
away  if  he  would. 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


180  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

"Amongst  all  the  irregularities  of  this  age,  to  me 
this  is  as  strange  as  any,  that  this  year  there  is  no  peace, 
and  yet  no  sword  drawn  in  the  world,  and  it  is  a  lost 
conjecture  to  think  which  way  any  of  the  armies  will 
bend.  Here  it  is  imagined  that  Yukendorf  and  Gabor 
(for,  for  any  concurrence  of  love,  it  is  but  a  dream)  may  so 
far  distress  Bohemia  as  that  Tilly  must  be  recalled  thither, 
and  that  if  he  be,  Brunswick's  way  is  open  into  Bavaria, 
where  he  may  recompense  great  losses,  whilst  Mansfeld  and 
Gonzales,  and  his  Excellency  and  Spinola  keep  the  balance 
even  in  their  parts  by  looking  upon  another. 

"  This  noble  friend  of  yours  is  in  his  last  minute  in  this 
town,  and  I  am  going  into  the  coach  with  my  Lord  to  Han- 
worth.  If  I  might  have  forborn  the  sealing  the  rest  till  my 
return  from  thence,  you  might  have  heard  something  more 
from 

"  Your  very  true,  poor  friend  and  humble 
"  servant  in  Christ  Jesus, 

"J.  DONNE. 

"  No  straitness  makes  me  forget  my  service  to  your 
daughters.  If  my  bell  were  tolling  I  should  pray  for  them, 
and  though  my  letter  be  sealing  I  leave  not  out  my  wishes, 
that  their  fortunes  may  second  their  goodness.  Amen." 

As  Donne  advanced  in  his  clerical  career,  his  humility 
grew  greater,  and  that  horror  of  sin,  for  its  own  sake  and 
not  for  its  consequences,  which  marks  the  soul  in  its  tender 
regeneration,  became  more  and  more  obvious  in  his  utter 
ances.  Many  instances  of  this  might  be  adduced  from  his 
published  writings,  but  I  prefer  to  give  here  an  ejaculation 
which  I  believe  to  have  not  been  printed  before.  It  is 
taken1  from  a  group  of  sermons,  several  others  of  which 
were  edited  in  the  folio  of  1649,  preached  at  Lincoln's 
Inn,  on  the  Thirty-Eighth  Psalm : — 

"  My  sinful  desires  are  not  hid  from  Thee,  though  I 
have  laboured  sometimes  to  cover  them ;  and  my  sorrowful 
repentance  is  not  hid  from  Thee,  though  mine  unworthiness 

1  MS.  in  the  possession  of  Prof.  Edward  Dowden. 


MADE    DEAN    OF    ST.    PAUL'S 


181 


and  the  abominations  of  my  foulness  might  have  drawn  a 
curtain,  yea,  built  a  wall  of  separation  between  Thee  and 
me,  yet  nothing  is  hid  from  Thee,  nay,  nothing  is  hid  by 
me,  for  all  this  that  I  have  done,  all  the  sins  that  I  have 
committed  and  all  this  repentance  that  I  have  begun  and 
proceeded  in  is  ante  fe,  Domine,  it  is  ante  te,  and  my 
confession  belongs  only  to  Thee,  but  yet  ad  #,  Dominum, 
to  Thee  as  Thou  art  Lord,  and  hast  a  dominion,  and 
exercisest  a  judgment,  to  Thee  that  art  Lord  of  a  spiritual 
kingdom,  and  of  the  visible  and  established  Church." 

We  hear  of  two  special  sermons  preached  by  Donne  in 
1623,  the  one  on  the  2fth  of  April,  when  the  new  chapel 
of  Lincoln's  Inn  was  consecrated,  and  the  other  on  the 
2 jrd  of  October,  when  the  Serjeants'  Feast  was  held  in 
the  Temple,  on  occasion  of  fifteen  Serjeants  being  admitted 
to  the  degree  of  the  Coif.  The  latter  sermon  was  delivered 
at  St.  Paul's  in  the  evening.  It  came  at  the  end  of  a  very 
fatiguing  day,  and  it  is  probable  that  the  Dean  caught  a 
chill ;  the  whole  procession  walked  through  torrents  of 
rain  from  Lincoln's  Inn  to  St.  Paul's ;  they  went,  we  are 
told,  "  dabbling  on  foot  and  bareheaded."  For  nearly  four 
years  Donne  had  been  living  on  the  store  of  strength  he 
had  laid  up  in  his  long  and  easy  holiday  in  Germany.  We 
have  no  distinct  knowledge  of  what  his  chronic  disease  was, 
but  it  was  attended  with  violent  internal  pain,  its  crises 
were  apt  to  be  brought  on  by  anxiety  or  excess  of  intel 
lectual  work,  as  well  as  by  cold,  and  it  was  supposed  to  be 
"  a  consumption."  It  debilitated  him  extremely ;  he  became 
emaciated  under  its  attacks.  It  was  aggravated  by  his 
neurotic  temperament,  which  led  him,  as  we  have  so 
frequently  had  occasion  to  observe,  to  dwell  upon  every 
distressing  symptom.  We  are  tempted  to  suppose  that 
Donne  had  suffered  from  what  we  now  call  typhoid  fever 
in  his  youth,  and  that  it  had  left  behind  it  a  chronic 
tendency  to  gastritis.  Whatever  medical  name  we  call  it 
by,  it  was  evidently  a  burning  away  of  the  internal  organs, 
which  gradually  consumed,  and  at  last  destroyed  him. 

At  the  close  of  October  1623  he  had  one  of  his  most 
dangerous  attacks.  For  some  weeks  his  life  was  despaired 


182  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

of.  The  King  sent  his  own  physician  to  the  Deanery  to  a 
consultation.  One  symptom  of  the  disease  from  which 
Donne  seems  to  have  been  suffering  is  a  morbid  cerebral 
activity;  the  patient  cannot  rest,  cannot  "  think  of  nothing," 
but  is  acutely  conscious  of  his  condition  and  anxious  to  be 
talking  or  writing.  This  diseased  vivacity  can  now  be 
dealt  with  by  medicine ;  the  use  of  morphia  was  unknown 
in  the  early  seventeenth  century,  and  Donne  sat  up  in  bed 
feverishly  scribbling  his  reflections.  Some  of  them  are 
very  curious. 

He  begins  by  noticing  the  interesting  fact  that  we 
are  usually  unconscious  of  the  approach,  or  rather  of  the 
arrival,  of  disease  : — 

"This  minute  I  was  well,  and  am  ill  this  minute.  I 
am  surprised  with  a  sudden  change,  and  alteration  to  worse, 
and  can  impute  it  to  no  cause,  nor  call  it  by  any  name. 
We  study  health,  and  we  deliberate  upon  our  meat  and 
drink  and  air  and  exercise ;  and  we  hew  and  we  polish 
every  stone  that  goes  to  the  building ;  and  so  our  health 
is  a  long  and  a  regular  work.  But,  in  a  minute,  a  cannon 
batters  all,  overthrows  all,  demolishes  all.  A  sickness  un- 
prevented  for  all  our  diligence,  unsuspected  for  all  our 
curiosity,  nay,  undeserved,  if  we  consider  only  disorder, 
summons  us,  seizes  us,  possesses  us,  destroys  us  in  an 


instant." 


He  then,  with  a  painful  ingenuity,  takes  his  body  to  be 
a  microcosm,  and  dilates  on  the  phenomena  of  thunders, 
earthquakes,  eclipses,  blazing  stars,  and  rivers  of  blood, 
quite  in  the  manner  of  Phineas  Fletcher's  physiological 
poem,  The  Purple  Island,  which  Donne,  whom  it  might 
have  interested,  can  scarcely  have  read,  for  it  remained, 
like  his  own  lyrics,  in  MS.  He  confesses  his  tendency  to 
make  his  illness  irremediable  by  "  sad  apprehensions "  and 
fretting  over  symptoms.  In  his  next  "  meditation "  the 
disease  has  pursued  its  course.  He  feels  that  his  fever 
"doth  not  melt  him  like  snow,  but  pours  him  out  like 
lead,  like  iron,  like  brass  melted  in  a  furnace.  It  doth  not 
only  melt  him,  but  calcines  him,  reducing  him  to  atoms 
and  to  ashes,  not  to  water,  but  to  lime.  And  how 


MADE    DEAN    OF    ST.    PAUL'S          183 

quickly ! "  He  describes,  looking  back,  how  abrupt  the 
attack  was : — 

"  In  the  same  instant  that  I  felt  the  first  attempt  of  the 
disease,  I  felt  the  victory ;  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  I 
could  scarce  see  ;  instantly  the  taste  was  insipid  and  fatuous  ; 
instantly  the  appetite  was  dull  and  desireless ;  instantly  the 
knees  were  sinking  and  strengthless ;  and  in  an  instant, 
sleep,  which  is  the  picture,  the  copy  of  death,  was  taken 
away  that  the  original,  Death  itself,  might  succeed." 

It  must  have  resembled  a  bad  sudden  attack  of  what 
to-day  we  call  influenza.  He  now  notes  that,  although  all 
his  physical  senses  are  disturbed  and  dulled,  his  spiritual 
senses  are  sharpened,  and  he  is  conscious  of  an  unusual 
exaltation  of  soul.  In  his  quaint  way,  he  explains  it. 
"  My  taste  is  not  gone  away,  but  gone  up  to  sit  at  David's 
table ;  my  stomach  is  not  gone,  but  gone  upwards  toward 
the  Supper  of  the  Lamb."  His  being  obliged  to  keep  his 
bed  excites  him  to  a  chain  of  fancies.  With  his  morbid 
clairvoyance,  he  notices  the  expression  of  those  who  wait 
upon  him  in  bed,  "  where  I  am  mine  own  ghost,  and  rather 
affright  my  beholders  than  instruct  them.  They  conceive 
the  worst  of  me  now,  and  yet  fear  worse ;  they  give  me  for 
dead  now,  and  yet  wonder  how  I  do,  when  they  wake  at 
midnight,  and  ask  how  I  do  to-morrow.  Miserable  and 
inhuman  posture,  where  I  must  practise  my  lying  in  the 
grave  by  lying  still."  He  has  pages  upon  pages  of  in 
genious  sentiments  about  his  bed,  and  we  can  imagine  him 
lying  there,  all  alone,  propped  up  in  state  in  his  great  dark 
chamber ;  scribbling  these  funereal  conceits  on  a  tablet  that 
rests  against  the  fold  of  the  coverlet,  while  "  that  striking 
clock  which  I  ordinarily  wear"  ticks  on  the  table  at 
his  side. 

It  appears  that  it  was  incorrectly  supposed  by  many 
that  his  illness  was  an  infectious  one,  and  he  complains,  as 
time  goes  on,  of  solitude ;  his  friends  regard  him  as  "  a 
pestiduct,"  and  are  afraid  to  come  near  him.  They  might 
wait,  he  says,  till  he  is  dead,  and  his  body  might  really  in 
fect.  They  have  a  remedy  for  that,  he  jeers — they  can  bury 
him.  He  complains — he  so  social,  so  friendly — of  being 


184  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

left  in  his  bed  to  suffer  "  an  outlawry,  an  excommunication," 
to  be  separated  "  from  all  offices,  not  only  of  civility,  but 
of  working  charity."  We  feel  that  he  has  passed  the  worst, 
that  this  is  the  irritability  of  approaching  convalescence. 
He  tries  to  console  himself  by  recollecting  that  this  "  soli 
tariness  and  dereliction  and  abandoning  of  others  "  disposes 
him  best  for  communion  with  God.  But  he  is  manifestly 
very  cross. 

His  powers  of  analysis  are  now  concentrated  on  the 
doctor : — 

"  I  observe  the  physician  with  the  same  diligence  as  he 
the  disease ;  I  see  he  fears,  and  I  fear  with  him ;  I  overtake 
him,  I  overrun  him  in  his  fear,  because  he  makes  his  pace 
slow ;  I  fear  the  more,  because  he  disguises  his  fear,  and  I 
see  it  with  the  more  sharpness  because  he  would  not  have 
me  see  it.  ...  I  fear  not  the  hastening  of  my  death,  and 
yet  I  do  fear  the  increase  of  the  disease." 

The  doctor  expresses  a  wish  to  consult  with  another 
practitioner,  and  the  Dean's  alarm  grows  apace : — 

"  If  the  physician  desires  help,  the  burden  grows  great. 
There  is  a  growth  of  the  disease  then?  But  there  must 
be  an  autumn  too.  Whether  an  autumn  of  the  disease  or 
of  me,  it  is  not  my  part  to  choose.  However,  his  desiring 
of  others  argues  his  candour  and  his  ingenuity.  If  the 
danger  be  great,  he  justifies  his  proceedings,  and  he  dis 
guises  nothing  who  calls  in  witnesses.  And  if  the  danger 
be  not  great,  he  is  not  ambitious  who  is  so  ready  to  divide 
the  thanks  with  others." 

The  King's  physician  comes,  and  Donne  seems  to  hear 
a  poor  account  of  his  Majesty's  health,  for  he  reflects  on 
the  wretched  fate  of  monarchs  to  be  constantly  reminded 
of  illness  by  the  faces  of  their  court  doctors.  "  They  are 
gods,  but  sick  gods,"  a  Jupiter  that  needs  an  ^Esculapius, 
a  deity  that  has  to  submit  to  rhubarb  and  agaric.  If  he 
himself  ever  recovers,  he  will  value  health ;  he  will  remind 
himself  of  his  well-being  with  cheerfulness  and  joy ;  he  will 
try  to  forget  that  such  a  thing  as  illness  exists.  He  is 
sorry  for  kings  who  have  to  keep  a  physician  always  in 
attendance.  He  is  gratified,  on  the  whole,  by  the  consulta- 


MADE    DEAN    OF    ST.    PAUL'S 


185 


tion  of  doctors.  His  sociable  spirit  has  been  cheered  by 
their  company  and  their  questions.  When  they  leave  him, 
his  note  is  delightful  in  its  naivete  : — 

"  I  am  glad  they  know  (I  have  hid  nothing  from  them), 
glad  they  consult  (they  hide  nothing  from  one  another), 
glad  they  write  (they  hide  nothing  from  the  world)  [bulle 
tins,  doubtless,  on  the  doors  of  the  Deanery],  glad  that 
they  prescribe  physic  and  that  there  are  remedies  for  the 
present  case." 

There  are  delays  in  the  course  of  his  recovery,  he  does 
not  gain  strength  as  he  should;  "the  disease  hath  estab 
lished  a  kingdom,  an  empire  in  me."  But  against  these 
"  secret  conspiracies  in  the  state  "  there  is  a  magistrate,  the 
doctor,  and  Donne,  now  beginning  to  feel  languid,  is 
content  to  leave  it  in  his  hands.  But  now  a  new  enemy 
attacks  him ;  he  has  lost  his  feverish  exultation,  and  is 
invaded  by  a  dreadful  dejection  of  spirits.  He  consults 
the  physicians  about  this  : — 

"  They  tell  me  it  is  my  melancholy,  the  vapours.  .  .  . 
But  when  I  have  said  a  'vapour,'  if  I  were  asked  again, 
'  what  is  a  vapour  ? '  I  could  not  tell,  it  is  so  insensible 
a  thing.  So  near  nothing  is  that  which  reduces  us  to 
nothing ! " 

Something  suppressed  now  comes  forth  in  an  eruption, 
and  Donne  (of  course)  indulges  at  once  in  that  peculiarly 
favourite  fancy  of  the  seventeenth  century,  that  the  spots 
have  formed  a  constellation  and  that  his  body  is  a  firmament. 
The  eruption  takes  its  course,  and  meanwhile  relieves  him 
of  his  depression  of  spirits.  He  is  still  troubled  with 
insomnia,  and,  to  cure  this  or  to  relieve  his  weariness,  the 
doctors  give  him  opiates.  He  is  extremely  annoyed  by 
the  Cathedral  bells,  and  would  rather  be  a  "prisoner  in 
Turkey  "  than  have  to  lie  in  a  sick-bed  "  so  near  to  that 
steeple,  which  never  ceases,  no  more  than  the  harmony  of 
the  spheres — and  is  more  heard."  He  has  slept  at  Antwerp 
and  at  Rouen,  but  was  never  so  afflicted  by  the  bells  as  he 
is  here. 

"  Here  the  bells  can  scarce  solemnise  the  funeral  of  any 
person,  but  that  I  knew  him  or  knew  that  he  was  my 


i86  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

neighbour.  .  .  .  Whomsoever  these  bells  bring  to  the 
ground  to-day,  if  he  and  I  had  been  compared  yesterday, 
perchance  I  should  have  been  thought  likelier  to  come 
to  this  preferment  then,  than  he.  ...  Where  I  lie,  I 
could  hear  the  psalm,  and  did  join  with  the  congregation 
in  it,  but  I  could  not  hear  the  sermon,  and  these  latter  bells 
are  a  repetition  sermon  to  me.  .  .  .  God  speaks  to  me 
aloud  from  that  steeple,  He  whispers  to  me  through  these 
curtains,  and  .  .  .  now,  this  bell  tolling  softly  for  another, 
says  to  me,  '  Thou  must  die/ ' 

While  he  meditates  long,  and  with  some  passages  of 
imcomparable  charm,  on  the  message  of  the  bells  of  St. 
Paul's,  he  insensibly  begins  to  recover ;  "  at  last  the 
physicians,  after  a  long  and  stormy  voyage,  see  land."  He 
rises  from  his  bed,  and  is  disappointed  to  find  himself  so 
weak;  he  is  too  ambitious,  and  is  frightened  with  the 
dreadful  consequences  which  would  attend  a  relapse. 

Nowhere  in  the  whole  of  Donne's  writings  do  we  obtain 
quite  so  personal  an  impression  of  him  as  in  these  strange 
notes  concerning  the  progress  of  his  illness  in  the  winter  of 
1623.  Nowhere  do  we  seem  to  come  so  close  to  him,  to 
hear  him  speaking  so  intimately ;  and  that  no  one  has  ever 
hitherto  observed,  so  far  as  I  know,  the  autobiographical 
value  of  these  confessions  is  due,  I  believe,  to  the  fact  that, 
as  Donne  afterwards  "  digested  "  and  published  them,  they 
are  buried  in  masses  of  scholastic  divinity,  which  has  ceased 
to  interest  us.  Removed  from  these  dull  wrappings,  we 
may  surely  be  struck  with  their  acute  observation,  their 
subtle  psychological  freshness.  Nothing  like  them  had 
been  noted  down  before ;  even  in  their  wording  they  have 
an  astonishing  modernness;  we  can  scarcely  believe  that 
their  author  was  the  contemporary  of  men  like  Camden  and 
Selden.  One  wonders  whether  it  is  possible  that  Donne 
had  seen  the  newly-published  Anatomy  of  Melancholy  and  had 
taken  his  own  lesson  from  that  symptomatic  and  systematic 
monograph  on  hypochondria.  But  his  method  is  infinitely 
sharper  and  more  penetrating  than  Burton's.  For  once, 
too,  Donne  was  excluded  from  his  library,  and  we  are  freed 
from  the  shackles  of  his  terrible  encyclopedic  learning. 


MADE    DEAN    OF    ST.    PAUL'S          187 

When  his  illness  was  still  a  very  dangerous  one,  Donne 
received  a  visit  from  a  young  man,  who  has  already  been 
mentioned  in  these  pages,  but  who  was  henceforth  to  be 
one  of  his  most  trusted  and  intimate  friends.  This  was 
Henry  King,  second  son  of  the  late  Bishop  of  London, 
whom  Donne  had  buried.  His  tastes  were  closely  allied  to 
those  of  the  Dean;  he  worshipped  poetry  and  divinity  with  the 
same  ardour.  He  had  versified  in  Donne's  manner  and  by 
Donne's  side ;  he  was  the  first  and  never  the  least  ardent  of 
his  disciples.  To  this  charming  man,  with  whom  Donne 
was  in  daily  communication  since  he  had  been  made  a 
prebendary  in  1616,  in  his  twenty-second  year,  and  who 
was  now  Archdeacon  of  Colchester  and  chief  Residentiary 
of  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Paul's,  Donne  evidently  opened 
his  heart,  and  Henry  King  knew  Donne's  affairs.  He 
knew  that  although  he  had  "locked,  sealed,  and  secured 
himself  against  all  possibilities  of  falling  into  debt," 
yet  the  first  year  of  his  Deanery  had  cost  him  ^400 
over  his  income.  Knowing  Donne's  extremely  nervous 
temperament,  King  conceived  that  anxiety  about  money 
might  be  worrying  him  as  he  lay  ill,  and  he  approached  his 
bedside  with  a  proposition.  He  offered  the  Dean  then  and 
there  the  pecuniary  advantages  connected  with  a  renewed 
lease  of  the  best  prebendal  corps,1  or  church  land,  with 
which  the  Cathedral  was  endowed.  Walton  says  that  King 
did  this  because  he  thought  Donne's  recovery  doubtful,  but 
it  is  evidently  that  the  reverse  must  be  true ;  there  is  no 
use  in  offering  ecclesiastical  estate  to  a  dying  man. 

The  offer  was  one  the  nature  of  which  it  is  not  easy  for 
us  even  to  understand  and  impossible  for  a  modern  con 
science  to  approve.  It  was  that  Donne  should  accept  a 
lease  of  the  entire  profits  of  a  church  estate,  probably  for 
three  lives.  The  idea,  perhaps,  was  that  he  would  pay 
some  nominal  sum,  and  become  the  "  farmer "  of  the 
prebend.  It  was  an  evil  and  sacrilegious  practice,  and 
it  does  Donne  much  honour  that  he  so  instantly  rejected  it. 
It  must  be  understood  that  the  temptation  was  consider 
able,  for  the  profits  of  such  renewed  leases  were  often 

1  The  corps  was  the  prebend  or  estate  of  a  prebendary  or  canon. 


i88  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

enormous,  and  were,  of  course,  directly  robbed  from  God 
and  the  Church.  King,  however,  acting  after  the  fashion 
of  the  time,  evidently  meant  no  harm,  and  it  is  plain  that 
he  made  his  proposal  with  great  delicacy  and  feeling,  and 
that  Donne  was  much  touched.  He  raised  himself  in  the 
bed,  and,  according  to  Walton,  replied  as  follows  :— 

"  My  most  dear  friend,  I  most  humbly  thank  you  for 
your  many  favours,  and  this  in  particular ;  but  in  my  pre 
sent  condition  I  shall  not  accept  of  your  proposal,  for 
doubtless  there  is  such  a  sin  as  sacrilege,  if  there  were  not 
it  could  not  have  a  name  in  Scripture ;  and  the  primitive 
clergy  were  watchful  against  all  appearances  of  that  evil, 
and,  indeed,  then  all  Christians  looked  upon  it  with  horror 
and  detestation,  judging  it  to  be  even  an  open  defiance  of 
the  power  and  providence  of  Almighty  God  and  a  sad  presage 
of  a  declining  religion.  But  instead  of  such  Christians,  who 
had  selected  times  set  apart  to  fast  and  pray  to  God  for  a 
pious  clergy,  which  they  then  did  obey,  our  times  abound 
with  men  that  are  busy  and  litigious  about  trifles  and  church 
ceremonies,  and  yet  so  far  from  scrupling  sacrilege,  that 
they  make  not  so  much  as  a  query  what  it  is ;  but  I  thank 
God  I  have,  and  dare  not  now,  upon  my  sick-bed,  when 
Almighty  God  hath  made  me  useless  to  the  service  of  the 
Church,  make  any  advantages  out  of  it.  But  if  He  shall 
again  restore  me  to  such  a  degree  of  health  as  again  to  serve 
at  His  altar,  I  shall  then  gladly  take  the  reward  which  the 
bountiful  benefactors  of  this  church  have  designed  me,  for 
God  knows  my  children  and  relations  will  need  it ;  in  which 
number  my  mother  (whose  credulity  and  charity  has  con 
tracted  a  very  plentiful  to  a  very  narrow  estate)  must  not 
be  forgotten.  But,  Dr.  King,-  if  I  recover  not,  that  little 
worldly  estate  that  I  shall  leave  behind  me  (that  very  little, 
when  divided  into  eight  parts)  must,  if  you  deny  me  not  so 
charitable  a  favour,  fall  into  your  hands,  as  my  most  faith 
ful  friend  and  executor,  of  whose  care  and  justice  I  make  no 
more  doubt  than  of  God's  blessing  on  that  which  I  have 
conscientiously  collected  for  them ;  but  it  shall  not  be 
augmented  on  my  sick-bed,  and  this  I  declare  to  be  my 
unalterable  resolution." 


MADE    DEAN    OF    ST.    PAUL'S 


189 


This  account,  not  given  by  Walton  in  1 640,  was  added 
in  the  edition  of  1659,  no  doubt  from  the  communication 
of  Henry  King  himself. 

The  Dean's  convalescence  was  slow,  and  he  employed  part 
of  it  in  constructing  a  little  pious  book  out  of  the  notes  he 
had  taken  in  his  illness.  He  called  it  Devotions  upon  Emer 
gent  Occasions  and  Several  Steps  in  my  Sickness,  digested  into 
Meditations,  Expostulations  and  Prayers,  and  dedicated  it  to 
Prince  Charles.  It  was  published  in  a  small  stout  duode 
cimo  of  630  pages,  very  early  in  1624,  another  edition,  in 
smaller  type,  later  in  the  same  year,  and  others  later;  it 
was  a  popular  book,  but  has  never  been  reprinted  since  the 
seventeenth  century. 

Three  letters  to  Sir  Robert  Ker  belong  to  the  months  of 
Donne's  convalescence,  February  and  March  1624.  The 
first  accompanied  the  proofs  of  the  Devotions,  and  consulted 
his  friend  as  to  the  propriety  of  dedicating  that  work  to  the 
Prince  of  Wales. 

"  'To  Sir  ROBERT  KER. 

"  Though  I  have  left  my  bed,  I  have  not  left  my  bed 
side.  I  sit  there  still,  and  as  a  prisoner  discharged  sits  at 
the  prison  door  to  beg  fees,  so  sit  I  here  to  gather  crumbs. 
I  have  used  this  leisure  to  put  the  Meditations,  had  in  my 
sickness,  into  some  such  order  as  may  minister  some  holy 
delight.  They  arise  to  so  many  sheets  (perchance  twenty) 
as  that,  without  staying  for  that  furniture  of  an  Epistle, 
that  my  friends  importuned  me  to  print  them,  I  importune 
my  friends  to  receive  them  printed.  That,  being  in  hand, 
through  this  long  trunk  that  reaches  from  St.  Paul's  to  St. 
James's  I  whisper  into  your  ear  this  question,  whether  there 
be  any  uncomeliness  or  unseasonableness  in  presenting  matter 
of  devotion  or  mortification  to  that  Prince,  whom  (I  pray 
God  nothing  may  ever  mortify  but  holiness.  If  you  allow 
my  purposes  in  general,  I  pray  cast  your  eye  upon  the  title 
and  the  epistle,  and  rectify  me  in  them.  I  submit  substance 
and  circumstance  to  you,  and  the  poor  author  of  both. — 
Your  very  humble  and  very  thankful  servant  in  Christ  Jesus, 

"  J.DONNE." 


190  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

"  To  Sir  ROBERT  KER.1 

"SiR, — Your  man  surprised  me  as  I  came  into  my 
house,  and  loth  to  stay  him  or  defraud  myself  of  reading 
your  letter,  I  read  it  in  his  sight,  and  said,  though  not  so 
much  as  I  would  have  written,  yet,  perchance,  more  than 
he  hath  thought  necessary  to  remember.  I  had  been  long 
in  my  chamber,  and  practised  how  to  put  out  breath,  almost 
to  my  last  gasp ;  and  now  I  had  been  abroad  to  take  in 
air,  and  as  a  man  that  hath  received  money,  but  not  yet 
received  it,  so  I  had  taken  in  breath,  but  not  articulated  it, 
nor,  perchance,  said  enough  to  let  you  know  that  I  shall 
lose  the  honour  of  waiting  upon  you  at  your  time ;  which 
I  feel  the  more  because  I  desired  much  to  have  been  in  my 
Lord  Chancellor's  sight.  For,  as  when  I  sit  still  and  reckon 
all  my  old  master's  royal  favours  to  me,  I  return  evermore 
to  that,  that  he  first  inclined  me  to  be  a  minister.  So,  when 
I  reckon  all  the  favours  that  I  have  received  from  my  Lord 
Chancellor  I  return  to  that,  that  he  was  the  first  man  that 
ever  presented  my  name  to  my  Lord  Carlisle,  and  entered 
me  into  his  service.  When  I  say  grace  and  bless  my 
own  dinner  I  shall  mean  yours  also,  and  be  your  chaplain 
though  absent.  This  I  have  gained  by  my  going  abroad 
to-day  (for  I  went  to  visit  your  servants  at  Chelsea),  that  if 
I  must  despair  of  an  ability  to  come  to  your  house,  where 
you  are  now,  yet  I  hear  there  you  are  coming  to  another 
house,  where  I  have  a  prescription,  and  have  not  used  to  be 
kept  out.  And  I  hear,  also,  that  your  noble  Lady  is  in 
that  case  that  a  double  measure  of  prayers  is  due  to  her, 
which  I  shall  faithfully  pay,  because  therein  I  shall  do  a 
service  to  one  of  yours  before  he  come  into  the  world.  As 
truly  as  all  my  soul  is  in  every  part  of  me,  so  hath  every 
part  of  your  family  all  the  love  and  devotions  of — Your 
humblest  and  thankfulest  servant." 

1  From  the  Tobie  Matthew  Collection. 


MADE    DEAN    OF    ST.    PAUL'S          191 

"  To  Sir  ROBERT  KER.* 

"  SIR, — Your  way  into  Spain  was  eastward,  and  that  is 
the  way  to  the  land  of  perfumes  and  spices;  their  way 
hither  is  westward,  and  that  is  the  way  to  the  land  of  gold 
and  of  mines.  The  wise  men  who  sought  Christ  laid  down 
both  their  perfumes  and  their  gold  at  the  feet  of  Christ,  the 
Prince  of  Peace.  If  all  confer  all  to  His  glory  and  to  the 
peace  of  His  Church.  Amen.  But  now  I  consider  in 
cosmography  better,  they  and  we  differ  not  in  East  and 
West ;  we  are  much  alike  easterly.  But  yet,  Oriens  nomen 
ejus,  the  East  is  one  of  Christ's  names,2  in  one  prophet,  and, 
Filius  Orientis  est  Lucifer,  the  East  is  one  of  the  devil's  names 
in  another,  and  these  two  differ  diametrically.  And  so  in 
things  belonging  to  the  worship  of  God,  I  think  we  shall. 
Amen.  But  the  difference  of  our  situation  is  in  North 
and  South,  and  you  know  that  though  the  labour  of  any 
ordinary  artificer  in  that  trade  will  bring  East  and  West 
together  (for  if  a  flat  map  be  but  pasted  upon  a  round 
globe  the  farthest  east  and  the  farthest  west  meet  and  are 
all  one),  yet  all  this  brings  not  North  and  South  a  scruple 
of  a  degree  the  nearer.  There  are  things  in  which  we  may, 
and  in  that  wherein  we  should  not,  my  hope  is  in  God  and 
in  Him,  in  whom  God  hath  so  evidently  work,  we  shall  not 
meet.  Amen.  They  have  hotter  days  in  Spain  than  we 
have  here,  but  our  days  are  longer,  and  yet  we  are  hotter 
in  our  business  here,  and  they  longer  about  it  there.  God 
is  sometimes  called  a  giant,  running  a  race,  and  sometimes 
is  so  slow-paced  as  that  a  thousand  years  make  but  a  day 
with  God,  and  yet  still  the  same  God.  He  hath  His  pur 
poses  upon  our  noble  and  vehement  affections,  and  upon 
their  wary  and  sober  discretions,  and  will  use  both  to  His 
glory.  Amen. 

"Sir,  I  took  up  this  paper  to  write  a  letter;  but  my 
imaginations  were  full  of  a  sermon  before,  for  I  write  but 
a  few  hours  before  I  am  to  preach,  and  so  instead  of  a 
letter  I  send  you  a  homily.  Let  it  have  thus  much  of  a 

1  From  the  Tobie  Matthew  Collection, 

2  See  the  closing  words  of  Donne's  epitaph  in  St.  Paul's. 


192  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

letter,  that  I  am  confident  in  your  love,  and  deliver  myself 
over  to  your  service.  And  thus  much  of  a  homily,  that 
you  and  I  shall  accompany  one  another  to  the  possession 
of  heaven,  in  the  same  way  wherein  God  put  us  at  first, 
Amen. — Your  very  humble  and  very  thankful  servant  in 
Christ,  &c." 

Of  all  Donne's  relations,  those  for  whom  he  seems  to 
have  entertained  the  warmest  feelings  were  his  brother  and 
sister-in-law  at  Peckham,  Sir  Thomas  and  Lady  Grymes. 
Their  house  was  at  all  times  a  second  home  for  the  Dean's 
children.  In  his  will,  Donne  mentions  with  particular 
affection  this  "my  very  worthy  friend  and  kind  brother- 
in-law,"  to  whom  he  bequeaths  his  "striking  clock"  and 
his  portrait  of  King  James  I.  Constance  Grymes,  the  child 
of  this  amiable  couple,  was  Donne's  god-daughter.  At 
the  time  of  confusion  at  the  Deanery,  it  is  probable  that 
all  the  Dean's  children  were  removed  to  Peckham  to  the 
charge  of  their  aunt,  and  the  incident  now  to  be  recounted 
was  due  to  that  circumstance. 

While  Donne  was  ill,  his  eldest  daughter,  Constance, 
married  a  man  seven  years  older  than  her  father,  Edward 
Alleyn,  the  celebrated  actor-manager  and  the  founder  of 
Dulwich  College.  This  was  a  match  into  which  sentiment 
did  not  enter.  Constance  had  learned  to  know  the 
Alleyns  when  she  was  quite  a  young  girl,  from  their 
being  neighbours  and  intimate  acquaintances  of  her 
uncle  and  aunt  at  Peckham.  Edward  Alleyn  lost  his 
"religious  and  loving  wife,"  Joan  Woodward  (who 
was  perhaps  of  the  family  of  Donne's  friend  Rowland 
Woodward),  on  the  28th  of  June  1623.  He  was  not 
inclined  to  remain  long  a  widower,  and,  within  four 
months,  had  determined  to  marry  Constance  Donne,  who 
was  only  twenty  years  of  age,  while  Alleyn  was  fifty- 
eight.  A  paper  found  at  Dulwich  College,  the  draft  of  a 
letter  from  Alleyn  to  the  Dean  of  St.  Paul's,  gives  his 
own  story  of  the  courtship  : — 

"After  affirmations  made  by  Sir  Thomas  Grymes,  on 
both  sides,  I  was  invited  to  your  house  [the  Deanery]  on 
the  2  ist  of  October  1623,  when  after  dinner  in  your 


MADE    DEAN    OF    ST.    PAUL'S 


193 


parlour  you  declared  your  intention  to  bestow,  with  your 
daughter  Constance,  all  the  benefit  of  your  prime  lease, 
which,  as  you  said,  you  knew  would  shortly  be  received, 
and  that  you  were  assured,  if  I  stayed  till  Michaelmas  next, 
to  be  worth  ^"500  at  the  least,  and  whensoever  it  should 
rise  to  more,  it  should  wholly  be  hers." 

What  this  "  prime  lease "  was  there  is  some  difficulty 
in  understanding.  It  must  have  been  a  lease  of  lands 
belonging  to  St.  Paul's  Church,  but  it  was  evidently  not 
so  objectionable  in  character  as  that  which  had  been 
suggested  to  Donne  by  Henry  King.  I  suspect  that  the 
renewed  lease  in  the  latter  case  was  to  be  had  by  Donne 
virtually  for  nothing,  whereas  the  "  prime  lease  "  he  had  no 
doubt  received  or  paid  for  in  the  ordinary  course  of 
business.  The  one  transaction  would  be  sacrilege,  the 
other  a  common,  though  to  our  views  an  evil  and  indeli 
cate  custom. 

There  was  more  bargaining  by  both  parties,  and  then  : — 

"This  was  accepted  on  all  sides,  and,  yourself  being 
called  away  by  the  coming  of  some  ladies,  you  took  your 
leave  of  Sir  Thomas,  and  referred  the  accomplishing  of 
this  business  to  his  direction.  I  presently  returned  to 
Peckham,  and  coming  then  to  Constance,  told  her  what 
had  passed ;  and  more,  to  show  my  love  to  her,  of  my 
own  voluntary,  I  told  her,  before  Sir  Thomas,  I  would 
make  it  up  to  ^1500,  which  was  then,  by  yourself  and 
Sir  Thomas,  extraordinary  accepted  on." 

Poor  Constance  seems  to  have  made  no  resistance. 
Perhaps  she  was  glad  to  get  away  from  the  crowd  of  her 
little  brothers  and  sisters  even  to  the  house  of  this  eccentric 
and  grasping  old  widower.  The  wedding  took  place  on 
the  3rd  of  December  1623,  at  Camberwell,  from  the  house 
of  Sir  Thomas  and  Lady  Grymes,  Donne  being  at  that 
time  at  the  height  of  his  illness.  Within  the  next  year 
he  had  been  obliged  "  many  times  "  to  refuse  to  lend  money 
to  his  son-in-law,  who  fortunately  died  on  the  25th  of 
November  1626,  and  released  Constance  from  an  unseemly 
bond.  The  official  title  of  Alleyn  was  "Squire  of  the 
Bears,"  and  he  seems  to  have  merited  it.  On  the  2Oth  of 

VOL.  II.  N 


194  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

December  1623  Chamberlain  wrote  to  Sir  Dudley  Carleton: 
"  But  the  strangest  match,  in  my  opinion,  is  that  Alleyn,  the 
old  player,  hath  lately  married  a  young  daughter  of  the 
Dean  of  Paul's,  which  I  doubt  will  diminish  his  charity 
and  devotion  towards  his  two  hospitals." 

In  this  same  year,  1623,  Donne's  eldest  son,  John,  who 
showed  signs  of  intellectual  ability,  passed  from  West 
minster  School  and  was  elected  a  student  of  Christ  Church, 
Oxford.  George  was  now  in  his  nineteenth  year,  and  is 
believed  to  have  entered  the  army.  If  John  and  George  had 
left  home,  Donne's  household  was  now  reduced  to  four 
daughters,  of  whom  Lucy,  who  was  over  fifteen,  succeeded 
Constance  as  housekeeper.  It  seems  probable  that  about 
this  time  Donne  took  his  aged  mother  to  reside  with  him 
in  the  Deanery. 

It  was,  perhaps,  fortunate  for  him  that  he  had  been 
kept  in  bed  by  illness  while  the  King  had  conducted  those 
distracted  intrigues  with  the  recusants,  which  laid  James  I. 
open  to  so  much  suspicion  of  favouring  popery,  and  which 
yet,  for  reasons  of  policy,  could  not  be  publicly  explained. 
Donne  might  have  been  asked  to  help  in  them,  and  might 
have  been  fatally  embroiled.  All  through  the  last  months 
of  1623  and  the  early  half  of  1624,  the  action  of  the  old 
King  was  absolutely  bewildering  to  his  simpler  subjects, 
and  filled  the  popular  mind  with  alarm.  Was  the  staunch 
Defender  of  the  Faith  going  to  end  his  days  in  the  hateful 
arms  of  Rome  ?  Once  more  James  I.,  provoked  and  exas 
perated  by  the  imbroglio  with  Spain,  looked  round  upon 
his  courtiers  and  people  with  suspicion.  Lord  Middlesex 
fell  first,  and  then,  in  July  1624,  Lord  Digby  (elevated 
since  1622  to  the  Earldom  of  Bristol)  was  driven  from 
court  and  imprisoned  in  his  house  at  Sherborne.  It  was 
doubtless  in  August  of  that  year  that  the  strange  interview 
took  place  which  Walton  so  vividly  describes  :— 

"  He  was  once,  and  but  once,  clouded  with  the  King's 
displeasure,  and  it  was  about  this  time,  which  was  occasioned 
by  some  malicious  whisperer,  who  had  told  his  Majesty 
that  Dr.  Donne  had  put  on  the  general  humour  of  the 
pulpits,  and  was  become  busy  in  insinuating  a  fear  of  the 


MADE    DEAN    OF    ST.    PAUL'S 


195 


King's  inclining  to  popery,  and  a  dislike  of  his  government ; 
and  particularly  for  the  King's  then  turning  the  evening 
lectures  into  catechising,  and  expounding  the  Prayer  of  our 
Lord,  and  of  the  Belief,  and  Commandments.  His  Majesty 
was  the  more  inclinable  to  believe  this,  for  that  a  person  of 
nobility  and  great  note,  betwixt  whom  and  Dr.  Donne 
there  had  been  a  great  friendship,  was  at  this  very  time 
discarded  the  court  (I  shall  forbear  his  name,  unless  I  had 
a  fairer  occasion),  and  justly  committed  to  prison ;  which 
begot  many  rumours  in  the  common  people,  who  in  this 
nation  think  they  are  not  wise  unless  they  be  busy  about 
what  they  understand  not,  and  especially  about  religion. 

"  The  King  received  this  news  with  so  much  discontent 
and  restlessness,  that  he  would  not  suffer  the  sun  to  set  and 
leave  him  under  this  doubt ;  but  sent  for  Dr.  Donne,  and 
required  his  answer  to  the  accusation :  which  was  so  clear 
and  satisfactory,  that  the  King  said,  '  he  was  right  glad  he 
rested  no  longer  under  the  suspicion/  When  the  King 
had  said  this,  Dr.  Donne  kneeled  down  and  thanked  his 
Majesty,  and  protested  his  answer  was  faithful,  and  free 
from  all  collusion,  and  therefore  '  desired  that  he  might  not 
rise  till,  as  in  like  cases  he  always  had  from  God,  so  he  might 
from  his  Majesty,  some  assurance  that  he  stood  clear  and  fair 
in  his  opinion.7  At  which  the  King  raised  him  from  his 
knees  with  his  own  hands,  and  *  protested  he  believed  him ; 
and  that  he  knew  he  was  an  honest  man,  and  doubted  not 
but  that  he  loved  him  truly.'  And,  having  thus  dismissed 
him,  he  called  some  lords  of  his  council  into  his  chamber, 
and  said,  with  much  earnestness,  '  My  Doctor  is  an  honest 
man ;  and,  my  Lords,  I  was  never  better  satisfied  with  an 
answer  than  he  hath  now  made  me ;  and  I  always  rejoice 
when  I  think  that  by  my  means  he  became  a  divine.' ' 

Who  the  "  malicious  whisperer "  may  have  been  we 
cannot  guess ;  but  we  may  well  suppose  that  either 
Buckingham  or  Carlisle  arranged  this  audience  with  the 
King,  confident  that  no  better  means  could  be  found  of 
disabusing  the  suspicious  old  monarch's  mind  than  by 
bringing  Donne  face  to  face  with  him.  There  is  no 
certainty  that  James  I.  ever  heard  Donne  preach  again. 


196 


LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 


We  find  little  to  record  in  the  rest  of  Donne's  life  in 
the  early  part  of  1624.  He  was  appointed  Prolocutor 
of  the  Lower  House  when  Convocation  met  in  February, 
greatly  against  his  will.  He  was,  indeed,  scarcely  con 
valescent,  and  although  he  delivered  an  opening  address  to 
the  House,  he  declared  that  "  he  had  done  his  utmost  to 
escape  a  burden  which  he  was  unable  to  support."  Of  his 
preferment  to  the  Vicarage  of  St.  Dunstan's  in  the  West 
we  must  speak  in  another  chapter. 

During  his  long  convalescence  the  instinct  of  verse, 
which  had  never  entirely  left  him,  but  which  of  late  years 
had  slumbered,  was  awakened  in  Donne,  and  he  composed 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  his  divine  poems — 

AN  HYMN 

TO    GOD    THE    FATHER. 

Wilt  Thou  forgive  that  sin  where  I  begun, 

Which  was  my  sin,  though  it  were  done  before  ? 

Wilt  Thou  forgive  that  sin  through  which  I  run, 
And  do  run  still,  though  still  I  do  deplore  ? 

When  Thou  hast  done,  Thou  hast  not  done, 
For  I  have  more. 

Wilt  Thou  forgive  that  sin,  which  I  have  won 
Others  to  sin,  and  made  my  sin  their  door  ? 

Wilt  Thou  forgive  that  sin  which  I  did  shun 
A  year  or  two,  but  wallow' d  in  a  score  ? 

When  Thou  hast  done,  Thou  hast  not  done, 
For  I  have  more. 

I  have  a  sin  of  fear,  that  when  I've  spun 
My  last  thread,  I  shall  perish  on  the  shore ; 

But  swear  by  Thyself,  that  at  my  death  Thy  Son 
Shall  shine  as  He  shines  now,  and  heretofore ; 

And  having  done  that,  Thou  hast  done, 
I  fear  no  more. 

We  learn  from  Walton  that,  on  his  recovery,  Donne 
caused  this  hymn  to  be  "  set  to  a  most  grave  and  solemn 
tune,  and  to  be  often  sung  to  the  organ  by  the  choristers  of 
St.  Paul's  Church,  in  his  own  hearing,  especially  at  the 
evening  service ;  and  at  his  return  from  his  customary 
devotions  in  that  place,  did  occasionally  say  to  a  friend, 


MADE    DEAN    OF    ST.    PAUL'S 


197 


'  The  words  of  this  hymn  have  restored  to  me  the  same 
thoughts  of  joy  that  possessed  my  soul  in  my  sickness, 
when  I  composed  it.  And,  O  the  power  of  church  music  ! 
that  harmony,  added  to  this  hymn,  has  raised  the  affections 
of  my  heart,  and  quickened  my  graces  of  zeal  and  grati 
tude  ;  and  I  observe  that  I  always  return  from  paying  this 
public  duty  of  prayer  and  praise  to  God  with  an  unex- 
pressible  tranquillity  of  mind,  and  a  willingness  to  leave  the 
world.'" 

To  a  Mr.  Tilman,  who  had  taken  orders,  Donne  ad 
dressed  a  copy  of  verses  in  which  he  defined  his  mature 
conception  of  the  duty  of  a  minister.  The  lines  are 
interesting,  and  reflect  the  temper  in  which  the  Dean,  in 
returning  to  a  measure  of  health,  now  regarded  the  principal 
business  of  his  public  life  : — 

"  What  function  is  so  noble,  as  to  be 
Ambassador  to  God  and  destiny  ? 
To  open  life  ?  to  give  kingdoms  to  more 
Than  kings  give  dignities  ?  to  keep  Heaven's  door  ? 
Mary's  prerogative  was  to  bear  Christ ;  so 
'Tis  preachers'  to  convey  Him,  for  they  do, 
As  angels  out  of  clouds,  from  pulpits  speak, 
And  bless  the  poor  beneath,  the  lame,  the  weak. 
If,  then,  the  astronomers,  whereas  they  spy 
A  new-found  star,  their  optics  magnify, 
How  brave  are  those,  who  with  their  engines  can 
Bring  Man  to  Heav'n,  and  Heav'n  again  to  man!  " 

Donne's  consciousness  of  his  pre-eminent  responsibility  as 
a  preacher  was  now  complete,  and  for  the  rest  of  his  life  he 
blazed  from  the  pulpit  like  a  star,  holding  himself  obscured 
and  as  far  as  possible  unobserved  in  any  other  orbit.  So 
now  his  last  mortification  had  begun,  and  from  this  time 
forth  we  must  conceive  him  as  more  a  voice  than  a  man, 
almost  a  disembodied  inspiration  calling  the  world  up 
heavenwards  from  a  height  which  already  seemed  above  a 
mortal  pitch,  the  human  preacher  dissolved  into  "  a  portion 
of  the  Eternal,"  as  Shelley  says,  become  "a  splendour  in 
the  firmament  of  time."  In  this  extraordinary  spiritual 
supremacy,  Donne  was  now  alone  among  the  divines  of  his 
generation. 


ST.    DUNSTAN'S   IN  THE   WEST 

1624-1627 


CHAPTER   XIV 

ST.  DUNSTAN'S   IN  THE  WEST 
1624-1627 

WALTON  thought  that  "  immediately  after  his  admission  into 
his  Deanery,  the  Vicarage  of  St.  Dunstan's  in  the  West  fell " 
to  Donne.  This  was  not  the  case,  although  the  reversion  of 
that  living  had  been  given  him  soon  after  his  taking  orders 
by  the  patron,  Richard,  third  Earl  of  Dorset  and  grandson 
of  that  illustrious  poet  of  the  Induction,  who  is  better 
known  to  us  as  Thomas  Sackville.  St.  Dunstan's  was  at 
this  time  held  by  Dr.  Thomas  White,  who  had  been 
presented  to  it  in  1575  by  the  poet,  who  was  then  Lord 
Buckhurst.  At  Oxford  White  had  attracted  the  notice 
of  Bishop  Aylmer  by  his  eloquence  as  a  preacher,  and 
in  the  year  of  the  Armada  he  became  Prebendary  of 
Mora  in  St.  Paul's  Cathedral.  During  the  next  five  years 
he  was  promoted  in  rapid  succession  to  the  Treasurer- 
ship  of  Salisbury,  to  a  Canonry  at  Christ's  Church, 
Oxford,  and  to  another  in  the  Chapel  Royal  at  Windsor. 
"  Besides  building  and  endowing  almshouses  at  Bristol 
where  he  was  born,  he  founded  Sion  College  in  his  life 
time,  and  the  Professorship  of  Moral  Philosophy  at  Oxford, 
which  still  bears  his  name,  and  he  provided  for  the  endow 
ment  of  a  Lectureship  at  St.  Dunstan's,  the  lecturer  being 
required  to  preach  every  Sunday  and  Thursday  afternoon." 
He  has  been  confounded  with  the  Thomas  White  who  was 
Chancellor  of  Salisbury,  quite  a  different  person,  who  died 
in  1588. 

On  the  ist  of  March  1624,  Dr.  White,  who  was  about 
seventy- five  years  of  age,  died,  and  was  buried  in  the 
chancel  of  St.  Dunstan's  Church.  But  the  munificent 


202  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

friend  and  patron  to  whom  Donne  owed  the  presentation 
scarcely  lived  to  see  his  forethought  rewarded,  for  on  the 
28th  of  the  same  month,  Richard,  Earl  of  Dorset,  died, 
still  a  young  man.  He  was  succeeded  by  his  brother 
Edward,  "  beautiful,  graceful  and  vigorous,"  as  Clarendon 
describes  him,  and  then  in  the  flush  of  his  goodly  prime. 
He  proved  no  less  kind  a  friend  to  Donne  than  his  brother 
had  been,  though  his  partiality  to  poets  was  less  marked. 
It  is  not  quite  certain  in  what  practical  degree  Donne's  purse 
was  benefited  by  the  appointment  to  St.  Dunstan's  in  the 
West.  According  to  papers  in  Sion  College,  the  Vicarage 
produced  in  Donne's  time  ^240,  45.  9fd.  in  tithes.  But, 
"after  payment  of  all  outgoings  and  the  stipend  of  his 
curate,"  Donne  was  justified  in  saying  at  the  end  of  his 
life  that  "  I  make  not  a  shilling  profit  of  St.  Dunstan's  as 
a  churchman,"  that  is  to  say,  as  a  holder  of  vicarial  tithes. 
On  the  nth  of  May  1624,  he  sublet  the  rectorial  tithes,  for 
which  he  thought  he  paid  the  Earl  of  Dorset  too  high  a 
rent,  for  twenty  years  to  ten  of  his  parishioners  for  ^200 
per  annum,  reserving  the  Vicarage  and  two  houses  ad 
joining.  Donne  paid  all  the  King's  dues.  The  Vicarage 
was  situated  in  Fleet  Street,  close  to  Fetter  Lane,  and  was 
occupied  by  Donne's  substitute  in  the  pulpit  of  St.  Dunstan's, 
Matthew  Griffiths,  whom  Donne  afterwards  presented  to 
the  Rectory  of  St.  Mary  Magdalen,  in  Old  Fish  Street. 

Donne  must  have  succeeded  White  without  any 
delay  in  the  course  of  March  1624.  Walton  was  mis 
informed  when  he  said  that  the  fourth  Earl  "  confirmed  " 
the  gift  of  the  advowson ;  there  can  be  no  question  that 
he  would  have  done  so  had  it  been  necessary.  But  the 
third  Earl  lived  long  enough  to  see  Donne  in  possession, 
and  the  fourth  Earl,  who  was  at  Florence  when  his  brother 
died  on  the  28th  of  March,  did  not  return  to  England  until 
the  end  of  May.  He  entered  into  his  hereditary  duties 
as  Master  of  Ashdown  Forest,  Steward  of  the  Honours  of 
Aquila  and  Pevensey,  and  those  other  offices  which  made 
the  Lords  of  Dorset  all-powerful  in  the  county  of  Sussex,  in 
the  middle  of  June  of  this  year  1624.  Donne  preached  his 
first  sermon  at  St.  Dunstan's  on  the  nth  of  April,  and 


ST.    DUNSTAN'S    IN    THE    WEST       203 

his  text  was,  "  If  brethren  dwell  together,  and  one  of  them 
die,  and  leave  no  child,"  a  passage  startlingly  appropriate 
to  the  predicament  in  which  the  family  of  his  noble  patrons 
found  itself. 

Of  this  first  sermon,  Dr.  Jessopp  gives  the  following 
interesting  analysis  : — "  The  sermon  is  a  kind  of  manifesto 
setting  forth  the  preacher's  view  of  the  reciprocal  duties 
of  the  pastor  and  his  flock.  It  was  evidently  composed 
with  great  care,  and  is  expressed  in  language  almost  homely 
in  its  simplicity,  very  unlike  the  ordinary  style  of  Donne's 
most  studied  sermons  delivered  on  important  occasions. 
4  From  these  words/  he  says,  '  we  shall  make  our  approaches 
and  application  to  the  present  occasion.  .  .  .  First,  there 
is  a  marriage  in  the  case — the  taking  and  leaving  the  Church 
is  not  an  indifferent,  an  arbitrary  thing ;  it  is  a  marriage, 
and  marriage  implies  honour ;  it  is  an  honourable  estate, 
and  that  implies  charge ;  it  is  a  burdensome  state — there 
is  honour  and  labour  in  marriage.  Tou  must  be  con 
tent  to  afford  the  honour,  we  must  be  content  to  endure 
the  labour.  ...  It  is  a  marriage  after  the  death  of 
another.  ...  It  must  be  a  brother,  a  spiritual  brother — a 
professor  of  the  same  faith — that  succeeds  in  this  marriage, 
in  this  possession,  and  this  government  of  that  widow 
Church.  .  .  .  And  then,  being  thus  married  to  this  widow 
—taking  the  charge  of  this  Church — he  must  "  perform  the 
duty  of  a  husband's  brother."  He  must — it  is  a  personal 
service,  not  to  be  done  always  by  proxy  and  delegates ; 
he  must,  arid  he  must  perform — not  begin  well  and  not 
persist,  commence  and  not  consummate;  but  perform  the 
work — as  it  is  a  duty.  ...  It  is  a  duty  in  us  to  do  that 
we  are  sent  for,  by  His  word  and  His  sacraments 
to  establish  you  in  His  holy  obedience  and  His  rich  and 
honourable  service,  .  .  .  and  that  the  true  right  of  people 
and  pastor  and  patron  be  preserved,  to  the  preservation  of 
love  and  peace  and  good  opinion  of  one  another.' 

"  In  the  course  of  the  sermon  all  these  points  are  dwelt 
on,  and  he  ends  by  emphasising  and  recapitulating  what 
he  had  said.  'If  the  pastor  love,  there  will  be  a  double 
labour;  if  the  people  love,  there  will  be  double  respect. 


204 


LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 


For  where  the  congregation  loves  the  pastor,  he  will  for 
bear  bitter  reproofs  and  wounding  increpations,  and  where 
the  pastor  loves  his  congregation,  his  rebukes,  because  they 
proceed  out  of  love,  will  be  acceptable  and  well  interpreted 
by  them,  .  .  .  that  love  being  the  root  of  all,  the  fruit 
of  all  may  be  peace ;  love  being  the  soul  of  all,  the  body 
of  all  may  be  unity,  which  the  Lord  of  unity  and  concord 
grant  to  us  all  for  His  Son  Jesus  Christ's  sake.' 

"  Such  was  Donne's  manifesto  when  he  preached  for  the 
first  time  in  St.  Dunstan's  pulpit;  it  was  a  noble  setting 
forth  of  a  high  ideal,  which  for  the  remaining  seven  years 
of  his  life  he  strove  with  all  his  heart  to  carry  out,  and  in 
doing  so  he  found  his  reward." 

Donne's  acceptance  of  the  living  of  St.  Dunstan's  raised 
the  question  of  his  continuing  to  hold  that  of  Blunham, 
which  he  was  not  willing  to  resign.  This  was  settled  on 
the  4th  of  March  1624,  by  a  Royal  Grant  to  John  Donne, 
Dean  of  St.  Paul's,  and  Chaplain  in  Ordinary  to  the  King, 
of  "dispensation  to  hold  the  Rectory  of  Blunham,  in  the 
Diocese  of  Lincoln,  and  one  other  benefice  [Sevenoaks]  in 
addition  to  those  which  he  now  holds,"  St.  Dunstan's  and 
the  Deanery  of  St.  Paul's.  His  preferments,  therefore,  were 
now  numerous,  and  in  spite  of  all  his  occasional  grumb 
lings,  the  emoluments  considerable.  This  dispensation  was 
granted  at  the  special  interposition  of  the  Duke  of  Buck 
ingham,  and  it  was  so  worded  as  to  enable  Donne  to 
continue  to  hold  Blunham  and  Sevenoaks  whatever  ecclesi 
astical  or  other  spiritual  promotions  it  might  afterwards 
please  the  King  to  grant  him. 

Some  letters  belonging  to  the  early  months  of  1624, 
and  referring  to  gift-copies  of  the  little  volume  of  Devotions, 
may  here  find  their  place.  The  first  of  these  is  endorsed 
"upon  presentation  of  a  Book  of  Meditations"  to  the 
Queen  of  Bohemia.  There  could  be  no  moment  in  the 
distracted  career  of  that  most  unfortunate  princess  at  which 
the  consolations  of  religion  could  be  more  welcome  to  her. 
The  incapacity  of  her  husband  was  now  proved  to  be 
hopeless,  and  to  be  gradually  plunging  Germany  into  an 
anarchical  condition.  The  battle  of  Stadtloo  (July  27, 


ST.    DUNSTAN'S    IN    THE    WEST       205 

1623)  had  seen  vanish  Frederick's  last  hope  of  regaining, 
not  any  longer  the  throne  of  Bohemia  merely,  but  even  his 
own  Electoral  Palatinate.  James  I.,  almost  maddened  by 
his  foiled  attempts  to  unravel  the  tangle  of  his  son-in-law's 
mismanaged  affairs,  was  as  surly  as  a  sick  bear  to  his 
daughter;  the  Queen  of  Bohemia  was  privately  agitated 
by  the  proposed  political  marriage  of  her  young  Protestant 
son  to  the  Catholic  daughter  of  the  Emperor  Ferdinand. 
Poor,  distracted,  in  exile,  it  needed  all  Elizabeth's  cheerful 
philosophy  to  keep  her  from  giving  way  to  despair  when 
the  crisis  of  her  ruin  came  at  Christmas  1623. 

u  To  the  Queen  of  BOHEMIA.1 

"Your  Majesty  hath  had  the  patience  heretofore  to 
hear  me  deliver  the  messages  of  God  to  yourself.  In  the 
hearing  of  me  deliver  my  messages  to  God,  I  can  hope  for 
the  continuance  of  your  Majesty's  patience.  He  is  a  very 
diffident  man  that  can  doubt  of  that  virtue  in  your  Majesty, 
for  of  your  great  measure  of  that  virtue  the  world  hath  had 
more  proof  than  it  needed.  But  I  consider  always  that  it 
had  been  in  me  a  disloyal  thing  (I  afford  no  milder  a  word 
to  that  fault)  to  have  any  way  conjured  to  the  exercising  of 
your  Majesty's  patience  ;  therefore  I  have  forborne  to  thrust 
into  your  Majesty's  presence  my  name,  or  anything  which 
hath  proceeded  from  me,  though  always  the  dignity  of  the 
subject,  and  sometimes  the  express  commandment,  some 
times  the  gracious  alarum  of  your  most  royal  father,  might 
have  gone  far  in  my  excuse,  in  such  a  boldness  to  your 
Majesty.  Now  (for,  since  I  am  doing  a  bold  action,  I  may 
speak  words  that  sound  of  boldness  too)  I  surprise  your 
Majesty,  I  take  you  at  an  advantage ;  I  lay  an  obligation 
upon  you,  because  that  which  your  brother's  highness  hath 
received  your  Majesty  cannot  refuse.  By  your  own  example 
you  can  suffer,  by  his  example  you  may  be  pleased  to  accept 
this  testimony  of  the  zeal  of  your,  &c." 

\JEnclosed  in  a  letter  dated  February  I,  1624.]] 

1  From  the  Tobie  Matthew  Collection. 


206  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

To  which  the  Queen  of  Bohemia  replied  as  follows  : — 

"  To  Doctor  DoNNE.1 

"  GOOD  DOCTOR, — None  should  have  cause  to  pity  me, 
nor  myself  to  complain,  had  I  met  with  no  other  exercise 
of  my  patience  than  the  hearing  of  you  deliver  (as  you  call 
them)  the  messages  of  God  unto  me,  which  truly  I  never 
did  but  with  delight,  and,  I  hope,  some  measure  of  edifica 
tion.  No  doubt  then  but  I  shall  read  yours  to  Him  with 
pleasure,  and  I  trust  by  His  assistance,  to  whom  they  are 
directed,  not  without  profit.  For  what  I  have  already  read 
I  give  you  hearty  thanks,  and  if  my  better  fortunes  make 
progression  with  my  reading  (whereof  I  now  begin  to  have 
good  hope),  I  will  not  fail  upon  any  good  occasion  to 
acknowledge  this  courtesy  at  your  hands,  and  in  the  mean 
time  I  remain  yours,  &c." 

It  may  be  conjectured  that  the  following  note,2  now 
first  printed,  was  addressed  to  some  great  lady  in  the  suite 
of  the  Queen  of  Bohemia  : — 

"  MADAM, — Except  God  had  been  pleased  to  let  me 
into  heaven,  to  the  gates  whereof  by  this  sickness  He 
brought  me,  I  could  not  be  possessed  of  better  society  nor 
better  friends  than  He  hath  offered  me  in  this  world  of 
them.  Your  Ladyship  hath  been  content,  and  of  that 
noble  friendship,  this  is  the  present  exercise,  that  you  would 
receive  this  book  from  me ;  and  if  upon  conference  with 
your  noble  husband  (whose  hand  I  kiss)  it  appear  not  an 
over-boldness  in  me  to  proceed  so,  I  beseech  you  to  present 
the  other  book  and  the  letter  to  her  Majesty,  who  is  ever 
joined  by  me  with  my  own  soul  in  all  the  prayers  of  your 
Ladyship's  very  humble  servant  in  Christ  Jesus, 

"Jo.  DONNE. 

"  1st  February 


1  From  the  Tobie  Matthew  Collection. 

2  MS.  in  possession  of  J.  H.  Anderdon,  Esq. 


ST.    DUNSTAN'S   IN    THE    WEST       207 

u  'To  the  Duke  of  BUCKINGHAM.1 

"Mr  MOST  HONOURED  LORD, — Once  I  adventured  to 
say  to  the  Prince's  highness  that  I  was  sure  he  would 
receive  a  book  from  me  the  more  graciously  because  it  was 
dedicated  to  your  Grace ;  I  proceed  justly  upon  the  same 
confidence  that  your  Grace  will  accept  of  this,  because  that 
it  is  his  by  the  same  title. 

"  If  I  had  not  overcome  that  reluctation,  which  I  had 
in  myself,  of  presenting  Devotions  and  Mortifications  to  a 
young  and  active  Prince,  I  should  not  have  sent  them  unto 
your  presence,  who  have  done  so  much,  and  have  so  much 
to  do  in  this  world,  as  that  it  might  seem  enough  to  think 
seriously  of  that.  No  man,  in  the  body  of  story,  is  a  full 
president  to  you  ;  nor  any  of  future  may  promise  himself 
an  adequation  to  his  president  if  he  make  you  his.  Kings 
have  discerned  the  seed  of  high  virtue  in  many  men,  and 
upon  that  gold  they  have  set  their  stamp,  their  favour  upon 
those  persons ;  but  then  those  persons  have  laboured  under 
the  jealousy  of  the  future  heir,  and  some  few  have  had  the 
love  of  king  and  prince,  but  not  of  the  kingdom  ;  and  some 
of  that  too,  but  not  of  the  Church.  God  hath  united  your 
Grace  so  to  them  all,  that  as  you  have  received  obligations 
from  the  King  and  Prince,  so  you  have  laid  obligations 
upon  the  State  and  Church.  They  above  love  you  out  of 
their  judgment,  because  they  have  loved  you,  and  we  below 
love  you  out  of  our  fulness,  because  you  have  loved  us, 
and  God  ever  loved  them  whom  good  men  loved.  God's 
Privy  Seal  is  the  testimony  of  a  good  conscience,  and  His 
Broad  Seal  is  the  outward  blessing  of  this  world.  But 
since  the  pillar  of  fire  was  seconded  with  a  pillar  of  cloud, 
and  all  His  temporal  blessings  have  some  partial  eclipses, 
and  the  purest  conscience  some  remorse,  so,  though  He 
hath  made  your  way  to  glory,  glory,  and  brought  you  in 
the  arms  and  bosom  of  His  vicegerent,  into  His  own  arms 
and  bosom,  yet  then  must  we  prize  a  minute  of  true  light 
in  a  natural  death. 

1  From  the  Tobie  Matthew  Collection ;  there  is  also  a  copy  of  this  letter,  with 
variations,  in  Cabala. 


208  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

"And  as  the  reading  of  the  actions  of  great  men  may 
affect  you  for  great  actions,  so  for  this  our  necessary  defect 
of  dying  (which,  I  hope,  shall  be  the  only  step  that  ever 
you  shall  pass  to  that,  and,  by  that,  late)  you  may  receive 
some  remembrances  from  the  Meditations  and  Devotions  of 
your  Grace's  devoted  servant,  J.  DONNE." 

This  letter,  also  from  the  Tobie  Matthew  Collection, 
may  belong  to  the  same  period  : — 

[To  the  Earl  of  DORSET  ?] 

"  MY  LORD, — To  make  myself  believe  that  our  life  is 
something,  I  use  in  my  thoughts  to  compare  it  to  some 
thing  ;  if  it  be  like  anything  that  is  something.  It  is  like 
a  sentence,  so  much  as  may  be  uttered  in  a  breathing  ;  and 
such  a  difference  as  is  in  styles  is  in  our  lives,  contracted 
and  dilated.  And,  as  in  some  styles  there  are  open 
parentheses,  sentences  within  sentences,  so  there  are  lives 
within  our  lives.  I  am  in  such  a  parenthesis  now  (in  a 
convalescence)  when  I  thought  myself  very  near  my  period. 
God  brought  me  into  a  low  valley,  and  from  thence 
showed  me  high  Jerusalem  upon  so  high  a  hill  as  that  He 
thought  it  fit  to  bid  me  stay  and  gather  more  breath. 
This  I  do  by  meditating,  by  expostulating,  by  praying ; 
for,  since  I  am  barred  of  my  ordinary  diet,  which  is 
reading,  I  make  these  my  exercises,  which  is  another 
part  of  physic.  And  these  meditations,  and  expostula 
tions,  and  prayers  I  am  bold  to  send  to  your 
Lordship ;  that,  as  this  which  I  live  now  is  a  kind  of 
second  life,  I  may  deliver  myself  over  to  your  Lordship  in 
this  life  with  the  same  affection  and  devotion  as  made 
me  yours  in  all  my  former  life;  and  as  long  as  any  image 
of  this  world  sticks  in  my  soul,  shall  ever  remain  in  your 
Lordship's,  &c." 

Greatly  occupied,  in  his  slow  convalescence,  by  the 
duties  of  his  Deanery  and  of  St.  Dunstan's,  Donne  slips 
from  our  view  for  several  months.  He  preached  on  the 


ST.    DUNSTAN'S    IN    THE    WEST       209 

1 3th  of  June  to  the  new  Earl  of  Exeter,  William  Cecil, 
and  his  company  in  his  chapel  of  St.  John's.  The  Earl 
was  Sir  Robert  Drury's  brother-in-law.  A  few  letters 
carry  us  on  to  the  close  of  this  uneventful  year,  1624. 
The  first  are  addressed  to  Sir  Nicholas  Throckmorton 
Carew,  Donne's  brother-in-law,  Lord  of  the  Manor  of 
Mitcham : — 

"70  the  Right  Worshipful  Sir  N.  CAREW,  at  Bedington.1 

11  SIR, — It  must  always  be  my  first  work  to  portray  to 
you  my  thanks  for  your  favours  of  all  kinds,  and  to 
accompany  my  poor  thanks  with  my  best  prayers  for  your 
happiness  in  yourself  and  all  your  family,  Amen.  Besides 
I  have  at  this  time  an  occasion  of  doing  my  Lord  of 
Dorset  a  service  in  discharging  a  commandment  of  his. 
He  remembers  himself  to  be  in  your  debt  for  a  free 
courtesy  that  you  did  him  out  of  your  park,  and  he 
reserves  a  stag  for  you  in  return  of  your  favour.  He 
expects  from  me  (for  I  have  undertaken  to  tell  him)  at 
what  time  it  may  be  most  acceptable  to  you.  Upon 
Saturday  we  make  account  to  go  to  Knolle  together.  If 
before  that,  or  at  any  time,  you  will  be  pleased  to  let  me 
know  what  day  you  will  command  it  to  be  sent,  it  shall  be 
so.  Sir,  I  rest  your  poor  friend  and  servant  in  Christ  Jesus, 

"J.  DONNE. 

"  At  my  house  at  St.  Paul's, 
1st  September  1624." 

Knolle  was  the  Earl  of  Dorset's  country  seat.  These 
letters  show  on  what  intimate  terms  Donne  already  stood 
with  the  new  peer,  who  evidently  valued  the  Dean  no  less 
than  his  brother  had  done. 

"  'To  Sir  NICHOLAS  CAREW.2 

"SiR, — I  have  worn  out  my  horses  in  your  progress, 
and  since  that  I  cannot,  as  I  thought  to  have  done,  come 
over  to  see  you.  And,  besides,  I  am  forced  to  entreat 

1  Domestic  State  Papers.  2  Ibid. 

VOL.   II.  O 


210  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 


a  favour  at  your  hands,  which  is,  that  if  it  be  no  incon 
venience  unto  you,  you  would  let  these  horses  with  my 
man  Frank  [?]  run  in  your  park,  but  if  your  other  friends 
have  overcharged  you  with  importunities  of  this  kind,  I 
pray  let  not  me  add  to  it  by  my  unmannerliness.  I  made 
the  man  .  haste  to  send  now,  because  yesterday  I  heard  of  a 
dangerous  fall  that  your  second  son  had  taken,  and  was 
very  desirous  (as  I  hope  I  shall)  to  hear  of  his  amendment. 
And  so,  Sir,  with  my  humble  thanks  for  all  your  former 
favours  to  me,  and  your  remembrance  of  my  service  to 
your  good  lady,  and  my  prayers  to  our  Blessed  Saviour 
to  bless  you  and  yours  in  this  and  your  next  world,  I  rest 
your  poor  friend  and  servant  in  Christ  Jesus, 

"J.  DONNE. 

"  At  my  house  at  Drury  House, 
September 


The  address  of  this  letter  is  very  extraordinary,  and  I 
think  that  Donne  has  here  written,  by  inadvertence,  the 
address  which  had  been  his  for  so  many  years  instead  of  the 
Deanery.  It  is  just  possible,  but  very  unlikely,  that  he 
continued  to  occupy  rooms  in  Drury  House. 

The  Lady  Kingsmell,  to  whom  the  next  letter  was  ad 
dressed,  had  been  the  Bridget  White  to  whom,  in  earlier 
years,  Donne  had  gaily  written  some  notes  which  have  been 
published  already  in  their  place.  Her  husband,  Sir  Henry 
Kingsmell,  died  on  the  very  day  on  which  Donne  indited 
this  elaborate  letter  of  consolation  to  the  widow. 


"  'To  the  Honourable  Lady  the  Lady  KINGSMELL  upon 
the  death  of  her  husband}"  Vf 

"  MADAME, — Those  things  which  God  dissolves  at 
once,  as  He  shall  do  the  sun  and  moon  and  those  bodies 
at  the  last  conflagration,  He  never  intends  to  reunite  again  ; 
but  in  those  things  which  He  takes  in  pieces,  as  He  does 
man  and  wife  in  these  divorces  by  death,  and  in  single 
persons  by  the  divorce  of  body  and  soul,  God  hath  another 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


ST.    DUNSTAN'S    IN    THE    WEST       211 

purpose  to  make  them  up  again.  That  piece  which  He 
takes  to  Himself  is  presently  cast  in  a  mould,  and  in  an 
instant  made  fit  for  His  use ;  for  heaven  is  not  a  place  of 
a  proficiency,  but  of  present  perfection.  That  piece  which 
He  leaves  behind  in  this  world,  by  the  death  of  a  part 
thereof,  grows  fitter  and  fitter  for  Him  by  the  good  use  of 
His  corrections  and  the  entire  conformity  to  His  will. 

"  Nothing  disproportions  us,  nor  make  us  so  uncapable 
of  being  reunited  to  those  whom  we  loved  here,  as  murmur 
ing  or  not  advancing  the  goodness  of  Him  who  hath 
removed  them  from  hence.  We  would  wonder  to  see 
a  man  who,  in  a  wood,  were  left  to  his  liberty  to  fell  what 
trees  he  would,  take  only  the  crooked  and  leave  the 
straightest  trees;  but  that  man  hath  perchance  a  ship  to 
build  and  not  a  house,  and  so  hath  use  of  that  kind  of 
timber ;  let  not  us  who  know  that  in  God's  house  there  are 
many  mansions,  but  yet  have  no  model,  no  design  of  the 
form  of  that  building,  wonder  at  His  taking  in  of  His 
materials,  why  He  takes  the  young  and  leaves  the  old,  or 
why  the  sickly  overlive  those  that  had  better  health.  We 
are  not  bound  to  think  that  souls  departed  have  divested 
all  affections  towards  them  whom  they  left  here ;  but  we 
are  bound  to  think  that  for  all  their  loves  they  would  not 
be  here  again.  Then  is  the  will  of  God  done  in  earth,  as 
it  is  in  heaven,  when  we  neither  pretermit  His  actions  nor 
resist  them,  neither  pass  them  over  in  an  inconsideration  as 
though  God  had  no  hand  in  them,  nor  go  about  to  take 
them  out  of  His  hands  as  though  we  could  direct  Him  to 
do  them  better. 

"As  God's  Scriptures  are  His  will,  so  His  actions  are 
His  will  ;  both  are  testaments,  because  they  testify 
His  mind  to  us.  It  is  not  lawful  to  add  a  schedule 
to  either  of  His  wills,  as  they  do  ill  who  add  to  His 
written  will,  the  Scriptures,  a  schedule  of  Apocryphal 
books ;  so  do  they  also,  who  to  His  other  will,  His  mani 
fested  actions,  add  Apocryphal  conditions  and  a  schedule  of 
such  limitations  as  these,  '  if  God  would  have  stayed  thus 
long,'  or  'if  God  would  have  proceeded  in  this  or  this 
manner  I  could  have  borne  it.'  To  say  that  our  afflictions 


212  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

are  greater  than  we  can  bear  is  so  near  to  despairing  as  that 
the  same  words  express  both ;  for  when  we  consider  Cain's 
words  in  that  original  tongue  in  which  God  spake,  we 
cannot  tell  whether  the  words  be,  My  punishment  is 
greater  than  can  be  born,  or,  My  sin  is  greater  than  can  be 
forgiven. 

"But,  Madame,  you  who  willingly  sacrificed  your 
self  to  God  in  your  obedience  to  Him  in  your  own 
sickness  cannot  be  doubted  to  dispute  with  Him  about  any 
part  of  you  which  He  shall  be  pleased  to  require  at  your 
hands.  The  difference  is  great  in  the  loss  of  an  arm  or  a 
head,  of  a  child  or  a  husband ;  but  to  them  who  are  in 
corporated  into  Christ,  their  head,  there  can  be  no  behead 
ing  ;  upon  you,  who  are  a  member  of  the  spouse  of  Christ, 
the  Church,  there  can  fall  no  widowhood,  nor  orphanage 
upon  those  children  to  whom  God  is  father.  I  have  not 
another  office  by  your  husband's  death,  for  I  was  your 
chaplain  before  in  my  daily  prayers,  but  I  shall  enlarge  that 
office  with  other  collects  than  before,  that  God  will 
continue  to  you  that  peace  which  you  have  ever  had  in 
Him,  and  send  you  quiet  and  peaceable  dispositions  in  all 
them  with  whom  you  shall  have  anything  to  do  in  your 
temporal  estate  and  matters  of  this  world,  Amen. — Your 
Ladyship's  very  humble  and  thankful  servant  in  Christ 
Jesus, 

"J.  DONNE. 

"  At  my  poor  house  at  St.  Paul's, 
26th  October  1624." 

A  little  group  of  hitherto  unpublished  letters  now 
throws  a  curious  light  on  the  ecclesiastical  procedure  of 
the  time.  Donne,  in  connection  with  the  Chapter  of  St. 
Paul's,  had  in  his  gift  the  living  of  St.  Faith's,  in  the  City 
of  London.  This  belonged  to  the  Dean  and  Chapter  to 
present,  and  the  members  of  the  Chapter  took  turns  in 
presentation.  It  was  now  Donne's  turn,  "  according  to 
our  courses."  He  had  promised  the  living  to  a  friend  of 
his  own,  but,  when  the  cure  became  vacant  by  the  promotion 
of  the  incumbent,  William  Woodford,  the  King  demanded 


ST.    DUNSTAN'S    IN    THE    WEST       213 

St.  Faith's  for  a  Royal  protege,  Emmanuel  Smith.  The 
Dean  and  Chapter  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  submit  as 
gracefully  as  they  might. 

"From  King  JAMES  I.  to  the  Dean  of  ST.  PAUL'S.* 

"Trusted,  &c., — We  are  moved  by  our  especial  favour 
to  William  Woodford,  now  minister  of  St.  Faith's  Parish, 
to  dispose  of  him  in  another  place,  which,  for  some  con 
sideration,  cannot  well  be  effected  without  your  consent  and 
allowance  of  Emmanuel  Smith  to  succeed  him  in  the  Cure 
of  St.  Faith's.  Who  being  very  able  and  sufficient  to 
discharge  that  duty,  and  now  having  a  gracious  desire  to 
accommodate  Woodford,  we  have  taken  it  upon  us  to 
procure  your  acceptance  and  admittance  of  Smith  to  that 
cure,  and  do  by  these,  our  letters,  earnestly  recommend  him 
to  be  placed  in  that  cure  by  your  favour  and  at  our  re 
quest,  which,  in  regard  of  our  engagement  to  prefer  Wood- 
ford,  we  shall  take  as  done  in  duty  and  respect  unto  us, 
and  be  ready  to  acknowledge  it  in  all  occasions  of  yours  to 
your  advantage. 

"  2^th  November  1624." 

"  To  Secretary  CON  WAY.2 

"  May  it  please  your  Honour, — I  received  by  the  hands 
of  Mr.  Woodford  a  letter  from  our  most  gracious  master  to 
myself  and  the  other  presidentiaries  of  our  church,  recom 
mending  unto  us  Mr.  Smith  to  succeed  Mr.  Woodford  in 
St.  Faith's  Church.  Though  it  be  thus  much  to  your 
Honour's  trouble,  it  behoves  me  to  give  an  account 
thereof.  That  church  is,  at  this  accordance  according  to 
our  courses,  in  my  particular  gift,  as,  also,  it  fell  out  to 
be  so  when  Mr.  Woodford  received  it  at  my  hands.  And 
upon  just  confidence  in  that  title,  I  had  given  the  next 
presentation  thereof  (before  any  intimation  or  imagination 
of  his  Majesty's  pleasure)  to  a  person  that  hath  deserved  a 
greater  service  from  me ;  so  that,  to  make  myself  able  to 

1  Domestic  State  Papers.  2  Ibid. 


2i4  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

do  that  which  is  always  infinitely  my  desire,  to  serve  his 
Majesty,  I  was  put,  first  to  work  the  Chapter  and  then 
to  recall  my  grant,  and,  after,  to  waive  my  work  and  turn 
of  presenting.  All  which  being  with  the  speediest  dili 
gence  that  I  could  use,  and  the  very  ready  forwardness  of 
our  whole  Chapter,  accomplished,  and  thereby  the  way 
made  certain  and  plain  for  Mr.  Smith  to  enter  thereupon 
as  soon  as  it  shall  be  made  void,  I  thought  it  necessary  to 
signify  so  much  to  your  Honour ;  not  that  these  circum 
stances  of  difficulty  add  anything  to  my  merit,  but  that  it 
adds  to  my  gladness,  that  in  one  business  I  had  so  many 
occasions  to  testify  my  desire  to  serve  his  Majesty,  from 
whom  I  have  not  only  (as  other  men  have)  received  my 
livelihood,  but  my  priesthood.  To  which  joy  of  mind 
I  humbly  beseech  your  Honour  that  I  may  have  leave 
to  add  this  other,  that  you  will  be  pleased  to  return  to 
your  knowledge  and  retain  in  your  favour  your  Honour's 
humblest  servant  in  Christ  Jesus, 

"J.  DONNE. 

"  At  my  poor  house  at  Paul's, 
7th  December  1624." 

Hitherto,  since  he  became  Dean,  Donne  had  retained 
the  chamber  in  Lincoln's  Inn,  to  which  he  had  a  right  as 
a  Bencher.  On  the  29th  of  November  a  letter  was  read 
to  the  Council  in  which  he  resigned  this  privilege,  "  with  an 
expression  of  his  humble  thanks,  and  assurance  of  all  readi 
ness  to  serve  this  society,  or  any  member  thereof,  with  his 
best  endeavours."  This  resignation  of  the  chamber  "  was 
very  kindly  accepted  by  the  members  of  the  Bench." 

On  the  3  ist  of  December  1624  the  King  thanked  the 
Dean  of  St.  Paul's  for  bestowing  the  Cure  of  St.  Faith's  on 
the  Royal  protege. 

One  of  the  most  shining  lights  in  the  Court  of  James  I. 
was  the  young  James  Hamilton,  Earl  of  Cambridge  and 
Marquess  of  Hamilton,  of  whom  Chamberlain  wrote  that 
he  was  "  in  every  way  held  the  gallantest  gentleman  of  both 
the  nations."  He  had  been  born  in  1589,  and  in  1604 
succeeded  as  second  Marquess  of  Hamilton  in  the  Scotch 


ST.    DUNSTAN'S    IN    THE    WEST       215 

peerage.  He  was  in  such  high  favour  with  the  King  that 
he  was  once  spoken  of  as  a  possible  husband  for  the  Princess 
Elizabeth.  He  succeeded  his  uncle  as  fourth  Earl  of 
Arran  in  1609,  and  in  1619  was  created  Lord  Ennerdale 
and  Earl  of  Cambridge  in  the  English  peerage.  The 
Marquess  of  Hamilton  was  appointed  Lord  High  Steward 
of  the  King's  Household  in  1624,  and  in  that  capacity 
may  have  come  into  personal  contact  with  Donne  as 
Chaplain  -  in  -  Ordinary.  He  died,  rather  suddenly,  on 
the  3rd  of  March  1625,  of  what  was  called  "a  malig 
nant  fever,"  not  improbably  a  form  of  the  plague  which 
was  now  gathering  upon  London.  Sir  Robert  Ker  applied 
to  Donne  for  an  elegiacal  poem  on  this  painful  occasion, 
made  more  sinister  by  the  rapidly  failing  health  of  the  King 
himself.  Donne  replied  : — 

"  fo  Sir  ROBERT  KER. 

"  SIR, — I  presume  you  rather  try  what  you  can  do  in  me, 
than  what  I  can  do  in  verse  :  you  know  my  uttermost  when 
it  was  best,  and  even  then  I  did  best  when  I  had  least  truth 
for  my  subjects.  In  this  present  case  there  is  so  much  truth 
as  it  defeats  all  poetry.  Call,  therefore,  this  paper  by  what 
name  you  will,  and  if  it  be  not  worthy  of  him,  nor  of  you, 
nor  of  me,  smother  it,  and  be  that  the  sacrifice.  If  you 
had  commanded  me  to  have  waited  on  his  body  in  Scotland 
and  preached  there,  I  would  have  embraced  the  obligation 
with  more  alacrity.  But  I  thank  you,  that  you  would 
command  to  do  that  which  I  was  loth  to  do,  for  even  that 
hath  given  a  tincture  of  merit  to  the  obedience  of  your 
poor  friend  and  servant  in  Christ  Jesus, 

"J.  DONNE." 

[March  1625.] 

The  elegy  written  thus  to  order  is  of  much  greater 
merit  than  we  should  be  prepared  to  expect.  A  Hymn  to 
the  Saints,  and  to  Marquis  Hamilton  is  one  of  Donne's  most 
poetical  efforts  in  this  direction.  The  elegist  reminds  the 
angels,  in  their  jubilation  over  the  arrival  in  heaven  of 


216  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

this  charming  young  man,   that   their  gain  is   mankind's 

loss : — 

"  One  of  your  orders  grows  by  his  access, 
But,  by  his  loss,  grow  all  our  orders  less, 
The  name  of  Father,  Master,  Friend,  the  name 
Of  Subject  and  of  Prince,  in  one  is  lame  ; 
Fair  mirth  is  damp'd,  and  conversation  black, 
The  Household  widow'd,  and  the  Garter  slack ; 
The  Chapel  wants  an  ear ;  Council  a  tongue ; 
Story  a  theme ;  and  Music  lacks  a  song." 

The  poet  indulges  in  his  favourite  ingenuities,  and  tells  the 
angels  that  the  Marquess  deprived  his  body  of  all  its  beauty 
that  he  might  send 

"  that  fair  form  it  wore 
Unto  the  sphere  of  forms,  and  doth — before 
His  soul  shall  fill  up  his  sepulchral  stone — 
Anticipate  a  resurrection." 

The  whole  of  this  poem  has  a  prosodical  character  which 
is  somewhat  novel  in  Donne,  and  the  careful  student  will 
detect  in  the  rhythm  of  A  Hymn  to  the  Saints,  and  to  Marquis 
Hamilton,  perhaps  for  the  first  time  in  English  poetry,  a 
certain  rhetorical  wail,  which  was  caught  and  intensified 
by  both  Crashaw  and  Cowley,  and  lasted  until  Tickell 
composed  his  splendid  funeral  chant  for  Addison. 

"  70  the  Right  Honourable  Sir  ROBERT  KER,  at  Court} 

"SiR, — I  pursued  my  ambition  of  having  the  honour 
to  kiss  your  hands  somewhere,  so  far  as  to  inform  myself 
occasionally  of  my  great  neighbour.  And  I  perceive  he  is 
under  an  inundation  of  uncertain  comers,  which  he  cannot 
divest,  except  I  had  your  leave,  to  speak  plain  to  him.  A 
second  inconvenience  is  that  he  is  so  deaf,  that  we  must 
speak  to  the  whole  house  if  we  will  speak  to  him.  And  a 
third  is,  that  I  am  in  a  riddling,  rather  a  juggling,  indisposi 
tion,  fast  and  loose,  and  therefore  dare  not  stir  far.  Yet, 
Sir,  I  am  not  thereby  unfit  to  receive  the  honour  of  seeing 
you  here,  if  greater  business  have  not  overcome,  or  worn 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


ST.    DUNSTAN'S    IN    THE    WEST       217 

out,  your  former  inclinableness  to  come  into  these  quarters. 
If  you  shall  be  pleased  to  say  to  my  man  that  you  will  make 
as  though  you  dined  with  me  to-day,  and  come,  if  your 
business  require  your  going  to  his  Lordship,  you  may  dine 
with  him  after  you  have  fasted  with  me.  To-day,  or  any 
day  which  may  be  more  yours,  I  ask  it  of  you  with  all 
earnestness,  on  this  side  importunity,  which  is  the  detesta 
tion  of  your  humblest  and  thankfulest  servant, 

"J.  DONNE." 

[March  1625?] 

In  April  or  May  1625  Donne  received  from  his  eccentric 
son-in-law,  Edward  Alleyn,  the  long  and  very  unpleasant 
letter  to  which  we  have  already  referred ;  this  still  exists  in 
the  Dulwich  Library.1  The  marriage  had  not  turned  out 
well,  and  the  husband  had  succeeded  in  estranging  his  wife 
from  her  father.  Alleyn's  letter  is  one  of  stormy  reproach, 
but  he  fails  to  persuade  us  that  the  Dean  had  committed 
any  fault  save  a  very  natural  impatience  at  his  son-in-law's 
vagaries.  We  gain  from  it  not  a  few  interesting  touches 
with  regard  to  Donne's  family  life.  We  find  confirmed, 
what  other  hints  had  revealed  to  us,  that  George,  the  Dean's 
second  son,  was  his  favourite  child,  and  the  one  used  to 
cajole  his  father  when  any  of  the  others  desired  an  indul 
gence.  The  quarrel  between  Donne  and  Alleyn  arose 
from  the  habit  the  latter  had  of  too  constantly  demanding 
"  the  common  courtesy  afforded  to  a  friend,  the  loan  of  un- 
useful  moneys,"  that  is  to  say,  I  suppose,  moneys  not  being 
put  to  what  Alleyn  would  consider  any  useful  purpose. 
Probably  Alleyn  wanted  Donne  to  join  him  in  wild 
speculations. 

Alleyn  in  this  boisterous  letter  makes  an  "  examina 
tion  "  of  Donne's  conduct  to  him  ever  since  his  betrothal 
to  Constance  in  the  autumn  of  1623.  We  learn  that  the 
Dean  hurried  forward  the  marriage  just  before  Christmas, 
when  his  illness  was  so  severe,  in  the  dread  that,  if  he 
died,  Alleyn  might  break  it  off,  which,  indeed,  does  not 

1  The  MS.  has  lost  address,  signature,  and  date,  but  no  doubt  is  possible  regard 
ing  the  first  or  second,  while  the  third  is  revealed  by  internal  evidence. 


2i8  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

seem  improbable.  At  first  all  went  well,  but  Alleyn, 
who  passed  for  a  very  rich  man,  and  had,  at  one  time  or 
another,  collected  an  unusual  mass  of  property,  was  greatly 
in  want  of  ready  money,  and  wearied  the  Dean  with  his 
importunity.  He  protests  that  he  has  been  a  model 
husband :  "I  have  all  this  time  loved  her,  kept  her  and 
maintained  her,"  but  he  calls  God  and  the  world  to  witness 
that  her  father  is  a  terrible  trial  to  him.  It  appears  that 
in  a  final  interview  Donne  told  Alleyn  plainly  that  he 
"  must  be  branded  either  a  fool  or  a  knave,"  which  Alleyn 
thinks  was  a  hard  saying,  and  one  for  which  thirty  years 
earlier — that  is  to  say,  in  the  days  of  his  secretaryship  to  the 
Lord  Keeper — Donne  would  have  been  questioned.  The 
Dean  must,  indeed,  have  lost  his  temper,  if  it  is  true,  as 
his  son-in-law  alleges,  that,  in  the  course  of  this  interview, 
at  something  Alleyn  said,  Donne  "presently  being  in 
flamed,  sang  twice,  '  It  is  false,  and  a  lie  ! '  " 

The  charges  he  brings  against  Donne  are  paltry.  He 
says  that  the  Dean  promised  his  daughter  her  mother's 
child-bed  linen  for  a  New  Year's  gift  (March  1625),  which, 
when  the  time  came,  he  apparently  forgot  to  give.  But 
the  great  cause  of  offence  is  that  Constance  wished  for  "a 
little  nag "  of  her  father's  "  for  her  own  self,  to  use  for 
her  health,  to  take  the  air."  She  had  many  times  heard 
Donne  say  that  he  had  no  use  for  this  animal,  that,  in  fact, 
it  was  eating  its  head  off  in  the  Deanery  stable.  Constance 
lacked  the  courage  to  ask  for  the  nag  directly,  but  put 
her  brother  George  up  to  wheedling  the  Dean  for  it. 
But  the  request  came  at  an  unlucky  moment,  perhaps  just 
after  the  stormy  interview  with  Alleyn,  and  "to  prevent 
her  of  the  comfort,  the  nag  was  suddenly  sent  away  to 
Oxford."  Constance  had  been  sure  of  getting  it,  and  was 
not  a  little  disgusted.  Also,  "she  having  but  two  dia 
mond  rings,"  her  father  had  asked  her  to  give  him  one  of 
them,  promising  to  return  it  to  her  with  three  stones  in  it, 
which  he  had  neglected  to  do. 

Such  are  the  serious  accusations  which  the  wounded 
and  indignant  Alleyn  brings  against  his  father-in-law, 
but  the  real  bitterness  seems  to  consist  in  the  fact  that 


ST.    DUNSTAN'S    IN   THE    WEST       219 

he  had  been  told  that  whenever  he  came  to  town  on 
business  he  might  put  up  at  the  Deanery.  After  the 
occasion  on  which  he  was  called  a  fool  or  a  knave,  how 
ever,  on  his  having  mentioned  that  he  was  coming  to 
London  and  would  "accept  your  former  loving  offer," 
he  was  roundly  told  that  it  would  not  be  convenient. 
His  revenge  is  petty.  Lucy  seems  to  have  gone  to  the 
Alleyns  to  help  to  nurse  Constance  after  the  birth  of 
the  baby  she  expected,  and  Alleyn  says  that  since  Donne 
is  so  unkind,  he  shall  expect  him  to  pay  for  Lucy's  keep. 
There  is  no  record  of  a  child  born  to  Alleyn. 

The  sickliness  of  the  spring  of  1625  was  a  matter  of 
general  concern.  Among  the  deaths  of  prominent  men, 
those  of  Southampton,  Chichester,  and  Nottingham  had 
removed  from  the  roll  of  contemporary  history  some  of 
its  most  interesting  names.  The  King  also  had  been  ill, 
but  had  seemed  to  recover.  The  death  of  Hamilton,  how 
ever,  was  a  great  shock  to  him,  and  on  the  5th  of  March, 
at  Theobalds,  he  suddenly  fell  ill  of  a  tertian  ague,  When 
he  was  getting  better,  the  old  Countess  of  Buckingham 
took  to  physicking  him,  and  the  disease  regained  strength ; 
on  the  2yth  of  the  month  he  died.  There  does  not  seem 
to  be  any  record  of  Donne's  having  preached  to  James  I. 
during  the  winter  or  spring  preceding  his  death. 

The  new  king,  Charles  I.,  remained  for  a  week  shut 
up  in  St.  James's  Palace,  no  one  but  the  Duke  of  Buck 
ingham,  his  Gentleman  of  the  Bedchamber,  being  admitted 
to  speak  with  him.  On  the  2nd  of  April  Donne  received 
a  command  to  preach  in  the  afternoon,  Sunday,  and  the 
following  almost  incoherent  note  to  Sir  Robert  Ker  betrays 
the  extreme  agitation  with  which  he  prepared  to  face  his 
new  and  so  mysteriously  reticent  master : — 

"  To  the  Right  Honourable  Sir  ROBERT  KER,  at  Court} 

"  Sir, — This  morning  I  have  received  a  signification  from 
my  Lord  Chamberlain,  that  his  Majesty  hath  commanded 
to-morrow's  sermon  at  St.  James's ;  and  that  it  is  in  the 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


220  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

afternoon  (for,  into  my  mouth  there  must  not  enter  the 
word,  after  dinner,  because  that  day  there  enters  no  dinner 
into  my  mouth).  Towards  the  time  of  the  service,  I  ask 
your  leave  that  I  may  hide  myself  in  your  out-chamber, 
or  if  business,  or  privateness,  or  company  make  that  in 
convenient,  that  you  will  be  pleased  to  assign  some  servant 
of  yours  to  show  me  the  closet,  when  I  come  to  your 
chamber ;  I  have  no  other  way  there  but  you,  which  I  say 
not,  as  though  I  had  not  assurance  enough  therein,  but  be 
cause  you  have  too  much  trouble  thereby,  nor  I  have  no 
other  end  there,  than  the  pulpit,  you  are  my  station,  and 
that  my  exaltation ;  and  in  both  I  shall  ever  endeavour  to 
keep  you  from  being  sorry  for  having  thought  well  of,  or 
being  ashamed  of  having  testified  well  for — Your  poor  and 
very  true  servant  in  Christ  Jesus, 

"J.  DONNE." 

[.April  2,  1625.] 

Ker  was  anxious  to  keep  the  Dean  to  dinner  with  him, 
but  his  shyness  or  sense  of  the  awful  importance  of  the 
occasion  made  him  shrink  from  accepting  the  invitation. 
Another  hurried  note  early  next  day  : — 

"  To  the  Right  Honourable  Sir  ROBERT  KER,  at  Court} 

"  SIR, — If  I  should  refuse  the  liberty  which  you  enlarge 
to  me,  of  eating  in  your  chamber,  you  might  suspect  that 
I  reserved  it  for  greater  boldnesses,  and  would  not  spend  it 
in  this.  But,  in  good  faith,  I  do  not  eat  before,  nor  can 
after,  till  I  have  been  at  home ;  so  much  hath  my  this 
year's  debility  disabled  me,  even  for  receiving  favours. 
After  the  sermon,  I  will  steal  into  my  coach  home,  and 
pray  that  my  good  purpose  may  be  well  accepted,  and  my 
defects  graciously  pardoned.  Amen. — Yours  entirely, 

"J.  DONNE. 

" 1  will  be  at  your  chamber  at  one  afternoon." 
\Apnl  3,  1625.] 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


ST.    DUNSTAN'S    IN    THE    WEST       221 

Having  listened  to  the  sermon  with  an  air  "very 
attentive  and  devout,"  the  new  King  walked  across  St. 
James's  Park  and  took  up  his  work  at  Whitehall.  The 
pallor  of  his  face  and  his  inscrutable  solemnity  greatly 
impressed  his  subjects ;  and  though  he  was  only  twenty- 
five  years  old,  he  preserved  the  dignity  and  gravity  of  age. 
Donne's  sense  of  insecurity  before  this  new  and  unfamiliar 
patron  can  well  be  understood,  so  complete  a  despot  in  all 
church  discipline  was  a  monarch  in  those  days.  Nobody 
knew  what  the  opinions  of  this  exceedingly  discreet  young 
man  might  prove  to  be.  The  Puritan  party  boasted  that 
he  was  with  them,  while  the  Catholics  were  no  less  eagerly 
convinced  that  he  would  repeal  the  Recusancy  laws.  How 
ever,  as  far  as  Donne  was  concerned,  he  was  not  long 
suffered  to  be  in  doubt.  The  King's  commendation  of  his 
sermon  of  April  3  was  promptly  conveyed  to  the  preacher, 
together  with  a  command  that  it  should  be  published,  as 
it  immediately  was,  under  the  title  of  The  First  Sermon 
preached  to  King  Charles.  In  this  year,  moreover,  Donne 
made  his  earliest  collection  of  his  discourses  in  the  Four 
Sermons  upon  Special  Occasions,  a  quarto  volume,  published 
in  1625.  On  the  26th  of  April,  a  few  days  before  the 
body  of  James  I.  was  removed  from  Denmark  House  to 
his  burial,  Donne  preached  again  to  "the  nobility." 

Donne  took  his  place  in  the  Chapter  of  St.  Paul's  as 
prebend  of  Chiswick,  and  on  the  8th  of  May  he  preached 
the  first  of  five  sermons  on  portions  of  the  Psalms  which 
were  required  from  him  in  that  capacity.  By  this  time  the 
Plague  had  settled  upon  London  in  a  quite  unmistakable 
way.  Parliament  met  on  the  1 8th  of  June,  but  adjourned 
on  the  i  ith  of  July  to  meet  at  Oxford  on  the  ist  of  August. 
What  became  of  Donne  at  first  is  not  known,  but  it  is 
not  very  likely  that  he  remained,  with  his  family  of  young 
children,  in  the  centre  of  infection.  Many  places  were 
open  to  him.  He  did  not,  however,  go  to  Blunham  or 
to  Camberwell,  where  he  was  almost  at  home,  or  to  Knolle, 
where  he  was  always  extremely  welcome.  That  he  should 
stay  in  London,  however,  through  that  terrible  September 
was  impossible.  The  city  was  almost  deserted,  and 


222  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

over  40,000  persons  died ;  Donne's  little  parish  of  St. 
Dunstan's  in  the  West  suffered  with  more  than  average 
severity.  Many  of  the  City  churches  were  closed  for  want 
of  a  congregation.  He  withdrew  to  Sir  John  Danvers' 
house  in  Chelsea,  then  completely  severed  from  London, 
and  shut  himself  up  in  it,  receiving  and  paying  no  visits. 
He  disappeared,  indeed,  so  completely,  that  a  rumour  was 
spread  abroad  that  he  was  dead.  It  is  not  certain  to  whom 
the  following  letter,1  which  has  lost  its  address,  was  written  ; 
it  is  now  for  the  first  time  printed.  Donne  says  that  he 
had  heard  that  the  recipient  was  to  be  one  of  the  principal 
Secretaries  of  State  in  the  place,  that  is,  of  Sir  Albert 
Morton,  who  died  of  fever  on  the  6th  of  September,  1625. 
But  his  post  was  filled  up  without  delay  by  Sir  John  Coke, 
a  creature  of  Buckingham's.  I  think  that  the  letter  may 
very  possibly  be  addressed  to  Dorset,  who  was  on  the  high 
road  to  a  variety  of  political  honours. 

"  Our  blessed  Saviour  establish  in  you,  and  multiply  to 
you  the  seals  of  His  eternal  election,  and  testify  His 
gracious  purposes  towards  you  in  the  next  world  for  ever, 
by  a  right  small  succession  of  His  outward  blessings  here, 
and  sweeten  your  age  by  a  rectified  conscience  of  having 
spent  your  former  time  well,  and  sweeten  your  transmigra 
tion  by  a  modest,  but  yet  infallible  assurance  of  a  present 
union  with  Him.  Amen. 

"Your  Lordship's  letters  of  the  i6th  of  August  were 
delivered  to  me  in  November,  in  which  I  am  first  affected 
with  that  infection,  which  your  Lordship  told  me,  at  that 
time  reigned  in  those  parts.  I  make  it  another  argument 
that  our  good  God  hath  a  holy  and  gracious  purpose  to 
enwrap  us  in  the  same  everlasting  communion  of  joy,  that 
enwraps  us  now  in  the  same  communion  of  calamity ;  for 
your  number  of  2000  a  day  was  so  far  attempted  by  us, 
that  in  the  City  of  London,  and  in  a  mile  compass,  I  believe 
there  died  1000  a  day.  But  by  reason  that  these  infections 
are  not  so  frequent  with  us,  the  horror,  I  presume,  was 
greater  here ;  for  the  citizens  fled  away,  as  out  of  a  house 

1  Domestic  State  Papers. 


ST.    DUNSTAN'S    IN    THE    WEST       223 

on  fire,  and  stuffed  their  pockets  with  their  best  ware,  and 
threw  themselves  into  the  highways,  and  were  not  received 
so  much  as  into  barns,  and  perished  so,  some  of  them  with 
more  money  about  them  than  would  have  bought  the 
village  where  they  died.  A  justice  of  peace,  into  whose 
examination  it  fell,  told  me  of  one  that  died  so  with 
^1400  about  him.  I  scattered  my  family,  and  to  be 
near  as  I  could  to  your  inspection  of  the  Church,  I 
removed  for  a  time  to  Chelsea,  where  within  a  few 
weeks  the  infection  multiplied  so  fast  as  that  it  was  no 
good  manners  to  go  to  any  other  place,  and  so  I  have 
been  in  a  secular  monastery,  and  so  far  in  a  uniformity  to 
your  Lordship  too. 

"  Of  those  good  things  which  God  intends  us  in  the  next 
world,  He  affords  us  a  sense  and  an  anticipation  in  this.  So 
of  those  honours  and  rewards  (which  you,  a  word  that  we 
may  be  bolder  with  in  matters  of  this  nature,  than  when 
we  speak  of  heaven)  which  your  noble  and  powerful  friends 
intend  you  here,  I  doubt  not  but  you  have  good  assurances 
from  them.  To  me  it  was  a  great  comfort,  both  for  your 
merit  and  the  State's  acknowledgment  (for,  as  St.  Augus 
tine  says,  temptations  and  God's  disposing  of  them  to  our 
good,  sometimes  the  devil  is  away,  and  sometimes  the 
woman,  so  that  God  frustrates  the  temptation,  so  the  devil 
counterfeits  God  so  far,  as  yet  sometimes  he  corrupts 
public  instruments  of  State  with  private  vices,  and  then 
there  is  no  merit,  sometimes  he  corrupts  great  persons 
with  a  facility  of  admitting  calumnies,  and  so  there  is  no 
acknowledgment,  no  reward  of  true  merit,  but  in  this  we 
had  our  comfort),  that  before  the  seal  was  removed  from 
the  Bishop  of  Lincoln,  there  being  speech  of  many  removes, 
for  ten  days  together,  they  were  full  of  assurance  that  your 
Lordship  was  Secretary. 

"  My  Lord,  in  the  poor  low  way  that  I  have  gone  in 
which  I  have  not  made  many  nor  wide  steps  since  my  first 
leap  which  was  my  very  entrance  into  this  calling,  I  have 
found  that  missing  and  failing  of  some  places  have  ad 
vanced  my  fortune,  and  that,  though  I  were  no  great 
pretender  nor  thruster  myself,  yet  the  promises  in  which 


224  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

some  great  person  had  enlarged  themselves  towards  me,  and 
even  the  voice  and  rumour  which  sometimes  had  invested 
me  in  some  vacant  places,  conduced  to  my  future  settling. 
Your  Lordship  is  in  the  hands  of  a  person  of  whose  large 
ness  in  doing  good,  we  abound  with  examples  of  particular 
persons  advanced  by  him  ;  but  that  exalts  not  my  wonder, 
because  he  hath  had  it  in  his  power  to  do  so  much.  But, 
having  also  the  same  power  to  do  harm,  and  having  con 
ferred  great  favour  upon  persons  that  have  proved  very 
unthankful  and  practising  to  his  prejudice,  and  so  been 
put  to  a  necessity  of  declaring  his  power  by  diverting  them, 
yet  I  cannot  recover  any  example  of  any  whom,  in  such  a 
just  displeasure,  he  hath  left  worse  than  he  found  him, 
but  satisfying  himself  in  having  withdrawn  those  additions 
which  he  pinned  upon  him,  hath  left  him  to  enjoy  his 
former  condition. 

"  By  so  good  a  hand  hath  God  made  up  mine,  and 
is  kneading  and  moulding  your  Lordship's  fortune, 
though  fortunes  of  that  great  kind  be  elephants  and 
belong  to  the  womb,  and  not  made  up  so  soon  as 
those  that  consist  of  pieces,  and  but  a  few  and  but  small. 
In  the  parturition  and  bringing  forth  of  so  great  issues, 

r  o       o  o 

God  is  the  midwife,  for  He  refuses  no  name  nor  office  to 
do  His  servants  good.  Amongst  your  men-midwives  I 
shall  always  assist  it  with  my  humble  prayers,  both  for  the 
birth  of  your  daughter  and  your  honour  in  this  world,  and 
of  your  son  with  your  happiness  in  the  next.  I  will  be 
bold  to  add  this  circumstance  of  gladness  which  we  had  in 
this  approach  of  you  to  that  place,  that  the  opinion  of  Sir 
Dudley  Carleton's  remove  at  that  time  (into  whose  place  our 
worthy  friend,  Sir  Robert  Killigrew,  is  to  go)  did  not  divert 
nor  retard  your  coming  unto  yours. 

"  I  stay  thus  long  from  giving  your  Lordship  an 
account  of  some  other  parts  of  your  Lordship's  letter, 
because  when  I  come  to  that  I  am  swallowed,  and  fall 
into  your  consideration  of  your  Lordship's  continued 
favour  to  me  and  my  obligations  from  your  Lord 
ship.  I  owe  no  man  more,  but  am  happy  in  my 
creditor,  who  is  content  to  take  such  payment  as  I  can 


ST.    DUNSTAN'S    IN    THE    WEST       225 

make,  and  to  call  my  gratitude  the  silver  and  my  devotion 
the  gold  in  which  he  is  willing  to  be  paid.  Amongst  those 
favours  this  which  your  Lordship  hath  done  now  is  a  great 
one,  to  take  so  expressly  into  your  consideration  the  recom 
mendation  of  that  gentleman  of  whom  I  wrote  last  to  your 
Lordship.  But  I  think  that  by  this  letter  I  do  absolutely 
restore  your  Lordship  to  your  liberty ;  for,  since  that  time, 
he  hath  embraced  another  employment  for  Savoy;  and 
though  he  be  not  yet  gone,  yet  (I  think)  he  hath  had  his 
Privy  Seal  some  months.  In  this  general  dispersion  I 
know  not  where  to  seek  him,  for  the  infection  hath  made 
this  village  so  infamous  as  that  I  go  not  to  court,  though  it 
be  at  Hampton.  But  except  a  letter  of  mine,  within  a 
month  after  this,  refresh  my  request  to  your  Lordship,  be 
pleased  to  take  my  restoring  to  you  to  your  full  liberty 
as  a  part  of  payment  of  my  debt  for  that  forward  favour  to 
me.  Almighty  God  bless  you  where  you  are  and  where 
you  would  be  when  you  are  there,  and  bring  you  hither, 
Amen. 

"  Your  Lordship's  humblest  and  thankfulest 
servant  in  Christ  Jesus, 

"J.  DONNE. 

"At  Chelsea,  2$tb  November  1625. 

"  Your  Lordship  always  allowed  me  the  freedom  to 
communicate  to  you  whatsoever  I  write  or  meditated ; 
therefore  I  continue  it  in  telling  your  Lordship  how  I 
have  spent  this  summer  in  my  close  imprisonment.  I  have 
revised  as  many  of  my  sermons  as  I  had  kept  any  note  of, 
and  I  have  written  out  a  great  many,  and  hope  to  do  more. 
I  am  already  come  to  the  number  of  eighty,  of  which  my 
son,  who,  I  hope,  will  take  the  same  profession  or  some 
other  in  the  world  of  middle  understanding,  may  hereafter 
make  some  use." 

Four  weeks  later  he  writes  in  a  similar  style  to  his  old 
friend,  Sir  Henry  Goodyer. 


VOL.   II. 


226  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

"  To  the  Worthiest  Knight  Sir  HENRY  GooDYER.1 

"  SIR, — Our  blessed  Saviour,  who  abounds  in  power  an 
goodness  towards  us  all,  bless  you  and  your  family  with 
blessings  proportioned  to  His  ends  in  you  all,  and  bless  you 
with  the  testimony  of  a  rectified  conscience  of  having  dis 
charged  all  the  offices  of  a  father  towards  your  discreet  and 
worthy  daughters,  and  bless  them  with  a  satisfaction  and 
quiescence,  and  more,  with  a  complacency  and  a  joy,  in 
good  ends  and  ways  towards  them.  Amen. 

"Your  man  brought  me  your  letter  of  the  8th  of  De 
cember  this  2  ist  of  the  same,  to  Chelsea,  and  gives  me  the 
largeness  till  Friday  to  send  a  letter  to  Paul's  house.  There 
can  scarce  be  any  piece  of  that,  or  of  those  things  whereof 
you  require  light  from  me,  that  is  not  come  to  your  know 
ledge  by  some  clearer  way  between  the  time  of  your  letter 
and  this.  Besides,  the  report  of  my  death  hath  thus  much 
of  truth  in  it,  that  though  I  be  not  dead  yet  I  am  buried. 
Within  a  few  weeks  after  I  immured  myself  in  this  house 
the  infection  struck  into  the  town  into  so  many  houses,  as 
that  it  became  ill  manners  to  make  any  visits.  Therefore 
I  never  went  to  Knolle,  nor  Hanworth,  nor  Ke[ys]ton,  nor 
to  the  Court  since  the  Court  came  into  these  quarters,  nor 
am  yet  come  to  London,  therefore  I  am  little  able  to  give 
you  account  of  high  stages. 

"  Perchance  you  look  not  so  low  as  our  ordinary 
Gazette,  and  that  tells  us  (with  a  second  assurance)  that 
the  Duke  of  Brunswick,  Christian,  is  dead  of  an  ague. 
My  Lord  of  Dorset,  even  upon  the  day  when  he  should 
have  been  installed  with  his  six  fellows,  fell  sick  at 
London,  and  at  Court  (which  does  not  exalt  all  men)  his 
fever  was  exalted  to  the  plague,  but  he  is  in  good  con 
valescence.  Of  the  navy  I  hear  of  no  great  limb  come  back 
yet  but  my  Lord  of  Essex ;  something  of  the  disappointing 
of  the  design  they  had  is  imputed  to  some  difference  in 
point  of  command  between  him  and  the  Master  of  the 
Ordinance,  my  Lord  of  Valencia,  but  as  yet  there  is  little 
manifested.  Already  is  issued  a  proclamation  that  there 

i  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


ST.    DUNSTAN'S    IN    THE    WEST       227 

be  no  disbanding  of  the  soldiers  upon  their  landing  in  what 
part  soever,  and  that  his  Majesty  hath  present  employment 
for  them.  What  the  main  business  at  Hague  hath  been  I 
know  nothing,  but  I  hear  that  their  offer  of  pawning  of 
jewels  to  a  very  very  great  value,  to  the  States  or  private 
men,  hath  found  no  acceptance,  at  least  found  no  money. 
Occasionally  I  heard  from  the  Hague  that  the  Queen,  having 
taken  into  her  care  the  promoving  and  advancing  of  some 
particular  men's  businesses  by  way  of  recommendations  to 
the  Duke,  expressed  herself  very  royally  in  your  behalf.  This 
I  tell  you  not  as  though  you  knew  it  not,  but  because  I  had  the 
fortune  to  see  it  in  a  letter  of  the  simple  gentlewoman  from 
thence,  by  which  name,  if  you  know  her  not,  I  have  omitted 
heretofore  to  tell  you  a  good  tale.  They  continue  at  Court, 
in  the  resolution  of  the  Queen  pastoral ;  when  Queen  Anne 
loved  gambols,  you  loved  the  Court.  Perchance  you  may 
doubt  whether  you  be  a  thorough  courtier,  if  you  come 
not  up  to  see  this,  the  Queen  a  shepherdess.  But  I  speak 
not  this  by  way  of  counsel  to  draw  you  up,  it  is  not  only 
Non  Dominus,  sed  ego,  but  nee  Deus  nee  ego,  to  call  you  hither, 
but  upon  fair  appearances  of  useful  comings. 

"  Mr.  George  Herbert  is  here  at  the  receipt  of  your 
letter,  and  with  his  service  to  you  tells  you  that  all  of 
Uvedale  house  are  well.  I  reserve  not  the  mention  of  my 
Lady  Huntingdon  to  the  end  of  my  letter  as  grains  to  make 
the  gold  weigh,  but  as  tincture  to  make  the  better  gold 
when  you  find  room  to  intrude  so  poor  and  impertinent  a 
name  as  mine  is  in  her  presence.  I  beseech  you,  let  her 
Ladyship  know  that  she  hath  sowed  her  favours  towards 
me  in  such  a  ground  that  if  I  be  grown  better  (as  I  hope  I 
am)  her  favours  are  grown  with  me,  and  though  they  were 
great  when  she  conferred  them,  yet  (if  I  mend  every  day) 
they  increase  in  me  every  day,  and  therefore  every  day 
multiply  my  thankfulness  towards  her  Ladyship.  Say  what 
you  will  (if  you  like  not  this  expression)  that  may  make 
her  Ladyship  know  that  I  shall  never  let  fall  the  memory 
nor  the  just  valuation  of  her  noble  favours  to  me,  nor  leave 
them  unrequited  in  my  exchequer,  which  is  the  blessings  of 
God  upon  my  prayers.  If  I  should  write  another  sheet  I 


228  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

should  be  able  to  serve  your  curiosity  no  more  of  dukes, 
nor  lords,  nor  courts,  and  this  half  line  serves  to  tell  you 
that  I  am  truly 

"  Your  poor  friend  and  humble 

servant  in  Christ  Jesus, 

[December  21,  1625.]  "  J-  DONNE." 

These  months  of  enforced  seclusion  in  the  house  of 
the  Danvers'  at  Chelsea,  when  it  was  not  good  manners 
even  to  call  upon  one's  neighbours,  may  have  been  pecu 
liarly  happy  months  for  Donne.  He  was  quite  well  in 
bodily  health,  and  he  was  in  the  company  of  most  select 
and  endeared  friends.  For  Lady  Danvers  was  none  other 
than  Donne's  old  patroness  Magdalen  Herbert,  who,  being 
left  a  widow  in  1597,  had  in  1608  married  Sir  John 
Danvers,  an  intelligent  and  wealthy  young  man  not  quite 
half  her  age.  The  wise,  tender  mother  of  all  the  Herberts 
was  probably  born  about  I565.1  She  had  often  been  the 
subject  of  Donne's  Muse.  In  her  castle  of  Montgomery 
he  had  written  his  beautiful  poem  of  The  Primrose ;  he  had 
addressed  to  her  holy  hymns  and  sonnets;  above  all,  one 
of  the  most  ingenious  of  his  elegies,  'The  Autumnal,  was 
composed  in  her  honour.  On  the  authority  of  Walton,  it 
has  been  customary  to  rank  this  poem  very  early  among 
Donne's  works.  If  we  took  Walton's  chronology  seriously, 
we  should  have  to  attribute  The  Autumnal  at  one  time  to 
1602,  at  another  to  1612.  Neither  date  is  possible,  and 
Walton  must  have  been  thinking  of  some  other  poem. 
My  own  opinion,  after  a  close  examination  of  the  evidence, 
is  that  this  elegy  was  a  work  of  Donne's  late  maturity.  I 
feel  little  doubt,  myself,  that  it  was  composed  in  the 
autumn  of  1625,  while  the  poet  was  immured  in  Sir  John 
Danvers'  house  in  Chelsea.  Unless  it  is  taken  as  de 
scribing  the  venerable  and  beautiful  old  age  of  a  distin 
guished  woman,  the  piece  is  an  absurdity ;  to  address 
such  lines  to  a  youthful  widow,  who  was  about  to  become 
the  bride  of  a  boy  of  twenty,  would  have  been  a  mon 
strous  breach  of  tact  and  good  manners.  Even  in  1625 

1  The  date  commonly  assigned  to  her  birth,  1568,  is  unquestionably  too  late. 


ST.    DUNSTAN'S    IN    THE    WEST       229 

Lady  Danvers  could  not  have  been  more  than  sixty. 
Walton  says  "  both  he  and  she  were  then  past  the  meridian 
of  man's  life,"  although  he  has  been  trying  to  make  us 
believe  that  Donne  was  about  thirty  years  of  age  and  the 
lady  about  thirty-five.  Considered  as  written  in  1625,  The 
Autumnal  immediately  becomes  not  an  eccentric  imper 
tinence  to  a  young  woman,  but  a  most  delicate  compliment 
to  an  old  one — 

"  No  spring,  nor  summer  beauty  hath  such  grace 
As  I  hare  seen  in  one  autumnal  face  .  .  . 
If  'twere  a  shame  to  love  " 

(because  the  passion  is  inappropriate  to  the  poet's  years  and 
dignity), 

"  here  'twere  no  shame, 
Affections  here  take  Reverence's  name. 
Were  her  first  years  the  Golden  Age  ?     That's  true, 
But  now  they're  gold  oft  tried,  and  ever  new. 

Call  not  these  wrinkles,  graves ;  if  graves  they  were, 
They  were  Love's  graves,  for  else  he  is  nowhere. 
Yet  lies  not  Love  dead  here,  but  here  doth  sit, 
Vow'd  to  this  trench,  like  an  anachorit, 
And  here,  till  hers,  which  must  be  his  death,  come, 
He  doth  not  dig  a  grave,  but  build  a  tomb." 

It  is  not  conceivable  that  any  man  in  his  senses  could  write 
in  this  way,  with  a  view  to  pleasing  a  still  fresh  and 
marriageable  lady  in  the  prime  of  life — 

"  Here,  where  still  evening  is,  not  noon,  nor  night ; 
Where  no  voluptuousness,  yet  all  delight  ... 
This  is  Love's  timber ;  youth  his  underwood, 
There  he,  as  wine  in  June,  enrages  blood." 

It  would  even  appear  that  Lady  Danvers  was  not  so  slender 
as  she  once  had  been — 

"Xerxes'  strange  Lydian  love,  the  platan  tree, 
Was  lov'd  for  age,  none  being  so  large  as  she."     . 

At  the  close  of  the  poem  he  distinctly  states  that  what  he 
admires  is  the  matureness  of  the  period  between  the  age  of 


230  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

fifty  and  the  "living  death's-head"  stage  of  extreme  and 
senile  decay.  He  does  not  admire  the  latter ;  since 

"  I  hate  extremes ;  yet  I  had  rather  stay 
With  tombs  than  cradles  to  wear  out  a  day. 
Since  such  love's  motion  natural  is,  may  still 
My  love  descend  and  journey  down  the  hill, 
Not  panting  after  growing  beauties  ;  so 
I  shall  ebb  out  with  them  who  homeward  go." 

This  last  line  contains  a  curious  premonition  of  Tennyson's 
famous  fancy.  If  after  thus  closely  examining  The  Autumnal 
there  are  readers  who  still  cling  to  the  tradition  that  this  poem 
belongs  to  Magdalen  Herbert's  youth,  I  have  yet  another 
argument  against  that  opinion.  The  prosody  is  wholly 
unlike  that  of  the  poet's  early  years,  and  presents  exactly 
the  characteristics  of  verse  which  we  know  to  belong  to 
the  last  few  years  of  his  life.  I  think  that  common-sense 
and  internal  evidence  alike  point  to  the  probability  that 
"The  Autumnal  was  written  during  Donne's  sojourn  with  Sir 
John  and  Lady  Danvers  in  1625  ;  and  this  is  certainly  an 
occasion  on  which  Walton's  vague  memory  of  what  some 
one  had  told  him  may  with  advantage  be  neglected. 

In  the  letter  last  quoted,  a  name  illustrious  in  religion 
and  poetry  is  mentioned,  namely,  that  of  George  Herbert. 
He  was  the  fifth  son  of  Lady  Danvers,  and  was  twenty 
years  Donne's  junior,  having  been  born  in  Montgomery 
Castle  on  the  3rd  of  April  1593.  That  Donne  had  known 
him  from  infancy  is  obvious,  but  the  great  affection  which 
sprang  up  between  them,  and  lasted  until  the  Dean's  death, 
probably  began  during  the  autumn  of  1625.  George 
Herbert's  youth  had  been  spent,  after  Westminster,  at  the 
University  of  Cambridge,  where  he  was  admitted  a  scholar 
of  Trinity  in  1609.  When  Donne  received  his  doctor's 
degree  at  Cambridge,  in  such  unfortunate  conditions,  in  1615, 
George  Herbert  was  a  minor  fellow  of  Trinity  College, 
and  in  1618  he  was  appointed  Reader  in  Rhetoric.  In 
1620  he  succeeded  Sir  Francis  Nethersole  as  Public  Orator, 
"  the  finest  place  in  the  University,"  not  pecuniarily, 
indeed,  for  the  income  was  only  £30  a  year,  but  as  an 
introduction  to  court  notice.  George  Herbert  held  this 


ST.    DUNSTAN'S    IN    THE    WEST       231 

office,  nominally,  until  1627,  but  politics  and  ambition 
drew  him  more  and  more  of  late  years  to  court,  and  he 
delegated  his  duties,  for  months  at  a  time,  to  a  deputy 
of  the  name  of  Thorndike.  It  is  to  be  noted  that  during 
this  long  period  of  service  for  and  at  Cambridge,  George 
Herbert  can  have  had  little  opportunity  of  becoming  inti 
mate  with  Donne,  nor  is  it  at  all  certain  that  there  was,  in 
those  years,  much  in  the  future  incumbent  of  Bemerton 
which  would  attract  the  Dean  of  St.  Paul's. 

The  shock  of  the  death  of  the  Marquess  of  Hamilton, 
however,  followed  by  those  of  King  James  and  others  well 
known  to  George  Herbert,  produced  in  the  latter  a  great 
change  of  mind.  He  had  been  a  brilliant  type  of  the 
fashionable  humanist,  enjoying  to  the  full  "  the  painted 
pleasures  of  a  court  life,"  but,  about  the  year  1625,  "God 
inclined  him  to  put  on  a  resolution  to  serve  at  His  altar." 
In  this  sudden  alteration  in  the  course  of  his  projects, 
while  the  future  was  all  in  debate  in  his  spirit,  he  was 
shut  up  at  Chelsea,  in  his  mother's  house,  in  company 
with  one  of  his  mother's  oldest  friends,  who  happened 
to  be  the  most  stimulating  and  persuasive  divine  of  that 
age.  About  this  time,  while  he  was  preparing  for  orders, 
George  Herbert  was  made  sinecure  rector  of  Whitford,  and 
lay  prebendary  of  Leighton  Ecclesia,  on  the  estate  or 
corps  of  Leighton  Bromswold.  Although  the  accept 
ance  of  these  little  offices  did  not  involve  his  necessarily 
entering  the  clerical  profession,  it  yet  showed  the  direc 
tion  in  which  his  thoughts  were  tending. 

In  the  diary  which  Donne  kept,  he  was  accustomed 
every  Christmas  to  "  bless  each  year's  poor  remainder  with 
a  thankful  prayer."  That  for  1625  ran  thus : — 

"Deo    Opt.    Max.    benigno  largitori,   a  me,  et  ab  iis 
quibus  hasc  a  me  reservantur,  Gloria  et  Gracia  in  /Eternum. 
Amen." 
Or,  in  English — 

"  To  God  all  Good,  all  Great,  the  benevolent  Bestower, 
by  me  and  by  them,  for  whom  by  me  these  sums  are  laid 
up,  be  glory  and  grace  ascribed  for  ever.  Amen." 


232  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

About  Christmas  time  the  plague  abated  in  the  city  of 
London.  People  ventured  back  to  their  homes,  and  the 
Dean  returned  to  St.  Dunstan's.  On  the  I5th  of  January 
1626  he  preached  on  the  text,  "For  there  was  not  a  house 
where  there  was  not  one  dead."  This  is  headed  "the  first 
sermon  after  our  dispersion  by  the  sickness."  During  this 
year  he  delivered  at  least  twelve  "  solemn  sermons  to  great 
auditories  at  Paul's  and  at  court,"  eleven  of  which  are  to 
be  found  in  various  sections  of  his  printed  works.  One  of 
these,  A  Sermon  preached  to  the  King's  Majesty,  was  imme 
diately  published  in  quarto,  and  was  Donne's  only  contribu 
tion  to  the  press  in  1626.  During  this  year  he  wrote  but 
few  letters,  entirely  absorbed  in  the  labour  of  composing 
and  revising  the  sermons  for  which  he  was  now  asked  upon 
every  plausible  occasion.  We  get  a  faint  glimpse  of  his 
domestic  life  from  a  much-damaged  letter,1  which  may  give 
us  an  occasion  for  reviewing  the  condition  of  Donne's 
family  in  1626.  Constance,  who  is  mentioned  here,  seems 
to  have  been  living  unhappily  with  her  old  husband,  Edward 
Alleyn,  who  was  to  die,  unregretted,  on  the  25th  of 
November.  The  letter  points  to  a  reconciliation  between 
Donne  and  Alleyn.  John,  now  a  student  of  Christ  Church, 
was  resident  in  Oxford.  George  was  twenty-one,  and  by  this 
time  probably  a  soldier.  Lucy,  Bridget,  Margaret,  and 
Elizabeth,  of  the  ages  of  from  eighteen  to  ten,  divided  their 
time  between  the  Deanery  and  the  house  of  their  uncle  and 
aunt  at  Peckham,  Sir  Nicholas  and  Lady  Grymes. 

"  To  Sir  NICHOLAS  CAREW. 

"SiR, — Upon  the  many  testimonies]  I  have  had  of 
your  favours  to  myself,  I  am  sure  it  ex[tends  to  those  ?  ] 
also  who  are  derived  from  me.  Therefore,  being  notified 
of  tha]t  which  may  be  had  for  my  poor  daughter,  Constance, 
[I  make  th]us  bold  to  join  you  with  Sir  Thomas  Grymes  in 
refceiving  an]  assurance  from  her  husband.  These  writings 
[will]  be  ready  within  two  or  three  days,  and  I  may  account 
that  will  lead  you  sometime  to  do  me  [favour]  if  you  do  so 

1  In  the  possession  of  the  Rev.  S.  Simpson. 


ST.    DUNSTAN'S   IN    THE    WEST       233 

come.  servant  [  ]  that  you  are  is  my 

excuse  for  this  [  ]  in  so  small  a  matter.     Our 

ble[ssed]  [Sajviour  [keep  you  and]  all  your  family,  Amen. — 
Your  poor  [friend]  and  servant  [in  Christ]  Jesus, 

"J.  DONNE. 

"  At  Paul's  house,  26th  January  i626[7]." 

Early  in  1626  Donne  sent  a  copy  of  his  First  Sermon 
preached  to  King  Charles,  of  1625,  to  the  Electress 
Elizabeth  :— 

"  To  the  QUEEN  OF  BoHEMiA.1 

"Though  your  Majesty  have  a  large  patience,  yet  I 
humbly  beseech  you  to  remember  that  I  have  not  exercised 
it  since  the  boldness  of  presenting  to  your  Majesty  that 
sermon,  which  was  the  first  that  was  preached  to  the  King,  al 
most  a  year  since.  We  read  of  some  that  have  had  anniversary 
agues,  one  fit  a  year,  and  no  more.  If  my  zeal  to  appear  in 
your  Majesty's  presence  push  me  to  an  anniversary  impor 
tunity,  and  to  show  myself  thus  before  you  once  a  year,  and  no 
more,  your  royal  goodness  will  be  pleased  to  call  it  a  modest 
boldness,  and  to  say  to  yourself,  in  my  behalf,  surely  this 
poor  soul,  who  comes  to  me  every  year,  in  these  his  medita 
tions  for  the  public,  takes  me  with  him  every  morning  in 
his  private  prayers  and  devotions  to  Almighty  God.  And 
when  I  am  defective  in  that  sacrifice,  let  me  lose  all  the 
effect  of  all  my  other  sacrifices,  which  I  make  for  the  happi 
ness  of  your  Majesties,  &c." 

Elizabeth  replied  as  follows  : — 

"  To  Dr.  DONNE. 

"  You  lay  a  double  obligation  upon  me  :  first  in  praying 
for  me,  then  in  teaching  me  to  pray  for  myself,  by  present 
ing  to  me  your  labours.  The  benefit  likewise  I  hope  will 
be  double,  both  of  your  prayers  and  my  own,  and  of  them 
both  to  both  of  us ;  and  as  I  am  assured  hereof  (though  it 

1  From  the  Tobie  Matthew  Collection. 


234  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

hath  pleased  God  to  try  me  by  some  affliction),  so  I  desire 
you  to  be  of  my  thankfulness  unto  you,  and  that  I  will 
remain  ready  upon  any  good  occasion  to  express  as  much 
as  lies  in  the  power  of — Yours,  &c." 

At  this  time  Donne  devoted  himself  more  than  ever 
before  to  the  business  of  preaching.  It  is  recorded  at  St. 
Dunstan's  in  the  West  that  on  the  6th  of  May  1626  he  had 
the  pulpit  removed  into  a  more  convenient  position,  and 
that  at  the  same  time  two  new  pews  were  built  for  his  per 
sonal  use.  To  these,  no  doubt,  his  most  distinguished 
auditors  were  conducted,  for  it  had  now  become  fashion 
able  to  sit  under  the  famous  Dean.  The  popularity  of 
Donne  as  a  preacher  rose  to  its  zenith  in  1626,  and 
remained  there  until  his  death  in  1631.  During  those 
years  he  was,  without  a  rival,  the  most  illustrious  and  the 
most  admired  religious  orator  in  England.  Lancelot 
Andrewes  died  in  September  of  the  former  year.  He  had 
enjoyed  a  marvellous  reputation ;  he  had  been  called  Stella 
predicantium.  But  the  celebrity  of  Donne  surpassed  that 
of  Andrewes,  and  was  unapproached  until  Jeremy  Taylor 
came.  Age  gave  to  the  fiery  and  yet  sombre  Dean  of 
St.  Paul's  an  ever-increasing  majesty  of  prestige.  His 
hearers,  borne  along  upon  the  flow  of  his  sinuous  melody, 
now  soft  and  winning,  now  vehement  in  storm,  now  piercing 
like  a  clarion,  now  rolling  in  the  meditative  music  of  an 
organ,  felt  themselves  lifted  up  to  heaven  itself.  In  these 
early  days  of  Charles  I.  a  sermon  delivered  by  the  Dean  of 
St.  Paul's  was  the  most  brilliant  public  entertainment  which 
London  had  to  offer. 

Our  accounts  of  the  effect  of  Donne's  preaching,  how 
ever,  mainly  come  down  to  us  from  the  lips  and  pens  of 
enthusiastic  laymen.  It  is  not  so  certain  that  his  methods 
in  the  pulpit  were  equally  appreciated,  at  all  events  at 
first,  by  his  clerical  brethren.  The  author  of  the  Barnab<e 
Itinerarium,  Richard  Brathwayte,  who  was  in  the  habit  of 
listening  to  him,  has  left  us  some  curious  notes,  which  have 
been  overlooked.  To  Brathwayte  and  his  young  friends — 
poets  and  youths  of  fancy — Donne  seemed  to  be  "  Golden 


ST.    DUNSTAN'S    IN    THE    WEST       235 

Chrysostom  come  to  life  again,"  but  his  eloquence  was 
less  welcome  to  the  old-fashioned  "  doctrine-men,"  the 
"  zealous  dunces "  of  an  earlier,  more  humdrum  school  of 
theology.  These  people  were  even  known  to  express 
their  disapproval  of  his  ravishing  style  of  eloquence  by 
"  humming."  A  charge  which  Brathwayte  tells  us  was 
brought  against  Donne's  preaching,  by  those  who  did  not 
admire  it,  was  its  exclusive  appeal  to  refined  and  ingenious 
natures.  It  was  complained  that  he  had  no  message  "  to 
speak  to  clouted  shoon,"  and  that  he  used  "  as  fine  words 
truly  as  you  would  desire,"  but  that  he  said  nothing  which 
was  to  practical  edification.  This,  no  doubt,  was  in  a 
measure  true ;  Donne  did  not  address  the  poor  of  the 
flock,  and  even  in  the  pulpit  he  was  unconsciously  an 
aristocrat.  Brathwayte  declares,  positively,  "  it  was 
[Donne's]  fate,  I  know  it,  to  be  envied  as  much  by  clerics 
as  he  was  magnified  by  laymen."  To  the  same  source 
we  learn  that  Donne  made  it  a  rule  to  preach  for  exactly 
an  hour,  not  more  nor  less — "  his  hour,  and  but  an  hour." 
The  printed  sermons  which  we  possess  would  many  of 
them  take  a  great  deal  longer  than  that  in  delivery,  and 
this  may  confirm  our  impression  that  the  printed  sermon 
by  no  means  represented  the  address  from  the  pulpit.  The 
latter  was  a  rhapsody,  half  extemporised,  half  learned  by 
heart,  while  the  written  sermon  was  a  careful  composition 
on  the  same  text  and  along  the  same  general  lines,  but 
never  identical  with  it  in  language. 

Walton,  who  became  one  of  his  constant  and  enthu 
siastic  auditors,  gives  us  an  account  of  his  manner  in  the 
pulpit.  However  high  the  hopes  of  his  congregation  had 
run,  Donne  was  able  to  satisfy  and  to  exceed  their  expecta 
tions,1  "  preaching  the  Word  so  as  showed  his  own  heart 
was  possessed  with  those  very  thoughts  and  joys  that  he 
laboured  to  distil  into  others :  a  preacher  in  earnest ;  weep 
ing  sometimes  for  his  auditory,  sometimes  with  them ; 
always  preaching  to  himself,  like  an  angel  from  a  cloud, 
but  in  none ;  carrying  some,  as  St.  Paul  was,  to  heaven  in 

1  Walton  evidently  quoted  from  memory  very  loosely  ;  I  give  below  the  text  of 
Chudleigh's  elegy  as  first  printed  in  1635. 


236  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

holy  raptures,  and  enticing  others  by  a  sacred  art  and  court 
ship  to  amend  their  lives ;  here  picturing  a  vice  so  as  to 
make  it  ugly  to  those  that  practised  it,  and  a  virtue  so  as 
to  make  it  beloved  even  by  those  that  loved  it  not ;  and 
all  this  with  a  most  particular  grace  and  an  inexpressible 
addition  of  comeliness." 

Not  less  well  known  is  the  testimony  of  another  habitual 
listener,  John  Chudleigh,  of  Ashton,  who  says  in  excellent 
verse  which,  we  are  assured,  had  all  the  fidelity  of  sober 
prose — 

"  The  altar  had  its  fires — 

He  kept  his  loves,  but  not  his  objects ;  wit 

He  did  not  banish,  but  transplanted  it ; 

Taught  it  its  place  and  use,  and  brought  it  home 

To  piety,  which  it  doth  best  become.  .  .  . 

Tell  me,  had  ever  pleasure  such  a  dress  ? 

Have  you  known  crimes  so  shaped  ?  or  loveliness 

Such  as  his  lips  did  clothe  religion  in  ? 

Had  not  reproof  a  beauty  passing  sin  ? 

Corrupted  Nature  sorrowed  when  she  stood 

So  near  the  danger  of  becoming  good. 

And  wished  our  so  inconstant  ears  exempt 

From  Piety,  that  had  such  power  to  tempt. 

Did  not  his  sacred  flattery  beguile 

Men  to  amendment !  " 

Wit  it  is  certain  that  Donne  did  not  dream  of  banishing 
from  his  sermons.  To  comprehend  his  charm,  with  the 
two  centuries  or  so  of  his  addresses  before  us  in  cold  print, 
it  is  necessary  to  bear  several  things  in  mind.  In  the  first 
place,  Donne  owed  his  extraordinary  popularity  in  great 
measure  to  his  personal  magic.  He  hypnotised  his  audience 
by  his  remoteness,  he  spoke  like  "  an  angel  from  a  cloud." 
He  belonged  to  an  age  in  which  the  aristocratic  element 
exercised  a  domination  which  was  apparently  unquestioned. 
Although  of  middle-class  birth,  the  temperament,  manners, 
and  society  of  Donne  were  of  the  most  distinguished  order. 
The  religious  power  of  democracy  had  not  been  discovered. 
He  preached  best  who  with  the  most  austere  isolation  rose 
above  the  crowd,  and  remained  supreme  and  unapproach 
able.  The  modern  pastor,  eager  to  help  in  the  daily  life  of 
his  flock,  interested  in  the  mundane  affairs  of  humble  indi- 


ST.    DUNSTAN'S    IN    THE    WEST       237 

viduals,  content  to  subdue  his  pride  and  his  taste  if  he  can 
so  approach  closer  to  the  wants  of  his  congregation,  was  a 
type  not  yet  so  much  as  dreamed  of.  The  Rebellion,  and 
still  more  the  success  of  the  Rebellion,  driving  men  and 
women  of  incongruous  classes  close  to  one  another  in  the 
instinct  of  self-protection  against  the  results  of  a  common 
catastrophe,  began  the  democratisation  of  the  pulpit. 

But  of  Donne  we  must  think  as  untouched  by  a  least 
warning  of  such  a  political  upheaval.  He  belonged,  through 
and  through,  to  the  old  order ;  was,  indeed,  in  some  ways 
its  most  magnificent  and  minatory  clerical  embodiment. 
His  personality  was  bold  and  trenchant,  his  intellect  refined 
to  excess.  There  was  nothing  dubious  or  vague  about  him. 
A  human  being  of  extreme  complexity,  he  nevertheless 
contrived  to  give  to  his  contemporaries  that  impression  of 
a  simple,  integral  force  which  intimidates  and  fascinates  the 
crowd.  Within,  the  structure  might  possess  a  myriad  subtle 
ramifications ;  the  varieties  of  its  interior  system  might 
be  infinite,  but  to  the  world  it  stood  dogmatic  and  four 
square,  like  one  of  those  fortified  churches,  dedicated  to 
God  and  to  Bellona,  which  were  just  then  rising  on  the 
frontiers  of  continental  Christendom.  This  unity  of  pur 
pose,  this  exaltation  of  a  sovereign  individuality,  made  to 
command  in  any  sphere,  yet  flung  like  a  coronet  at  the  feet 
of  the  Church,  gave  to  the  sermons  of  Donne  their  extra 
ordinary  vital  power ;  and  if  this  particular  charm  has 
evaporated,  if  we  can  no  longer,  in  reading  them,  thrill 
with  emotion  as  Donne's  congregation  did,  it  is  that  the 
elements  in  ourselves  are  lacking,  that  we  no  longer  breathe 
the  aristocratic  Jacobean  atmosphere. 

Donne  went  slowly  forward  with  his  prebend  sermons 
4 c  upon  my  five  Psalms."  It  is  evident  that  he  gave  un 
usual  labour  to  those  compositions ;  the  second  was 
preached  at  St.  Paul's  on  the  29th  of  January,  the  third 
on  the  5th  of  November  1626.  Just  as  the  year  was 
passing  out,  one  of  his  notable  parishioners  died,  Alderman 
Sir  William  Cokayne  (or  Cokain),  a  merchant  of  great 
consequence,  reputed  to  be  one  of  the  richest  men  in 
England.  Lady  Cokayne's  father,  Richard  Morris,  had 


238  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

preceded  Donne's  father  as  Master  of  the  Ironmongers' 
Company,  and  she  had  been  born,  like  the  poet,  in  1573. 
The  funeral  sermon  on  Sir  William  Cokayne,  which  Donne 
preached  on  the  I2th  of  December  1626,  gives  evidence  of 
acquaintance,  if  not  of  intimate  friendship,  with  the  de 
ceased,  and  offers  this  handsome,  and  somewhat  surprising, 
compliment  to  Sir  William's  merits : — 

"  I  have  sometimes  heard  the  greatest  master  of  lan 
guage  and  judgment,  which  these  times,  or  any  other,  did 
or  do  or  shall  give  (that  great  and  good  King  of  ours),  say 
of  him,  that  he  never  heard  any  man  of  his  breeding 
handle  business  more  rationally,  more  pertinently,  more 
elegantly,  more  persuasively ;  and  when  his  purpose  was  to 
do  a  grace  to  a  preacher  of  very  good  abilities  and  good 
note  in  his  own  chapel,  I  have  heard  [the  King]  say  that 
his  language  and  accent  and  manner  of  delivering  himself 
was  like  [Sir  William  Cokayne's].  ...  I  must  not 
defraud  him  of  this  testimony  from  myself,  that  into  this 
place  where  we  are  now  met,  I  have  observed  him  to  enter 
with  much  reverence,  and  compose  himself  in  this  place 
with  much  declaration  of  devotion." 

In  the  course  of  the  sermon,  Donne  mentions  the 
interesting  fact  that  the  Aldermen  of  the  City  had  been 
lately  admitted  by  the  Dean  and  Chapter  to  seats  in  the 
choir  of  St.  Paul's,  a  distinction  which  seems  to  have  grati 
fied  those  "  honourable  and  worshipful "  persons.  From 
this  it  appears  that  until  that  date  the  choir  had,  as  in 
Catholic  times,  been  reserved  for  the  clergy. 

Autobiographical  touches  are  not  frequent  in  the  ser 
mons  of  Donne,  but  one  passage  in  that  on  the  funeral 
of  Sir  William  Cokayne  has  considerable  interest  of  this 
kind.  As  the  Dean  advanced  in  years,  the  quickness  of 
his  spiritual  perception  increased.  He  observed  his  own 
nature,  probed  it,  listened  to  the  hidden  sounds  and  sub 
terranean  movements  of  it.  Here  he  takes  us  into  his 
confidence  as  to  the  difficulty  he  found  in  concentrating 
his  thoughts  upon  pure  devotion  : — 

"  I  throw  myself  down  in  my  chamber,  and  I  call  in 
and  invite  God  and  His  angels  thither ;  and  when  they  are 


ST.    DUNSTAN'S    IN    THE    WEST       239 

there,  I  neglect  God  and  His  angels  for  the  noise  of  a  fly, 
for  the  rattling  of  a  coach,  for  the  whining  of  a  door ;  I 
talk  on,  in  the  same  posture  of  prayer ;  eyes  lifted  up, 
knees  bowed  down,  as  though  I  prayed  to  God  ;  and  if 
God  should  ask  me  when  I  thought  last  of  God  in  that 
prayer  I  cannot  tell :  sometimes  I  find  that  I  forgot  what  I 
was  about,  but  when  I  began  to  forget  it,  I  cannot  tell.  A 
memory  of  yesterday's  pleasures,  a  fear  of  to-morrow's 
dangers,  a  straw  under  my  knee,  a  noise  in  mine  ear,  a 
chimera  in  my  brain,  troubles  me  in  my  prayer." 

In  the  Second  Prebend  Sermon,  he  speaks  of  the  trivial 
character  of  physical  pain,  which  "  is  but  a  caterpillar  got 
into  one  corner  of  my  garden,  a  mildew  fallen  upon  one 
acre  of  my  corn."  Further  on,  he  protests  :  "  I  would  not 
keep  company  with  a  man  that  thought  me  a  knave,  or  a 
traitor ;  with  him  thai  thought  I  loved  not  my  Prince,  or 
was  a  faithless  man,  not  to  be  believed."  This  Second 
Prebend  Sermon,  which  is  a  long  poem  of  victory  over 
death,  is  one  of  the  most  magnificent  pieces  of  religious 
writing  in  English  literature,  and  closes  with  a  majestic 
sentence  of  incomparable  pomp  and  melody,  which  might 
be  selected  as  typical  of  Jacobean,  or  rather  early  Stuart, 
prose  in  its  most  gorgeous  and  imperial  order.  The 
preacher  perorates  thus  : — 

"As  my  soul  shall  not  go  towards  heaven,  but  go  by 
heaven  to  heaven,  to  the  heaven  of  heavens,  so  the  true 
joy  of  a  good  soul  in  this  world  is  the  very  joy  of  heaven ; 
and  we  go  thither,  not  that  being  without  joy,  we  might 
have  joy  infused  into  us,  but  that,  as  Christ  says,  Our 
joy  might  be  full,  perfected,  sealed  with  an  everlastingness ; 
for,  as  He  promises,  That  no  man  shall  take  our  joy  from  us, 
so  neither  shall  death  itself  take  it  away,  nor  so  much  as 
interrupt  it,  or  discontinue  it,  but  as  in  the  face  of  death, 
when  he  lays  hold  upon  me,  and  in  the  face  of  the  devil, 
when  he  attempts  me,  I  shall  see  the  face  of  God  (for 
everything  shall  be  a  glass,  to  reflect  God  upon  me),  so  in 
the  agonies  of  death,  in  the  anguish  of  that  dissolution,  in 
the  sorrows  of  that  valediction,  in  the  irreversibleness  of 
that  transmigration,  I  shall  have  a  joy,  which  shall  no  more 


24o  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

evaporate,  than  my  soul  shall  evaporate,  a  joy,  that  shall 
pass  up,  and  put  on  a  more  glorious  garment  above,  and 
be  joy  superin vested  in  glory.  Amen." 

At  the  close  of  1626,  Donne  made  this  entry  in  his 
Diary : — 

"This  year  God  hath  blessed  me  and  mine  with  mul 
tifile  at  a  sunt  super  nos  misericordi*  tux" 

The  year  1627  opened  very  uncomfortably  for  Donne. 
He  had  no  disposition  for  controversy,  and  old  age  had 
brought  with  it  a  certain  timidity,  an  unwillingness  to  be 
mixed  up  in  adventurous  or  risky  contentions.  The  cleric 
who  at  this  moment  was  altogether  in  the  ascendant  was 
the  too-famous  Dr.  William  Laud,  a  man  born  in  the 
same  year  as  Donne,  but  of  infinitely  greater  physical 
vitality  and  social  audacity.  Laud,  having  trampled  down 
all  opposition,  had  since  1626  been  Bishop  of  Bath  and 
Wells,  Dean  of  the  Royal  Chapel,  and  a  powerful  scourge 
of  the  rising  party  of  Puritans.  Laud  could  have  no  just 
suspicion  of  Donne,  who  was  as  "  orthodox,"  in  the  High 
Church  sense,  as  he  was  himself,  but  he  was  jealous  of  his 
popularity,  and  he  seems  to  have  begun  early  in  the  year 
to  spy  upon  the  Dean  of  St.  Paul's.  The  "  B."  of  the 
following  uneasy  note  is  plainly  George  Montaigne  (1569- 
1628),  Bishop  of  London.  He  was  an  ardent  ally  and 
almost  creature  of  Laud,  whom  he  supported  upon  every 
occasion  with  a  sort  of  passive  obedience.  He  was  a  lazy, 
grasping  man,  little  concerned  with  ecclesiastical  principles, 
but  ready  to  do  whatever  the  stirring  Bishop  of  Bath 
and  Wells  told  him  to  do.  Charles  I.  presently,  as  the 
joke  ran,  flung  this  "  Mountain "  into  the  archiepiscopal 
"  sea  "  of  York  to  make  room  for  Laud  in  London.  The 
present  Bishop  of  London  suggests  to  me  that  Laud,  who 
was  a  precisian,  was  scandalised  by  Donne's  profane  MSS. 
writings.  Otherwise,  it  is  strange  that  Laud  should  have 
suspected  Donne,  who  was  doubtless  perfectly  ready  to  sub 
scribe  to  all  that  was  laid  down  in  Richard  Montagu's  Appello 
Ctesarem,  and  who  assented  to  that  idea  of  Church  govern 
ment  which  has  been  thus  defined  by  Professor  S.  R.  Gardiner, 
as  fulfilling  the  dream  of  Laud  and  his  companions : — 


ST.    DUNSTAN'S    IN    THE    WEST       241 

"  It  was  the  idea  of  a  system  controlled  by  a  minority 
of  learned  men  without  any  consideration  for  the  feelings 
and  prejudices  either  of  their  learned  antagonists  or  of  the 
ignorant  multitude,  but  looking  with  fondness  upon  the 
Royal  authority,  which  was  alone  able  to  give  them  the 
strength  which  they  lacked." 

In  this  letter  there  is  some  uneasiness,  but  at  present  no 
definite  alarm : — 


"  To  the  Honourable  Knight  Sir  ROBERT  KER,  at  Court? 

"  SIR, — I  have  obeyed  the  forms  of  our  Church  of  Paul's 
so  much,  as  to  have  been  a  solemn  Christmas  man,  and 
tried  conclusions  upon  myself,  how  I  could  sit  out  the 
siege  of  new  faces,  every  dinner.  So  that  I  have  not  seen 
the  B[ishop]  in  some  weeks.  And  I  know  not  whether  he 
be  in  case,  to  afford  that  privacy  which  you  justly  desire. 
This  day  I  am  in  my  bondage  of  entertaining.  Suppers,  I 
presume,  are  inconvenient  to  you.  But  this  evening  I  will 
spy  upon  the  B[ishop]  and  give  you  an  account  to-morrow 
morning  of  his  disposition  ;  when,  if  he  cannot  be  entire  to 
you,  since  you  are  gone  so  far  downwards  in  your  favours  to 
me,  be  pleased  to  pursue  your  humiliation  so  far  as  to  choose 
your  day,  and  either  to  suffer  the  solitude  of  this  place,  or 
to  change  it,  by  such  company  as  shall  wait  upon  you,  and 
come  as  a  visitor  and  overseer  of  this  hospital  of  mine,  and 
dine  or  sup  at  this  miserable  chezmey. — Your  humblest 
and  thankfullest  servant, 

"J.  DONNE. 

"  4fth  January  1626  [7.]  " 

Five  days  later  Donne's  eldest  surviving  unmarried 
daughter,  Lucy,  was  buried  at  Camberwell.  She  was  in  her 
nineteenth  year,  and  her  place  at  the  head  of  the  Deanery 
household  was  taken  by  Bridget,  who  was  just  seventeen. 

We  have  seen  that  Donne  introduced,  as  we  may  think 
somewhat  awkwardly,  an  almost  servile  eulogy  of  Charles  I. 
into  his  sermon  on  Sir  W.  Cokayne.  He  offered  no 

i  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 
VOL.   II.  Q 


242  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

opposition  whatever  to  the  King's  growing  predominance 
in  the  State,  and  had  arrived,  in  company  with  the  rest  of 
the  High  Church  party,  at  a  condition  of  subserviency  to 
the  Royal  wishes  which  would  have  filled  his  proud 
recusant  ancestors  with  horror.  Yet,  strangely  enough, 
this  was  the  moment  at  which  Donne  saw  for  once  the 
favour  of  Charles  I.  obscured  from  him,  as  once  that  of 
James  I.  had  been.1  The  ecclesiastic  position,  out  of  which 
the  incident  described  in  the  ensuing  letters  arose,  may  be 
detailed  as  follows  : — 

Dr.  Richard  Montague  (1577-1641),  soon  afterwards 
Bishop  of  Chichester  and  ultimately  of  Norwich,  was  a 
very  active  and  argumentative  divine.  He  was  one  of 
those  High  Church  scholars  who  eagerly  set  themselves 
"  to  stand  in  the  gap  against  Puritanism  and  Popery,"  that 
Scylla  and  Charybdis  of  the  age.  For  six  or  seven  years 
past,  Montague  had  made  himself  incessantly  prominent  in 
urging  upon  the  conscience  of  churchmen  the  reasons  which 
should  lead  the  Anglican  Church  to  eschew  the  doctrines 
of  Rome  on  the  one  side  and  of  Geneva  on  the  other. 
Hence  he  was  highly  favoured  by  the  Laudian  party,  and 
with  equal  vehemence  denounced  by  Romanists  and  Puritans; 
taking  this  stand,  Montague  combined  with  it  extreme 
views  with  regard  to  the  divine  right  of  the  King.  In 
1625  he  answered  his  opponents  in  a  work  entitled  Appello 
Ctesarem,  which  Archbishop  Abbot  refused  to  license. 
The  author,  however,  managed  to  push  it  through  the 
press,  under  the  sanction  of  Dr.  White,  Dean  of  Carlisle. 
This  tractate  awakened  an  unparalleled  sensation,  and  was 
circulated  like  wildfire.  Abbot  stirred  up  an  attack  upon  the 
Appello  in  Parliament,  but  Montague  was  defended  covertly 
by  Charles  I.,  and  openly  by  Laud,  Andrews,  and  Montaigne. 
A  committee  was  appointed  to  examine  his  opinions,  and 
on  the  nth  of  February  1626  a  conference  was  held  in 
Buckingham  House  for  a  discussion  of  Montague's  posi 
tion;  it  sat  for  two  days,  "  many  of  the  nobility  being 
present."  The  result,  in  spite  of  an  able  defence  by  White, 

1  These  two  incidents  of  1624  and  1627  have  been  strangely  confounded  with 
one  another  by  some  of  Donne's  biographers.  The  second  is  not  alluded  to  by 
Walton. 


ST.    DUNSTAN'S    IN    THE    WEST       243 

was  that  the  committee  persisted  in  censuring  the  Appello, 
and  the  House  of  Commons  ordered  it  to  be  burned  and 
the  author  properly  punished. 

A  week  or  two  later,  Abbot  again  put  himself  in  opposi 
tion  to  Laud  and  the  Royal  party,  by  refusing  to  license  for 
the  press  the  violent  sermon  preached  by  Sibthorpe  before  the 
judges  of  assizes  at  Northampton  on  the  22nd  of  February. 
Abbot  was  to  find  that  it  was  easier  when  he  was  young  to 
oppose  James  I.  than  now  he  was  old  to  check  Charles  I., 
that  to  browbeat  Rehoboam  was  beyond  his  power.  He 
rapidly  fell  into  disgrace.  Meanwhile,  the  King,  bent  upon 
positive  subjection  to  his  will,  took  no  heed  of  any  signals 
of  popular  exasperation,  but  was  extremely  suspicious  and 
testy,  and  ready  to  discover  offence  on  every  hand.  He 
quashed  the  verdict  against  the  Appello  Ctesarem^  and  instead 
of  punishing  Montague,  he  made  him  Bishop  of  Chichester 
on  the  1 4th  of  July  1628.  Donne,  as  we  have  seen,  had 
never  been  on  intimate  terms  with  Abbot,  but  Morton,  now 
Bishop  of  Lichfield,  who  was  held  to  be  a  main  offender, 
was  the  earliest  and  had  been  the  closest  of  all  Donne's 
clerical  friends.  On  the  ist  of  April  1627  Donne  was 
appointed  to  preach  before  the  King  at  Whitehall,  and 
Laud  was  among  the  auditors.  It  appears  that  Archbishop 
Abbot  had  just  preached  a  sermon  of  a  very  Low  Church 
character,  which  had  offended  the  King,  and  that  Charles  I. 
and  Laud,  putting  their  heads  together  after  Donne's 
sermon,  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  Dean  of  St. 
Paul's  was  preparing  to  support  the  Archbishop.  The 
sermon,  in  its  existing  state,  does  not  bear  out  this  theory, 
and,  -as  a  matter  of  fact,  Donne  had  not  heard  of  Abbot's 
sermon.  He  was  therefore  very  much  startled  to  receive  a 
letter  from  Laud  commanding  him  to  send  the  King  a  copy 
of  his  own  sermon.  In  his  alarm  he  laid  the  matter  in  the 
hands  of  his  judicious  friend,  Sir  Robert  Ker  : — 

"  'To  the  Right  Honourable  Sir  ROBERT  KER/ 

"  SIR, — A  few  hours  after  I  had  the  honour  of  your 
letter,  I  had  another  from  my  Lord  of  Bath  and  Wells, 

1  From  Letters  of  1651. 


244  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

commanding  from  the  King  a  copy  of  my  sermon.  I  am 
in  preparations  of  that,  with  diligence,  yet  this  morning  I 
waited  upon  his  Lordship,  and  laid  up  in  him  this  truth, 
that  of  the  Bishop  of  Canterbury's  sermon,  to  this  hour,  I 
never  heard  syllable,  nor  what  way,  nor  upon  what  points 
he  went.  And  for  mine,  it  was  put  into  that  very  order, 
in  which  I  delivered  it,  more  than  two  months  since.  Freely 
to  you  I  say,  I  would  I  were  a  little  more  guilty :  only 
mine  innocency  makes  me  afraid.  I  hoped  for  the  King's 
approbation  heretofore  in  many  of  my  sermons  ;  and  I  have 
had  it.  But  yesterday  I  came  very  near  looking  for  thanks  ; 
for,  in  my  life,  I  was  never  in  any  one  piece  so  studious  of 
his  service.  Therefore,  exceptions  being  taken,  and  dis 
pleasure  kindled  at  this,  I  am  afraid,  it  was  rather  brought 
thither  than  met  there.  If  you  know  any  more  fit  for  me 
(because  I  hold  that  unfit  for  me,  to  appear  in  my  master's 
sight,  as  long  as  this  cloud  hangs,  and  therefore,  this  day 
forbear  my  ordinary  waitings),  I  beseech  you  to  intimate  it 
to  your  very  humble  and  very  thankful  servant, 

"J.  DONNE." 

[April  2,  1627.] 

"  <To  the  Right  Honourable  Sir  ROBERT  KER,  at  Court.1 

"SiR, — I  was  this  morning  at  your  door,  somewhat 
early ;  and  I  am  put  into  such  a  distaste  of  my  last  sermon, 
as  that  I  dare  not  practice  any  part  of  it,  and  therefore, 
though  I  said  then  that  we  are  bound  to  speak  aloud, 
though  we  awaken  men,  and  make  them  froward,  yet  after 
two  or  three  modest  knocks  at  the  door,  I  went  away.  Yet 
I  understood  after,  the  King  was  gone  abroad,  and  thought 
you  might  be  gone  with  him.  I  came  to  give  you  an 
account  of  that,  which  this  does  as  well. 

"  I  have  now  put  into  my  Lord  of  Bath  and  Wells' 
hands  the  sermon  faithfully  exscrcibed  [sic].  I  beseech  you 
be  pleased  to  hearken  farther  after  it ;  I  am  still  upon  my 
jealousy,  that  the  King  brought  thither  some  disaffection 
towards  me,  grounded  upon  some  other  demerit  of  mine, 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


ST.    DUNSTAN'S    IN    THE    WEST       245 

and  took  it  not  from  the  sermon.  For,  as  Cardinal  Cusanus 
wrote  a  book,  Cribratio  Alchorani,  I  have  cribrated,  and  re- 
cribrated,  and  post-cribrated  the  sermon,  and  must  necessarily 
say,  the  King,  who  hath  let  fall  his  eye  upon  some  of  my 
poems,  never  saw,  of  mine,  a  hand,  or  an  eye,  or  an  affection 
set  down  with  so  much  study,  and  diligence,  and  labour  of 
syllables,  as  in  this  sermon  I  expressed  those  two  points, 
which  I  take  so  much  to  conduce  to  his  service,  the  im 
printing  of  persuasibility  and  obedience  in  the  subject,  and 
the  breaking  of  the  bed  of  whisperers,  by  casting  in  a  bone, 
of  making  them  suspect  and  distrust  one  another. 

u  I  remember  I  heard  the  old  King  say  of  a  good 
sermon,  that  he  thought  the  preacher  never  had  thought 
of  his  sermon  till  he  spoke  it ;  it  seemed  to  him  negligently 
and  extemporally  spoken.  And  I  knew  that  he  had  weighed 
every  syllable  for  half  a  year  before,  which  made  me  con 
clude  that  the  King  had  before  some  prejudice  upon  him. 
So,  the  best  of  my  hope  is,  that  some  over  bold  allusions, 
or  expressions  in  the  way,  might  divert  his  Majesty  from 
vouchsafing  to  observe  the  frame  and  purpose  of  the  sermon. 

"  When  he  sees  the  general  scope,  I  hope  his  goodness 
will  pardon  collateral  escapes.  I  entreated  the  Bishop  to 
ask  his  Majesty,  whether  his  displeasure  extended  so  far  as 
that  I  should  forbear  waiting  and  appearing  in  his  pre 
sence  ;  and  I  had  a  return,  that  I  might  come.  Till  I  had 
that,  I  would  not  offer  to  put  myself  under  your  roof. 
To-day  I  come,  for  that  purpose,  to  say  prayers.  And  if, 
in  any  degree,  my  health  suffer  it,  I  shall  do  so  to-morrow. 
If  anything  fall  into  your  observation  before  that  (because 
the  Bishop  is  likely  to  speak  to  the  King  of  it,  perchance 
this  night),  if  it  amount  to  such  an  increase  of  displeasure, 
as  that  it  might  be  unfit  for  me  to  appear,  I  beseech  you 
afford  me  the  knowledge.  Otherwise,  I  am  likely  to  in 
quire  of  you  personally  to-morrow  before  nine  in  the 
morning,  and  to  put  into  your  presence  then 

"  Your  very  humble  and  very  true  and  very  honest 
"  servant  to  God  and  the  King  and  you, 

"J.  DONNE. 

[.April  1627.] 


246  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

"  I  wrote  yesterday  to  my  Lord  Duke,  by  my  Lord 
Carlisle,  who  assured  me  of  a  gracious  acceptation  of  my 
putting  myself  in  his  protection." 

The  British  Museum  possesses  a  copy  of  the  1635 
edition  of  Donne's  poems  which  belonged  to  Charles  I., 
and  in  which  there  are  a  few  marks  supposed  to  have  been 
made  by  him ;  it  is  shown  by  the  preceding  letter  that  the 
King  had  read  the  poems  in  MS.  With  the  intervention 
of  Buckingham  and  Carlisle  the  incident  closed.  It  is  diffi 
cult  to  understand  the  action  of  Laud,  although  the  method 
is  characteristic  enough.  But  it  is  possible  that  personal 
pique  had  something  to  do  with  his  onslaught  upon  the 
Dean  of  St.  Paul's,  for  it  was  in  the  courtyard  of  Donne's 
house  that  the  mysterious  paper  was  picked  up,  containing 
the  words,  "Laud,  look  to  thyself;  be  assured  thy  life  is 
sought.  As  thou  art  the  fountain  of  all  wickedness,  repent 
thee  of  thy  monstrous  sins  before  thou  art  taken  out  of  the 
world."  But  that  Donne  was  innocent  of  such  silly  mysti 
fications  as  this  must  have  been  patent  even  to  Laud.  The 
incident  closes  on  a  peaceful  note : — 

"70  the  Right  Honourable  Sir  ROBERT  KER,  at  Court.1 

"  SIR, — I  humbly  thank  you  for  this  continuing  me  in 
your  memory,  and  enlarging  me  so  far  as  to  the  memory 
of  my  sovereign,  and  (I  hope)  my  master.  My  tenets  are 
always  for  the  preservation  of  the  religion  I  was  born  in, 
and  the  peace  of  the  State,  and  the  rectifying  of  the  con 
science.  In  these  I  shall  walk,  and  as  I  have  from  you  a 
new  seal  thereof  in  this  letter,  so  I  had  ever  evidence  in 
mine  own  observation  that  these  ways  were  truly,  as  they 
are  justly,  acceptable  in  his  Majesty's  ear.  Our  blessed 
Saviour  multiply  unto  him  all  blessings.  Amen. — Your 
very  true  and  entire  servant  in  Christ  Jesus, 

"J.  DONNE." 

{April  1627.] 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


ST.    DUNSTAN'S    IN    THE    WEST       247 

The  words  here,  "  the  religion  I  was  born  in,"  are  very 
startling,  and  at  first  sight  incomprehensible.  Everybody 
knew  that  Donne  had  been  born  and  bred  a  Romanist,  and 
that  his  family  were  stringent  recusants.  His  aged  mother 
— who  now  lived,  not  without  some  scandal,  in  the  Deanery 
itself — was  a  persistent  Papist.  But  I  think  that  Donne, 
as  a  staunch  High  Churchman,  would  not  admit  any 
essential  difference  between  the  Catholic  religion  in  which 
he  was  born,  and  that  which  he  now  professed.  He  would 
say  that  if  there  had  been  secession,  it  was  the  Romans  who 
had  changed  their  religion,  and  not  he.  It  would  be  quite 
in  keeping  with  the  views  of  Laud  and  of  his  party  to 
persist  in  declaring  that  it  was  in  the  Church  of  England, 
and  in  no  other,  that  a  man  like  Donne  had  been  born.  If, 
as  Dr.  James  Gairdner  has  said,  "  Rome  was  no  longer 
competent  to  be  the  guardian  either  of  faith  or  morals," 
the  Catholic  religion,  in  England  as  in  Italy,  was  none  the 
less  one  and  indivisible. 

Donne  may  possibly  have  met  with  the  poems  of  his 
French  contemporary,  Agrippa  d'Aubigne,  a  vehement 
Huguenot  with  whom  the  Dean  of  St.  Paul's  had  not  a 
little  in  common.  If  so,  his  attention  would  no  doubt  be 
caught  by  that  adorable  verse  of  Aubign6's — 

"  Une  rose  d'automne  est  plus  qu'une  autre  exquise." 

Donne's  own  autumnal  rose  was  not  destined  to  grow  on  into 
the  winter  of  old  age.  The  health  of  Lady  Danvers  had 
for  some  time  been  giving  disquietude  to  those  around  her, 
and  in  May  1627  George  Herbert  was  summoned  to  Chelsea 
from  overseeing  the  rebuilding  of  his  church  at  Leighton 
Bromswold.  His  mother  died  in  the  first  days  of  June,  and 
on  the  8th  was  buried  in  Chelsea  church.  Donne  had  under 
taken  to  preach  her  funeral  sermon,  but  he  was  unable  to  do 
so,  being  "  bound  by  pre-obligations  and  pre-contracts  to  his 
own  profession";  but  it  was  only  postponed  until  the  ist 
of  July.  This  address  was  promptly  published  in  quarto, 
under  the  title,  A  Sermon  of  Commemoration  of  the  Lady 
^  and  there  were  printed  at  the  end  of  it  the  Paren- 


248  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

talia  of  George  Herbert,  consisting  of  nineteen  poems,  in 
Latin  and  Greek,  dedicated  to  the  memory  of  his  mother. 
At  the  death  of  his  saintly  wife,  or  even  perhaps  before  it, 
Sir  John  Danvers  seems  to  have  fallen  into  distressed  cir 
cumstances.  Donne  was  not  neglectful  of  what  he  owed 
to  this  generous  friend,  and  we  find  that  twice  he  came 
forward  to  relieve  him  in  times  of  embarrassment,  once  with 
a  loan  of  ^200,  and  again  with  one  of  a  hundred  marks. 
In  1630  Sir  John  Danvers  had  not  yet  paid  back  this  debt. 
Donne  left  it  to  his  son  George,  with  a  request  that  Sir  John 
would  pay  an  annuity  of  forty  pounds  until  the  whole  was 
refunded.  That  Donne  had  complete  confidence  in  the 
honour  and  competency  of  Danvers  is  shown  by  the  fact 
that  the  debt  was  counted  as  part  of  George's  equal  por 
tion  of  the  patrimony.  Sir  John  Danvers  was  to  choose  a 
picture — not  otherwise  bequeathed — from  the  gallery  at 
the  Deanery. 

Within  one  week  Donne  lost  two  of  his  most  revered 
and  valued  friends,  for  on  the  3ist  of  May  died  at  Moor 
Park,  worn  out  by  long-drawn  fatigue  and  disease,  Lucy, 
Countess  of  Bedford.  She  had  scarcely  survived  her  invalid 
husband,  Edward,  the  third  Russell  Earl.  As  they  had  no 
children,  the  title  passed  to  Francis  Russell,  a  cousin.  On 
the  day  after  the  Earl's  death,  Thomas  Meautys  had  reported 
that  "  my  Lady's  strength  and  spirits  are  far  spent,  and  she 
is  wearing  out  daily  by  an  untoward  cough  which  is  almost 
continual."  In  fact,  she  lived  but  four  weeks  more ;  she 
was  buried  at  Exton,  beside  her  brother,  John  Harington, 
and  this  was  the  end  of  the  gracious  "  Favourite  of  the 
Muses." 

All  Donne's  ancient  friends  seemed  to  be  leaving  him 
at  once.  Ever  since  the  beginning  of  1626  Sir  Henry 
Goodyer  had  been  failing  in  health;  on  the  i8th  of  March 
1628  he  passed  away  at  Poles  worth,  leaving  three  daughters 
to  share  his  diminished  revenues,  and  the  rectory  and  manor 
of  Polesworth.  Sir  Henry's  only  son,  John,  had  died 
childless  on  the  i8th  of  December  1624;  Lucy,  with  a 
substantial  dowry  from  the  Countess  of  Bedford,  had 
married  Sir  Francis  Nethersole.  Sir  Henry  Goodyer, 


ST.    DUNSTAN'S    IN    THE    WEST       249 

who  had  always  been  extravagant  in  display  and  some 
thing  of  an  adventurer,  fell  into  abject  poverty  in  his 
old  age.  In  February  1626  he  wrote  to  Mr.  Secretary 
Conway  that  he  was  "  so  consumed  in  estate  "  that  he  was 
"scarce  able  to  put  meat  into  his  daughters'  mouths." 
There  can  be  little  doubt  that  Goodyer  is  the  friend  to 
whom  Walton  tells  us  that  Donne  made  a  gift  of  ,£100, 
happy  to  be  able  to  help  one  "  whom  he  had  known  live 
plentifully,  and  by  a  too  liberal  heart  and  carelessness  be 
come  decayed  in  his  estate."  We  must  not  forget  that  to 
Sir  Henry  Goodyer  we  owe,  more  than  to  any  other  person, 
our  knowledge  of  the  middle  years  of  Donne's  life. 

Yet  another  ancient  friend  passed  away  in  1628,  the 
ardent  and  accessible  Christopher  Brooke,  who  had  aided 
Donne,  to  his  own  hurt,  in  the  escapade  of  his  marriage. 
He  had  been  identified  with  many  poets,  of  whom  Donne 
took  no  heed — with  Browne,  and  Wither,  and  Davies  of 
Hereford.  He  was  the  "Cuttie"  of  the  pleasant  pastoral 
coterie,  and  had  set  forth  to  "  accomplish  high  designs,"  as 
the  author  of  Britannia  s  Pastorals  had  declared.  Christopher 
Brooke,  as  I  have  remarked  elsewhere,  is,  among  the  Jaco 
bean  poets,  the  figure  which  every  "  set "  supplies,  the  man 
in  whom  contemporary  eyes  detect  endless  promise  of  genius, 
and  in  whom  posterity  can  scarcely  see  anything  to  arrest 
attention.  His  younger  brother,  Samuel  Brooke,  who 
married  Donne  to  Ann  More,  became  Master  of  Trinity. 
In  1630  Donne  pleasantly  mentions  him  as  "mine  ancient 
friend."  He  lived  on  until  1632. 

The  subsequent  career  of  Sir  John  Danvers  was  pro 
longed  for  a  quarter  of  a  century  after  the  death  of  his  first 
wife.  He  did  not  long  remain  a  widower,  having  married 
Elizabeth  Dauntsey  on  the  loth  of  July  1628.  A  curious 
element  of  eccentricity,  which  had  not  shown  itself  in  the 
days  of  Magdalen  Herbert,  now  began  to  develop  in  rrm. 
The  new  Lady  Danvers  inherited  money,  and  her  husband 
grew  as  extravagant  as  he  had  lately  been  penurious.  His 
vanity  was  subjected  to  some  rebuffs  at  court,  and  he  be 
came  disaffected.  In  1 640,  Sir  John  Danvers  went  openly 
over  to  the  Roundheads,  and  did  all  in  his  power  to  embarrass 


250 


LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 


the  king.  Cromwell,  as  Clarendon  tells  us,  "  employed  and 
yet  contemned  him."  He  rose,  however,  to  prominence  in 
the  Parliamentary  party,  and  it  would  have  filled  Donne 
with  indignation  if  his  "divining  heart"  could  have  fore 
seen  that  his  old  friend  would  come  to  be  one  of  the  actual 
Regicides.  Sir  John  Danvers,  in  fact,  signed  the  king's 
death-warrant  in  1649.  He  died  in  his  house  in  Chelsea 
in  April  1655. 


LAST    YEARS 

1628-1631 


CHAPTER    XV 

LAST   YEARS 

1628-1631 

As  Donne's  friends  passed  away,  he  was  not  left  so  solitary 
as  we  might  suppose,  for  his  eminently  social  nature,  which 
seemed  to  grow  sweeter  instead  of  sourer  with  the  advance 
of  years,  attracted  fresh  kindred  spirits  to  him.  Among 
these  Bryan  Duppa  was  one.  Fifteen  years  Donne's  junior, 
he  resembled  him  in  the  variety  and  exoticism  of  his  tastes, 
and  in  the  peculiarity  that,  having  wandered  long  on  the 
Continent,  and  particularly  in  Spain,  and  having  thought  of 
any  profession  rather  than  the  Church,  he  was  suddenly 
induced  to  enter  Holy  Orders  so  late  as  1625,  when  he 
became  the  Earl  of  Dorset's  chaplain.  We  may  conjecture 
that  it  was  during  one  of  Donne's  frequent  visits  to  Knolle 
that  the  friendship  began.  Duppa  had  a  taste  for  Spanish 
things;  he  was  a  much-travelled  man,  in  whose  company 
Donne  would  delight.  In  1629,  through  his  patron's  in 
fluence,  and  at  Buckingham's  recommendation,  Duppa  was 
appointed  to  the  Deanery  of  Christ  Church,  and  after 
Donne's  death  he  rose  to  great  honour  in  the  Church, 
being  successively  Bishop  of  Chichester,  Salisbury,  and 
Winchester,  and  living  on  to  share  in  the  glories  of  the 
Restoration. 

A  far  more  prominent  position  among  the  friends  of 
Donne  is  held  by  the  immortal  piscatory  linen-draper,  Izaak 
Walton.  Of  the  youth  of  this  delightful  man  the  most 
careful  researches  have  revealed  but  little.  He  lacked 
himself  to  be  his  own  garrulous  biographer.  Izaak  Walton 
was  born  at  Stafford,  on  the  9th  of  August  1593,  and  was 
therefore  twenty  years  younger  than  Donne.  He  came  up 


253 


254  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

early  to  London,  as  an  apprentice.  In  1618  he  was  made 
free  of  the  Ironmongers'  Company,  of  which  Donne's  father 
had  long  before  been  Master.  In  1624  he  took  a  linen- 
draper's  shop  two  doors  up  Fleet  Street,  west  of  Chancery 
Lane.  Here  he  was  living  when  Donne  came  to  St. 
Dunstan's-in-the-West,  and  for  the  remainder  of  the  Dean's 
life  Walton  seems  to  have  studied  him  closely.  How  he 
came  to  possess  Donne's  personal  acquaintance  is  unknown. 
It  was  not  Donne  who  married  him  to  Rachel  Floud  in 
1626.  The  mere  fact  of  Walton's  being  a  parishioner 
would  be,  in  those  days,  quite  inadequate  to  explain  the 
intimacy  of  a  tradesman  with  a  man  of  Donne's  social 
exclusiveness.  We  can  well  understand  that  when  once 
Donne  had  come  into  the  circle  of  Walton's  charm  of 
conversation  and  innocent,  brilliant  hero-worship,  he  would 
not  escape  from  it,  but  how  he  was  persuaded  to  enter 
we  shall  perhaps  never  know.  Some  one,  in  all  probability, 
took  Walton  to  the  Deanery  on  one  of  those  Saturdays 
which  Donne  dedicated  to  repose  and  the  visits  of  his 
friends.  According  to  Walton :  "  The  latter  part  of  his 
life  may  be  said  to  have  been  a  continued  study ;  for  as 
he  usually  preached  once  a  week,  if  not  oftener,  so  after 
his  sermon  he  never  gave  his  eyes  rest  till  he  had  chosen 
out  a  new  text,  and  that  night  cast  his  sermon  into  a  form, 
and  his  text  into  divisions ;  and  the  next  day  betook  him 
self  to  consult  the  Fathers  and  so  commit  his  meditations 
to  his  memory,  which  was  excellent.  But  upon  Saturday 
he  usually  gave  himself  and  his  mind  a  rest  from  the  weary 
burden  of  his  week's  meditations,  and  usually  spent  that 
day  in  visitation  of  friends,  or  some  other  diversions  of  his 
thoughts,  and  would  say  that  he  gave  both  his  body  and 
mind  that  refreshment  that  he  might  be  enabled  to  do  the 
work  of  the  day  following,  not  faintly,  but  with  courage 
and  cheerfulness." 

An  undated  letter,  evidently  belonging  to  this  period 
of  Donne's  life,  may  here  be  given  as  a  commentary  on 
Walton's  words.  In  "  F."  I  suspect  a  misprint  for  "  G.," 
and  that  the  note  was  addressed  to  George  Herbert : — 


LAST    YEARS  255 

"To  my  worthy  friend  F.  H.1 

"  SIR, — I  can  scarce  do  any  more  this  week  than  send 
you  word  why  I  writ  not  last.  I  had  then  seposed  a  few 
days  for  my  preparation  to  the  Communion  of  our  Blessed 
Saviour's  body,  and  in  that  solitariness  and  arraignment  of 
myself,  digested  some  meditations  of  mine,  and  apparelled 
them  (as  I  use)  in  the  form  of  a  sermon ;  for  since  I  have 
not  yet  utterly  delivered  myself  from  this  intemperance  of 
scribbling  (though  I  thank  God  my  accesses  are  less  and 
less  vehement),  I  make  account  that  to  spend  all  my  little 
stock  of  knowledge  upon  matter  of  delight  were  the  same 
error  as  to  spend  a  fortune  upon  masques  and  banqueting 
houses ;  I  chose  rather  to  build  in  this  poor  fashion  some 
spittles  and  hospitals,  where  the  poor  and  impotent  sinner 
may  find  some  relief,  or  at  least  understanding  of  his 
infirmity.  And  if  they  be  too  weak  to  serve  posterity,  yet 
for  the  present  by  contemplation  of  them,  &c." 

Almost  our  only  source  of  information  as  to  Donne's 
life  in  1628  is  the  precious  group  of  letters  written  with 
quite  unusual  warmth  and  absence  of  reserve  to  Mrs. 
Cokain.  The  family  of  this  lady's  husband,  the  eccentric 
Thomas  Cokain  of  Ashbourne,  was  connected  with  Poles- 
worth,  and  Donne's  acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Cokain,  who 
had  been  deserted  by  her  husband,  and  was  living  at 
Ashbourne  alone  with  her  young  children,  had  probably 
been  due  to  Sir  Henry  Goodyer.  One  of  the  lady's  sons, 
afterward  Sir  Aston  Cokain,  and  known  as  the  author  of 
The  Obstinate  Lady  and  other  dramas,  was  now  twenty 
years  of  age  and  a  law-student.  Mrs.  Cokain  had  been 
Ann,  daughter  of  Sir  John  Stanhope  of  Elvaston,  in  Derby 
shire.  Thomas  Cokain  married  her  about  1607,  and  she 
bore  him  seven  children.  He  seems  to  have  been  crazy ; 
he  abruptly  abandoned  her,  and  came  up  to  London,  where 
he.  disappeared;  in  process  of  time  she  discovered  that  he 
was  living  in  lodgings  under  the  assumed  name  of  Brown, 
and  was  engaged  in  composing  an  English-Greek  lexicon. 

1  Letters  of  1651. 


256  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

He  lived  on,  a  constant  scourge  to  his  family,  whom  he 
terrified  by  sudden  apparitions,  until  1638,  and  mystifica 
tion  pursued  him  after  his  decease,  for  no  one  has  ever 
quite  decided  whether  his  much-talked-of  lexicon  did  or 
did  not  exist.  This  Thomas  Cokain  was  the  head  of 
the  family  of  which  the  wealthy  Sir  William  Cokain  (or 
Cokayne),  who  had  been  a  parishioner  of  Donne's,  was  a 
collateral  representative. 

The  date  of  the  first  of  these  letters  is  indicated  by  the 
fact  that  Sir  John  Brook  married  Frances  Bamfylde  on  the 
1 6th  of  May  1628. 

"  To  Mrs.  CoKAiN.1 

"  MY  NOBLEST  SISTER, — In  your  letter  from  Bath,  you 
told  me  particularly  how  I  might  return  an  answer,  that  I 
presume  you  intended  it  for  a  commandment  that  I  should 
do  so.  Therefore  I  write,  though  not  therefore  only,  for 
though  my  obedience  be  a  good  reason,  yet  I  have  another 
of  higher  value,  that  is,  my  love ;  of  which  love  of  mine  to 
you,  one  principal  act  having  always  been  my  prayers  for 
you.  At  this  time  I  knew  not  how  to  express  that  love 
that  way,  because  not  knowing  what  seasons  of  weather  are 
best  for  your  use  of  the  Bath,  I  know  not  what  weather 
to  pray  for.  I  determine  my  prayers  therefore  in  those 
generals,  that  God  will  give  you  whatsoever  you  would  have, 
and  multiply  it  to  you  when  you  have  it.  If  I  might  have 
forborn  this  letter  till  to-morrow,  I  could  have  had  time 
enough  to  enlarge  myself,  for  Saturday  is  my  day  of  con 
versation  and  liberty.  But  I  am  now  upon  Friday  evening, 
and  not  got  through  my  preparation  for  my  Paul's  service 
upon  Sunday.  If  you  look  for  news  from  hence,  let  my 
part  (who  knows  but  small  things)  be  this :  That  Sir  John 
Brook  is  married  to  Sir  William  Bam.'s  third  daughter. 
So,  my  noble  sister,  our  most  blessed  Saviour  bless  you  with 
His  best  blessings,  here  and  hereafter.  Amen. — Your  very 
true  friend,  and  brother,  and  servant, 

"  J.  DONNE." 

[May  1628.] 

1  From  the  Tobie  Matthew  Collection. 


LAST    YEARS  257 

In  the  next  letter,  we  find  Dr.  Simeon  Foxe  first  men 
tioned.  He  was  the  most  eminent  physician  of  the  day. 
Born  in  1568,  he  had  gradually  risen  to  the  very  height 
of  his  profession.  He  lived  close  to  the  Deanery,  in  the 
College  House  at  Amen  Corner,  Paternoster  Lane.  It 
appears  that  "  Pegge,"  or  Margaret,  Donne  recovered  from 
her  attack  of  smallpox,  for  in  1633  she  married  Sir  William 
Bowles  of  Clerkenwell.  She  was  in  her  thirtieth  year  when 
this  letter  was  written.  Of  all  Donne's  children,  Peggy, 
Lady  Bowles,  survived  him  the  longest,  living  until  October 
3,  I679.1  The  Bedfordshire  allusion  in  this  letter  is,  of 
course,  to  Blunham.  A  "  squinancie "  was  the  disease 
which  we  now  call  quinsy,  a  severe  tonsillitis  with  sup 
puration.  The  "fever"  would  be  the  indication  of  the 
onset  of  the  malady,  which  later  on  developed  into 
quinsy : — 

"  To  Mrs.  CoKAiN.2 

"  MY     NOBLEST     AND     LOVINGEST     SlSTER, Nothing 

returns  oftener  with  more  comfort  to  my  memory,  than 
that  you  nor  I  ever  asked  anything  of  one  another  which  we 
might  not  safely  grant,  and  we  can  ask  nothing  safely  that 
implies  an  offence  to  God,  or  injury  to  any  other  person.  I 
fall  upon  this  consideration  now,  upon  this  occasion.  Your 
letter,  upon  the  two-and-twentieth  of  August,  which  I 
received  this  day,  lays  a  commandment  upon  me  to  give 
you  an  account  of  my  state  in  health.  You  do  but  ask  me 
how  I  do ;  and  if  your  letter  had  come  yesterday,  I  could 
not  have  told  you  that.  At  my  return  from  Kent  to  my 
gate,  I  found  Pegge  had  the  pox,  so  I  withdrew  to  Peck- 
ham,  and  spent  a  fortnight  there.  And  without  coming 
home,  when  I  could  with  some  justice  hope  that  it  would 
spread  no  farther  amongst  them  (as  I  humbly  thank  God  it 
hath  not,  nor  much  disfigured  her  that  had  it),  I  went  into 
Bedfordshire.  There,  upon  my  third  Sunday,  I  was  seized 
with  a  fever,  which  grew  so  upon  me,  as  forced  me  to  a 
resolution  of  seeking  my  physician  at  London.  Thither  I 
came  in  a  day,  and  a  little  piece ;  and  within  four  miles  of 

1  See  Appendix  F.  2  From  the  Tobie  Matthew  Collection. 

VOL.   II.  R 


258  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

home  I  was  surprised  with  an  accident  in  the  coach,  which 
never  befel  me  before,  nor  had  been  much  in  my  con 
templation,  and  therefore  affected  me  much.  It  was  a 
violent  falling  of  the  uvula,  which  when  Doctor  Foxe  (whom 
I  found  at  London,  and  who  had  not  been  there  in  ten  days 
before)  considered  well,  and  perceived  the  fever  complicated 
with  a  squinancie :  by  way  of  prevention  of  both,  he  pre 
sently  took  blood ;  and  so  with  ten  days'  starving  in  a 
close  prison,  that  is,  my  bed,  I  am  (blessed  be  God)  returned 
to  a  convenient  temper,  and  pulse,  and  appetite,  and  learn 
to  eat,  and  this  day  met  the  acceptablest  guest  in  the  accepta- 
blest  manner,  your  letter,  walking  in  my  chamber.  All 
which  I  tell  you  with  these  particularities,  lest  my  sickness 
might  be  presented  by  rumour  worse  than  God  hath  been 
pleased  to  make  it ;  for,  I  humbly  thank  Him,  now  I  feel  no 
present  ill,  nor  have  reason  to  fear  worse.  If  I  understand 
your  letter  aright,  much  of  your  family  is  together.  If  it  be 
so,  entreat  them,  for  your  sake,  to  receive  my  service,  which, 
by  your  hand,  I  present  to  them  all.  If  they  be  otherwise 
severed,  yet,  in  the  ears  of  Almighty  God,  to  whom,  I 
know,  they  all  daily  pray,  my  daily  prayers  for  them  all 
shall  also  meet  them  all ;  and  that's  the  only  service  which 
I  can  promise  myself  an  ability  to  do  to  God's  Church  now, 
since  this  infirmity  in  my  mouth  and  voice  is  likely  to  take 
me  from  any  frequent  exercise  of  my  other  duty  of  preach 
ing.  But  God  will  either  enable  me,  or  pardon  me.  His 
will  be  done  upon  us  all,  as  His  goodness  hath  been  over- 
flowingly  poured  out  upon  your  poor  friend  and  lovingest 
brother  and  servant,  J.  DONNE." 

[August  24,  1628.] 

He  does  not  seem  to  have  regained  strength,  and  at 
Dr.  Foxe's  command  he  withdrew  for  some  months  from 
his  clerical  work  and  from  London  itself.  All  that  seemed 
to  ail  him  was  a  persistent  debility,  such  as,  at  his  age, 
would  be  sure  to  follow  a  severe  attack  of  quinsy.  The  fact 
was  that  his  vital  forces,  so  long  undermined,  were  failing  at 
last.  So  quietly  did  he  vegetate,  esconced  somewhere  in  the 
country,  that  the  rumour  of  his  death  was  general.  He 


LAST    YEARS  259 

writes  at  this  time  an  interesting  letter  to  his  friend,  Mrs. 
Cokain : — 

"  To  Mrs.  CoKAiN.1 

"  MY  NOBLE  SISTER, — Though  my  man,  at  London, 
might  have  made  such  a  return  to  your  man's  letter  from 
himself,  as  might  have  given  satisfaction  enough,  yet, 
because  there  were  so  many  hours  between  his  receipt  of 
that  letter  and  the  return  of  the  carrier  as  might  admit 
that  delay,  he  thought  best  to  acquaint  me  with  it.  I  am 
not  sorry  he  did  so,  for  I  have  found  this  rumour  of  my 
death  to  have  made  so  deep  impressions,  and  to  have  been 
so  peremptorily  believed,  that  from  very  remote  parts  I 
have  been  entreated  to  signify,  under  my  hand,  that  I  am 
yet  alive.  If  you  have  believed  the  report,  and  mourned 
for  me,  I  pray  let  that  that  is  done  already  serve  at  the 
time  that  it  shall  be  true.  To  mourn  a  second  time  were 
to  suspect  that  I  were  fallen  into  the  second  death,  from 
which  I  have  abundant  assurance  in  the  application  of  the 
superabundant  merits  of  my  Saviour. 

"  What  gave  the  occasion  of  this  rumour,  I  can  make  no 
conjecture.  And  yet  the  hour  of  my  death,  and  the  day  of 
my  burial,  were  related  in  the  highest  place  of  this  kingdom. 
I  had  at  that  time  no  kind  of  sickness,  nor  otherwise  than  I 
had  been  ever  since  my  fever,  and  am  yet — that  is,  too  weak 
at  this  time  of  the  year  to  go  forth,  especially  to  London, 
where  the  sickness  is  near  my  house,  and  where  I  must  neces 
sarily  open  myself  to  more  business  than  my  present  state 
would  bear.  Yet,  next  term,  by  God's  grace,  I  will  be  there  ; 
at  which  time,  I  have  understood  from  my  Lord  Carlisle's 
house,  that  the  Dean  of  Exeter 2  will  be  there,  which  hath 
made  me  forbear  to  write,  because  I  know  how  faintly  and 
lamely  businesses  go  on  by  letters,  in  respect  of  conferences. 
In  the  meantime,  my  prayers  for  your  happiness  shall  fill  all 
the  time  of  your  true  friend,  and  brother,  and  servant, 

>)  ,6,8.]  "J 

1  From  the  Tobie  Matthew  Collection. 

2  Dr.  Matthew  Sutcliffe,  who  died  some  eight  months  later. 


260  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

On  Christmas  Day,  1628,  however,  Donne  preached 
again  at  St.  Paul's,  and  from  this  time  forth  for  several 
months  resumed  his  London  duties.  The  next  letter 
refers  to  the  death  of  Mrs.  Cokain's  son  Thomas,  who 
died  at  Bath  in  his  eighteenth  year.  He  had  been  born 
on  the  ist  of  January  1612, l  so  that  the  letter  must  belong 
to  the  year  1629.  It  is  the  only  example  of  Donne's 
correspondence  for  that  year  which  we  possess.  The 
references  to  his  sons,  John  and  George,  dedicated  to  the 
Church  and  the  Army,  may  arrest  our  attention.  We 
should,  but  for  the  former  reference,  and  one  in  a  later 
letter,  not  have  known  that  John  Donne,  junior,  was  destined 
for  the  Church,  since  he  does  not  appear  to  have  been 
ordained  until  long  after  his  father's  death. 

"  To  Mrs.  CoKAiN.2 

"  MY  NOBLE  AND  VIRTUOUS  SISTER, — If  I  had  had 
such  an  occasion  as  this  to  have  written  to  you,  in  the 
first  year  of  our  acquaintance,  I  had  been  likely  to  have 
presented  you  with  an  essay  of  moral  comfort.  Now,  my 
letter  may  be  well  excused,  if  it  amount  to  an  homily. 
My  profession  and  my  willingness,  to  stay  long  upon  so 
good  an  office  as  to  assist  you,  will  bear  it.  Our  souls  are 
truly  said  to  be  in  every  part  of  our  bodies  ;  but  yet,  if 
any  part  of  the  body  be  cut  off,  no  part  of  the  soul 
perishes,  but  is  sucked  into  that  soul  that  remains,  in  that 
that  remains  of  the  body.  When  any  limb,  or  branch  of 
a  family  is  taken  away,  the  virtue,  the  love,  and  (for  the 
most  part)  the  patrimony  and  fortune  of  him  that  is  gone, 
remains  with  the  family.  The  family  would  not  think 
itself  the  less,  if  any  little  quillet  of  ground  had  been 
evicted  from  it ;  nor  must  it,  because  a  clod  of  earth,  one 
person  of  the  family,  is  removed.  In  these  cases  there  is 
nothing  lost ;  one  part,  the  soul,  enjoys  a  present  gain ; 
and  the  other,  the  body,  expects  a  future.  We  think  it 
good  husbandry  to  place  our  children's  portions  so,  as  that 
in  so  many  years  it  may  multiply  to  so  much :  shall  we  not 

1  Parish  Registers  of  Ashbourne.  2  From  the  Tobie  Matthew  Collection. 


LAST    YEARS  261 

be  as  glad  to  lay  their  bodies  there,  where  only  they  can 
be  mellowed  and  ripened  for  glorification. 

"  The  perverseness  of  the  father  put  you  to  such  a 
necessity  of  hiding  your  sons,  so  that  this  son  is  scarce 
more  out  of  your  sight,  by  being  laid  underground, 
than  he  was  before.  And  perchance  you  have  been 
longer  time,  at  some  times,  from  meeting  and  seeing 
one  another  in  this  world  than  you  shall  be  now  from 
meeting  in  the  glory  of  the  resurrection.  That  may 
come  sooner  than  you  looked  he  should  come  from 
the  Bath.  A  man  truly  liberal,  or  truly  charitable, 
will  borrow  money  to  lend ;  for,  if  I  be  bound  to 
assist  another  with  my  meat,  or  with  my  money,  I  may 
be  as  much  bound  to  assist  him  with  my  credit,  and 
borrow  to  lend.  We  do  but  borrow  children  of  God,  to 
lend  them  to  the  world.  And  when  I  lend  the  world  a 
daughter  in  marriage,  or  lend  the  world  a  son  in  a  pro 
fession,  the  world  does  not  always  pay  me  well  again ;  my 
hopes  are  not  always  answered  in  that  daughter  or  that 
son.  But,  of  all  that  I  lend  to,  the  grave  is  my  best  pay 
master.  The  grave  shall  restore  me  my  child,  where  he 
and  I  shall  have  but  one  Father,  and  pay  me  my  earth, 
when  that  earth  shall  be  amber,  a  sweet  perfume,  in  the 
nostrils  of  his  and  my  Saviour. 

"Since  I  am  well  content  to  send  one  son  to  the 
Church,  the  other  to  the  Wars,  why  should  I  be  loth 
to  send  one  part  of  either  son  to  heaven  and  the 
other  to  the  earth  ?  Comfort  yourself  in  this,  my  noble 
sister,  that  for  those  years  he  lived  you  were  answer 
able  to  God  for  him  ;  for  yet,  he  was  so  young  as  a 
mother's  power  might  govern  him ;  and  so  long  he  was 
under  your  charge,  and  you  accountable  for  him.  Now, 
when  he  was  growing  into  those  years  as  needed  a  stronger 
hand — a  father's  care — and  had  not  that,  God  hath  can 
celled  your  bonds,  discharged  you,  and  undertakes  the 
office  of  a  Father  Himself.  But,  above  all,  comfort  your 
self  in  this,  that  it  is  the  declared  will  of  God.  In  sick 
nesses,  and  other  worldly  crosses,  there  are  anxieties  and 
perplexities ;  we  wish  one  thing  to-day,  in  the  behalf  of  a 


262  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

distressed  child  or  friend,  and  another  to-morrow ;  because 
God  hath  not  yet  declared  His  will.  But  when  he  hath 
done  that,  in  death,  there  is  no  room  for  any  anxiety,  for 
any  perplexity,  no,  not  for  a  wish ;  for  we  may  not  so 
much  as  pray  for  the  dead. 

"You  know,  David  made  his  child's  sickness  his 
Lent,  but  his  death  his  Easter ;  he  fasted  till  the 
child's  death,  but  then  he  returned  to  his  repast,  be 
cause  then  he  had  a  declaration  of  God's  will.  I  am 
far  from  quenching  in  you,  or  discharging  natural  affec 
tions  ;  but,  I  know  your  easy  apprehensions  and  over- 
tenderness  in  this  kind.  And  I  know  some  persons  in  the 
world  that  I  wish  may  live,  especially  for  this  respect, 
because  I  know  their  death  would  over-affect  you.  In  so 
noble  and  numerous  a  family  as  yours  is,  every  year  must 
necessarily  present  you  some  such  occasion  of  sorrow,  in 
the  loss  of  some  near  friend.  And  therefore  I,  in  the 
office  of  a  friend,  and  a  brother,  and  a  priest  of  God,  do 
not  only  look  that  you  should  take  this  patiently  as  a 
declaration  of  God's  present  will,  but  that  you  take  it 
catechistically,  as  an  instruction  for  the  future ;  and  that 
God,  in  this,  tells  you  that  He  will  do  so  again  in  some 
other  [of]  your  friends.  For,  to  take  any  one  cross 
patiently,  is  but  to  forgive  God  for  once  ;  but,  to  surrender 
one's  self  entirely  to  God,  is  to  be  ready  for  all  that  He 
shall  be  pleased  to  do.  And,  that  His  pleasure  may  be 
either  to  lessen  your  crosses,  or  multiply  your  strength,  shall 
be  the  prayer  of  your  brother,  and  friend,  and  servant,  and 
chaplain,  JOHN  DONNE." 

As  far  as  can  be  perceived,  Donne  preached  with  his 
usual  assiduity  from  the  opening  of  the  year  1629  until 
May,  when  he  broke  down  again,  and  for  the  next  six 
months  he  absolutely  disappears  from  us.  We  find  him, 
however,  preaching  at  Paul's  Cross  in  November.  For  the 
first  time,  however,  since  he  was  appointed  Dean,  he  was  not 
able  to  preach  in  his  Cathedral  on  Christmas  Day  1629. 

The  only  other  fact  I  have  been  able  to  trace,  with 
regard  to  Donne's  life  in  1629,  is  that  in  June  he  sat  at 


LAST    YEARS  263 

Lambeth  on  a  commission  consisting  of  Laud,  himself,  and 
the  Bishops  of  Winchester  and  Norwich,  to  decide  a  dis 
pute  which  had  broken  out  between  the  Bishop  of  Salisbury 
and  the  Dean  and  Chapter  of  that  diocese.  The  four 
commissioners  met  several  times  and  "  endeavoured  to 
accommodate  the  differences  "  between  the  parties ;  and  on 
the  22nd  of  June  they  submitted  their  report  to  the  King. 

It  is  curious  that  the  last  years  of  Donne,  when  he  was 
so  celebrated  and  so  prominent,  should,  in  spite  of  the 
evidence  of  Izaak  Walton,  be  particularly  obscure  and  empty 
of  detail.  But  the  probability  is  that  there  was  very  little 
in  them  which  could  have  been  recorded.  It  is  plain  that 
the  Dean's  fondness  for  letter-writing  had  ceased.  His 
days  were  probably  now  spent  in  an  extreme  monotony. 
Conscious  of  descending  vitality,  he  would  garner  his 
strength  more  and  more  carefully,  to  expend  it  on  the 
needful  duties  of  his  clerical  calling.  To  prepare  his 
sermons  at  the  wheel  of  desks  in  his  library  would  now 
be  the  most  exciting  of  his  adventures.  He  preached  a 
lengthy  and  important  example  of  these  addresses  for  the 
Feast  of  the  Conversion  of  St.  Paul,  on  the  25th  of  January 
1630.  He  preached,  perhaps  for  the  last  time  in  St.  Paul's, 
on  Easter  Day,  March  28,  1630;  and  at  Court,  "  in  Lent 
to  the  King,"  on  the  23rd  of  April  I63O.1  It  has  been 
supposed  that,  soon  after  this  date,  his  health  again  broke 
down  ;  but  of  this  I  find  no  evidence,  and  Walton  distinctly 
says  that  God  having  "  restored  his  health,  continued  it  to 
him  till"  August  1630. 

A  great  deal  has  been  said  as  to  the  reasons  why 
Donne,  so  eminently  what  Hobbes  would  call  an  "episco- 
pable "  person,  was  never  made  a  bishop.  It  has  even 
been  asserted,  on  pure  conjecture,  that  Donne  was  told 
when  he  took  Orders  that  he  would  never  be  con 
sidered  eligible  for  prelacy.  All  these  questions  and 
presumptions  are  ruled  out  of  court  by  the  discovery 
that  in  the  summer  of  1630  Charles  I.  designed  Donne 
for  promotion  to  be  a  bishop.  There  even  exists  a 

1  Misprinted  "April  20"  in  the  1640  edition  (p.  127).     Dr.  Jessopp  points  out 
that  the  third  Sunday  after  Easter  fell  on  the  23rd. 


264  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

document,1  drawn  up  apparently  in  August  of  that  year, 
discussing  what  benefices  "  will  fall  into  his  Majesty's 
donation"  when  the  Dean  of  St.  Paul's  has  been  "  advanced 
to  a  Bishopric,"  and  naming,  with  St.  Dunstan's  in  the 
West,  "  Pancridge  near  London,"  which  seems  to  be 
St.  Pancras.  What  Donne's  hold  on  this  latter  parish  was 
does  not  seem  to  be  elsewhere  recorded.  The  vicarage  of 
St.  Pancras,  "  alias  Kentish  Town,"  was  attached  to  a 
prebend  of  St.  Paul's,  but  Donne's  friend,  Henry  King, 
had  been  appointed  to  it  since  January  24,  1616.  He 
continued  to  hold  it  until  the  I5th  of  March  1641,  when 
he  was  made  Bishop  of  Chichester.  I  cannot  help  con 
jecturing  that  "  Pancridge  "  is  simply  a  slip  of  the  pen  for 
Chiswick,  which  was  Donne's  prebend,  and  would  have  been 
vacated  on  his  being  raised  to  a  bishopric.  It  appears,  at  all 
events,  that  it  was  settled  by  August  1630,  that  Donne  was 
sufficiently  "safe,"  in  Laud's  sense,  to  have  a  diocese  entrusted 
to  him.  But  at  this  very  moment  came  the  entire  break 
down  of  his  health  and  his  enforced  retirement  at  Abury 
Hatch.  It  was  useless,  and  worse  than  useless,  to  promote 
a  dying  man  to  a  post  of  labour  and  responsibility.  But 
the  legend  that  there  was  some  mysterious  prejudice  against 
Donne,  which  closed  the  path  of  episcopal  promotion  to 
him,  must  now  be  dismissed.  Had  Donne's  health  been 
good,  he  would  have  been  a  bishop  before  the  close  of 
1630. 

On  the  24th  of  June  of  this  year,  his  widowed  eldest 
daughter,  Constance  Alleyn,  had  married  Samuel  Harvey  of 
Aldborough  Hatch,  a  mansion  and  estate  in  Epping  Forest, 
near  Barking,  in  Essex.  The  bridegroom  was  a  grandson 
of  that  Sir  James  Harvey,  alderman  of  London,  with  whom 
Donne's  father  had  served  his  apprenticeship.  Walton  tells 
us  that  in  this  fatal  August,  Donne  went  down  to  "  Abury 
Hatch"  (for  so  it  was  pronounced)  to  visit  his  daughter, 
and  there  "  fell  into  a  fever,  which,  with  the  help  of  his 
constant  infirmity — vapours  from  the  spleen — hastened  him 
into  so  visible  a  consumption,  that  his  beholders  might  say 
'  he  dies  daily.' '  This  disease  lingered  long,  weakening 

1  Domestic  State  Papers. 


LAST    YEARS  265 

and  wearying  him ;  he  was  tended  through  it  by  his  faith 
ful  personal  servant,  Robert  Christmas.  He  was  "  forced 
to  spend  much  of  that  winter  "  at  Abury  Hatch,  "  by  reason 
of  his  disability  to  remove  from  that  place."  At  the  end 
of  October  he  wrote  as  follows  to  his  old  and  devoted 
friend,  the  Master  of  the  Charterhouse.  The  Lord  Percy 
here  mentioned  was  Algernon  Percy,  son  of  that  melancholy 
spirit,  the  third  Earl  of  Northumberland,  who  had  lan 
guished  so  long  in  the  Tower,  and  who  was  now  near  the 
close  of  his  luckless  career.  Lord  Percy,  who  was  to 
succeed  as  fourth  Earl  of  Northumberland  in  1632,  was, 
as  Sir  Philip  Warwick  says  in  his  Memoirs,  "  a  graceful 
young  man  of  great  sobriety  and  regularity."  It  is  strange, 
however,  that  even  he  should  come  between  Donne  and 
his  closest  friend,  Lord  Carlisle.  George,  it  may  be 
observed,  was  now  serving  in  the  army  in  Spain,  and  his 
father  had  no  news  of  him : — 

"  To  my  very  much  honoured  friend  GEORGE  GERRARD, 
Esquire,  at  Sion}- 

"SiR, — I  know  not  which  of  us  won  it  by  the  hand,  in 
the  last  charge  of  letters.  If  you  won,  you  won  nothing, 
because  I  am  nothing,  or  whatsoever  I  am,  you  won  nothing, 
because  I  was  all  yours  before.  I  doubt  not  but  I  were 
better  delivered  of  dangers  of  relapses  if  I  were  at  London  ; 
but  the  very  going  would  endanger  me.  Upon  which  true 
debility,  I  was  forced  to  excuse  myself  to  my  Lord  Chamber 
lain,  from  whom  I  had  a  letter  of  command  to  have 
preached  the  fth  of  November  sermon  to  the  King.  A 
service  which  I  would  not  have  declined,  if  I  could  have 
conceived  any  hope  of  standing  it.  I  beseech  you  en 
treat  my  Lord  Percy  in  my  behalf,  that  he  will  be  pleased  to 
name  George  to  my  Lord  Carlisle,  and  to  wonder,  if  not 
to  enquire,  where  he  is.  The  world  is  disposed  to  charge 
my  Lord's  honour,  and  to  charge  my  natural  affection  with 
neglecting  him,  and,  God  knows,  I  know  not  which  way  to 
turn  towards  him ;  nor  upon  any  message  of  mine,  when  I 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


266  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

send  to  kiss  my  Lord's  hands,  doth  my  Lord  make  any 
kind  of  mention  of  him. 

"  For  the  Diamond  Lady,  when  time  serves,  I  pray 
look  to  it,  for  I  would  fain  be  discharged  of  it.  And 
for  the  rest,  let  them  be  but  remembered  how  long  it  hath 
been  in  my  hands,  and  then  leave  it  to  their  discretion. 
If  they  incline  to  anything,  I  should  choose  shirt  Holland, 
rather  under  than  above  45.  Our  blessed  Saviour  mul 
tiply  His  blessings  upon  that  noble  family  where  you 
are,  and  yourself  and  your  son,  as  upon  all  them  that  are 
derived  from  your  poor  friend  and  servant, 

"J.  DONNE." 

[October  1630.] 

Donne  did  not  contrive  to  preach  the  Gunpowder  Plot 
sermon,  and,  for  the  first  time  in  twenty  years,  he  did  not 
even  preach  before  the  King  at  Christmas.  He  was 
mewed  in  his  son-in-law's  house  in  Abury  Hatch.  The 
next  letter  should,  perhaps,  be  dated  in  December  1630. 

"  To  my  honoured  friend  G.  G[ERRARD],  Esquire.1 

"  SIR, — I  should  not  only  send  you  an  account  by  my 
servant,  but  bring  you  an  account  often  myself  (for  our 
letters  are  ourselves,  and  in  them  absent  friends  meet)  how 
I  do,  but  that  two  things  make  me  forbear  that  writing : 
first,  because  it  is  not  for  my  gravity  to  write  of  feathers 
and  straws  and,  in  good  faith,  I  am  no  more  considered  in 
my  body  or  fortune.  And  then  because  whensoever  I  tell 
you  how  I  do,  by  a  letter,  before  that  letter  comes  to  you, 
I  shall  be  otherwise  than  when  it  left  me.  At  this  time, 
I  humbly  thank  God,  I  am  only  not  worse ;  for  I  should  as 
soon  look  for  roses  at  this  time  of  the  year  as  look  for 
increase  of  strength.  And  if  I  be  no  worse  all  spring  than 
now,  I  am  much  better,  for,  I  make  account  that  those 
Church  services,  which  I  would  be  very  loth  to  decline,  will 
spend  somewhat ;  and,  if  I  can  gather  so  much  as  will  bear 
my  charges,  recover  so  much  strength  at  London,  as  I  shall 

i  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


LAST    YEARS  267 

spend  at  London,  I  shall  not  be  loth  to  be  left  in  that  state 
wherein  I  am  now  after  that's  done.  But  I  do  but  dis 
course,  I  do  not  wish;  life,  or  health,  or  strength  (I  thank 
God)  enter  not  into  my  prayers  for  myself ;  for  others  they 
do,  and  amongst  others  for  your  sick  servant,  for  such  a 
servant  taken  so  young,  and  healed  so  long,  is  half  a  child  to 
a  master,  and  so  truly  I  have  observed  that  you  have  bred 
him  with  the  care  of  a  father.  Our  blessed  Saviour  look 
graciously  upon  him,  and  glorify  Himself  in  him,  by  his 
way  of  restitution  to  health,  and  by  his  way  of  peace  of 
conscience  in  your  very  true  friend  and  servant  in  Christ 
Jesus, 

"  J.  DONNE." 

"  fo  my  very  much  honoured  friend 
GEORGE  GERRARD,  Esq.1 

"  SIR, — When  we  think  of  a  friend,  we  do  not  count 
that  a  lost  thought,  though  that  friend  never  knew  of  it. 
If  we  write  to  a  friend,  we  must  not  call  it  a  lost  letter, 
though  it  never  find  him  to  whom  it  was  addressed,  for  we 
owe  ourselves  that  office  to  be  mindful  of  our  friends.  In 
payment  of  that  debt,  I  send  out  this  letter,  as  a  sentinel 
perdue ;  if  it  find  you,  it  comes  to  tell  you  that  I  was 
possessed  with  a  fever,  so  late  in  the  year,  that  I  am  afraid 
I  shall  not  recover  confidence  to  come  to  London  till  the 
spring  be  a  little  advanced. 

41  Because  you  did  our  poor  family  the  favour  to  men 
tion  our  George  in  your  letters  to  Spain  with  some  earnest 
ness,  I  should  wonder  if  you  never  had  anything  from 
thence  concerning  him,  he  having  been  now  divers  months 
in  Spain. 

"  If  you  be  in  London  and  the  Lady  of  the  Jewel 
there  too,  at  your  conveniency  inform  me  what  is  looked  for 
at  my  hands,  in  that  business ;  for  I  would  be  loth  to  leave 
anything  in  my  house,  when  I  die,  that  were  not  absolutely 
mine  own.  I  have  a  servant,  Roper,  at  Paul's  House,  who 
will  receive  your  commandments  at  all  times.  God  bless 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


268  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

you  and  your  son,  with  the  same  blessings  which  I  beg  for 
the  children,  and  for  the  person  of 

"  Your  poor  friend  and  humble  servant  in  Christ  Jesus 

"J.  DONNE." 

[Abury  Hatch,  December  1630.] 

On  the  1 3th  of  December,  Donne  drew  up  his  will,  a 
long,  elaborate,  and  interesting  document,  a  copy  of  which 
is  printed  later  on.1 

[fo  GEORGE  GERRARD.]2 

"  SIR, — This  advantage  you  and  my  other  friends  have, 
by  my  frequent  fevers,  that  I  am  so  much  the  oftener  at  the 
gates  of  heaven,  and  this  advantage  by  the  solitude  and  close 
imprisonment  that  they  reduce  me  to  after,  that  I  am  so  much 
the  oftener  at  my  prayers  ;  in  which,  I  shall  never  leave  out 
your  happiness  ;  and,  I  doubt  not,  but  amongst  His  [many] 
other  blessings,  God  will  add  to  you  some  one  for  my 
prayers.  A  man  would  almost  be  content  to  die  (if  there 
were  no  other  benefit  in  death)  to  hear  of  so  much  sorrow, 
and  so  much  good  testimony  from  good  men,  as  I  (God  be 
blessed  for  it)  did  upon  the  report  of  my  death. 

"  Yet  I  perceive  it  went  not  through  all ;  for  one  writ 
unto  me  that  some  (and  he  said  of  my  friends)  conceived 
[that]  I  was  not  so  ill  as  I  pretended,  but  withdrew  myself, 
[to  save  charges],  and  to  live  at  ease,  discharged  of  preach 
ing.  It  is  an  unfriendly,  and,  God  knows,  an  ill-grounded 
interpretation :  [for  in  these  times  of  necessity,  and  multi 
tudes  of  poor,  there  is  no  possibility  of  saving  to  him  that 
hath  any  tenderness  in  him ;  and  for  affecting  my  ease],  I 
have  been  always  more  sorry  when  I  could  not  preach,  than 
any  could  be  that  they  could  not  hear  me.  It  hath  been  my 
desire  (and  God  may  be  pleased  to  grant  it  me)  that  I 
might  die  in  the  pulpit ;  if  not  that,  yet  that  I  might  take 
my  death  in  the  pulpit,  that  is,  die  the  sooner  by  occasion 
of  my  former  labours. 

1  Appendix  B. 

2  From  Walton's  Life,  1640.     The  portions  within  brackets  were  added  in  1651. 


LAST    YEARS  269 

["  I  thank  you  for  keeping  our  George  in  your  memory ; 
I  hope  God  reserves  it  for  so  good  a  friend  as  you  are,  to 
send  me  the  first  good  news  of  him. 

"  For  the  Diamond  Lady,  you  may  safely  deliver  Roper 
whatsoever  belongs  to  me,  and  he  will  give  you  a  discharge 
for  the  money.  For  my  Lord  Percy,  we  shall  speak  of  it 
when  we  meet  at  London ;  which,  as  I  do  not  much  hope 
before  Christmas,  so  I  do  not  much  fear  at  beginning  of 
term ;  for  I  have  entreated  one  of  my  fellows  to  preach  to 
my  Lord  Mayor  at  Paul's  upon  Christmas  Day,  and  re 
served  Candlemas  Day  to  myself  for  that  service,  about 
which  time  also  will  fall  my  Lent  sermon],  except  my  Lord 
Chamberlain  believe  me  to  be  dead,  and  leave  me  out ;  for 
as  long  as  I  live,  and  am  not  speechless,  I  would  not  willingly 
decline  that  service.  I  have  better  leisure  to  write  than  you 
to  read,  yet  I  will  not  oppress  you  with  too  much  letter. 
God  bless  you  and  your  son,  as  I  wish. 

"  Your  poor  friend  and  humble  servant  in  Christ  Jesus, 

"J.  DONNE." 

January  7,  i63o[i]. 

Always  more  confidential  to  Mrs.  Cokain  than  to  any 
other  friend,  he  gives  her  particulars  of  his  ailments  such 
as  are  not  vouchsafed  to  the  Master  of  the  Charterhouse. 
The  Mr.  Hazard,  who  is  mentioned  so  unfavourably  in 
the  second  of  these  letters,  is  doubtless  that  Nathaniel 
Hazard,  tutor  to  Mrs.  Cokain's  sons,  who  is  mentioned 
in  the  Poems  of  Sir  Aston  Cokain. 


"  To  my  noble  friend  Mrs.  COKAIN,  at  Ashbourne.1 

"  MY  NOBLEST  SISTER, — But  that  it  is  sweetened  by 
your  command,  nothing  could  trouble  me  more  than  to 
write  of  myself.  Yet,  if  I  would  have  it  known,  I  must 
write  it  myself;  for  I  neither  tell  children  nor  servants  my 
state.  I  have  never  good  temper,  nor  good  pulse,  nor  good 
appetite,  nor  good  sleep.  Yet  I  have  so  much  leisure  to 
recollect  myself,  as  that  I  can  think  I  have  been  long  thus, 

1  From  the  Letters  of  1651. 


270  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

or  often  thus.  I  am  not  alive,  because  I  have  not  had 
enough  upon  me  to  kill  me,  but  because  it  pleases  God  to 
pass  me  through  many  infirmities  before  He  take  me  either 
by  those  particular  remembrances  to  bring  me  to  particular 
repentances,  or  by  them  to  give  me  hope  of  His  particular 
mercies  in  heaven.  Therefore  have  I  been  more  affected 
with  coughs  in  vehemence,  more  with  deafness,  more  with 
toothache,  more  with  the  vurbah  [?  uvula],  than  heretofore. 

"All  this  mellows  me  for  heaven,  and  so  ferments  me  in 
this  world  as  I  shall  need  no  long  concoction  in  the  grave, 
but  hasten  to  the  resurrection.  Not  only  to  be  nearer  that 
grave,  but  to  be  nearer  to  the  service  of  the  Church,  as  long 
as  I  shall  be  able  to  do  any,  I  purpose,  God  willing,  to  be 
at  London  within  a  fortnight  after  your  receipt  of  this,  as 
well  because  I  am  under  the  obligation  of  preaching  at 
Paul's  upon  Candlemas  Day,  as  because  I  know  nothing  to 
the  contrary,  but  that  I  may  be  called  to  Court  for  Lent 
service ;  and  my  witness  is  in  heaven,  that  I  never  left  out 
St.  Dunstan's  when  I  was  able  to  do  them  that  service,  nor 
will  now ;  though  they  that  know  the  state  of  that  Church 
well,  know  that  I  am  not  so  bound,  as  the  world  thinks,  to 
preach  there ;  for  I  make  not  a  shilling  profit  of  St.  Dun- 
Stan's  as  a  Churchman,  but  as  my  Lord  of  Dorset  gave  me 
the  lease  of  the  Impropriation  for  a  certain  rent,  and  a  higher 
rent  than  my  predecessor  had  it  at. 

"  This  I  am  fain  to  say  often,  because  they  that  know 
it  not,  have  defamed  me  of  a  defectiveness  towards  that 
Church  ;  and  even  that  mistaking  of  theirs  I  ever  have,  and 
ever  shall  endeavour  to  rectify,  by  as  often  preaching  there 
as  my  condition  of  body  will  admit.  All  our  company 
here  is  well,  but  not  at  home  now  when  I  write ;  for,  lest  I 
should  not  have  another  return  to  London  before  the  day 
of  your  carrier,  I  write  this,  and  rest 

"  Your  very  affectionate  servant,  and  friend,  and  brother, 

"J.  DONNE." 

Abury  Hatch,  i$th  January  i63o[i]. 

The  opinion  of  Dr.  Norman  Moore  is  that  the  onsets 
of  fever  which  Donne  describes  as  separate  and  sudden  were 


LAST    YEARS 


271 


probably  a  combination  of  recurrent  quinsy  (angina  faucium), 
with  true,  "  frequent  fevers "  of  a  malarial  kind,  such  as 
places  near  Barking  still  produce.  The  words  "  fell  into  a 
fever  "  may  be  indicative  of  the  flushing  of  weakness,  with 
or  without  rise  of  temperature,  which  the  physicians  of  that 
day  had  not  begun  to  measure.  The  same  remark  applies 
to  the  "  fever  every  half  year."  The  absence  of  any  men 
tion  of  coughing — save  in  one  instance,  "  more  affected 
with  coughs  " — seems  to  exclude  the  fever  of  tuberculosis. 
The  "damps  and  flashings"  for  four  or  five  days  exactly 
describe  the  symptoms  of  a  malarial  attack. 

Dr.  William  Clement  was  a  fellow  of  the  College  of 
Physicians,  and  Dr.  Laurence  Wright,  who  was  afterwards 
physician  to  the  Protector,  was  another  fellow. 

"To  Mrs.  CoKAiN.1 

"Mv  NOBLE  DEAR  SISTER, — I  am  come  now,  not  only 
to  pay  a  fever  every  half  year  as  a  rent  for  my  life  ;  but  I 
am  called  upon  before  the  day,  and  they  come  sooner  in 
the  year  than  heretofore.  This  fever  that  I  had  now,  I 
hoped,  for  divers  days,  to  have  been  but  an  exaltation  of  my 
damps  and  flashings,  such  as  exercise  me  sometimes  four  or 
five  days,  and  pass  away  without  whining  or  complaint.  But, 
I  neglected  this  somewhat  too  long,  which  makes  me 
(though,  after  I  took  it  into  consideration,  the  fever  itself 
declined  quickly)  much  weaker,  than,  perchance,  otherwise 
I  should  have  been.  I  had  Dr.  Foxe  and  Dr.  Clement  with 
me,  but,  I  thank  God,  was  not  much  trouble  to  them. 
Ordinary  means  set  me  soon  upon  my  legs,  and  I  have 
broke  my  close  prison,  and  walked  into  the  garden ;  and 
(but  that  the  weather  hath  continued  so  spitefully  foul) 
make  no  doubt,  but  I  might  safely  have  done  more.  I 
eat  and  digest  well  enough,  and  it  is  no  strange  thing  that 
I  do  not  sleep  well,  for,  in  my  best  health,  I  am  not  much 
used  to  do  so.  At  the  same  time,  little  Betty  had  a  fever 
too,  and,  for  her,  we  used  Dr.  Wright,  who,  by  occasion, 
lies  within  two  miles  of  us ;  and  he  was  able  to  ease  my 

1  From  the  Tobie  Matthew  Collection. 


272  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

sickness  with  his  report  of  your  good  health,  which,  he 
told  us,  he  had  received  from  you.  But  I  found  it  not 
seconded  in  your  own  letters,  which  I  had  the  honour  to 
receive  by  Mr.  Hazard. 

"  My  noble  sister,  I  am  afraid  that  death  will  play 
with  me  so  long,  as  he  will  forget  to  kill  me,  and  suffer 
me  to  live  in  a  languishing  and  useless  age,  a  life, 
that  is  rather  a  forgetting  that  I  am  dead,  than  of 
living.  We  dispute  whether  the  dead  shall  pray  for  the 
living ;  and  because  my  life  may  be  short,  I  pray  with 
the  most  earnestness  for  you  now.  By  the  advantage  of 
sickness  I  return  the  oftener  to  that  holy  exercise,  and  in 
it  join  yours  with  mine  own  soul.  I  would  not  have  digni 
fied  myself,  or  my  sickness,  with  saying  so  much  of  either, 
but  that  it  is  in  obedience  to  your  command  that  I  should 
do  so.  And  though  there  lies  upon  me  no  command,  yet 
there  lies  a  necessity  growing  out  of  my  respect,  and  a 
nobler  root,  than  that  my  love  to  you,  to  enlarge  myself, 
as  far  as  I  have  gone  already,  in  Mr.  Hazard's  business. 

"  My  noble  sister,  when  you  carry  me  up  to  the  beginning, 
which  it  pleases  you  to  call  a  promise  to  yourself,  and  your 
noble  sister ;  I  never  slackened  my  purpose  of  performing 
that  promise.  But  if  my  promise,  which  was,  that  I 
should  be  ready  to  assist  him  in  anything  I  could,  were 
translated  by  you,  or  your  noble  sister,  or  him,  that  I  would 
give  him  the  next  living  in  my  gift,  certainly  we  speak  not 
one  language,  or  understand  not  one  another,  and  I  had 
thought  we  had ;  this  which  he  imagined  to  be  vacant  (for 
it  is  not  yet,  nor  any  way  likely)  is  the  first  that  fell  to 
me,  since  I  made  that  promise;  and,  my  noble  sister,  if 
a  person  of  my  place,  from  whom  one  scholar  in  each 
university  sucks  something,  and  must  be  weaned  by  me, 
and  who  hath  otherwise  a  latitude  of  importunate  friends, 
and  very  many  obligations,  have  a  living  once  in  five  or 
six  years  fall  in  his  gift  (for  it  is  so  long  since  I  gave  any) 
and  may  not  make  a  good  choice  with  freedom  then,  it 
is  hard ;  yet  it  is  not  my  fortune  to  do  so  now :  for,  now 
there  is  a  living  fallen  (though  not  that),  I  am  not  left  to  my 
choice.  For  my  Lords  Carlisle  and  Percy  have  chosen  for 


LAST    YEARS  273 

me,  but  truly  such  a  man  as  I  would  have  chosen;  and 
for  him,  they  laid  an  obligation  upon  me  three  years  since, 
for  the  next  that  should  fall ;  yet  Mr.  Hazard  presses  you 
to  write  for  that,  because  he  to  whom  my  promise  belongs 
hath  another  before,  but  doth  he  or  his  Lord  owe  me 
anything  for  that?  Yet  Mr.  Hazard  importunes  me 
to  press  that  chaplain  of  my  Lord,  that  when  he  takes 
mine,  he  shall  resign  the  other  to  him,  which,  as  it  is  an 
ignorant  request  (for  if  it  be  resigned,  it  is  not  in  his 
power  to  place  it  upon  Mr.  Hazard)  so  it  is  an  unjust 
request,  that  I  that  give  him  fifty  pounds  a  year,  should 
take  from  him  forty. 

"  But  amongst  Mr.  Hazard's  manifold  importunities, 
that  that  I  took  worst,  was,  that  he  should  write  of 
domestic  things,  and  what  I  said  of  my  son  to  you, 
and  arm  you  with  that  plea,  that  my  son  was  not  in 
Orders.  But,  my  noble  sister,  though  I  am  far  from 
drawing  my  son  immaturely  into  Orders,  or  putting  into 
his  hands  any  Church  with  cure ;  yet  there  are  many 
prebends  and  other  helps  in  the  Church,  which  a  man 
without  taking  Orders  may  be  capable  of,  and  for  some 
such  I  might  change  a  living  with  cure,  and  so  begin  to 
accommodate  a  son  in  some  preparation.  But  Mr. 
Hazard  is  too  piercing.  It  is  good  counsel  (and  as  I 
remember  I  gave  it  him),  that  if  a  man  deny  him  anything, 
and  accompany  his  denial  with  a  reason,  he  be  not  too 
searching,  whether  that  be  the  true  reason  or  no,  but 
rest  in  the  denial,  for  many  times  it  may  be  out  of  my 
power  to  do  a  man  a  courtesy  which  he  desires,  and  yet 
I  not  tied  to  tell  him  the  true  reason;  therefore  out  of 
his  letter  to  you  I  continue  my  opinion  that  he  meddled 
too  far  herein. 

"  I  cannot  shut  my  letter  till  (whilst  we  are  upon  this 
consideration  of  reasons  of  denials)  I  tell  you  one  answer 
of  his,  which  perchance  may  weaken  your  so  great 
assurance  of  his  modesty.  I  told  him  that  my  often 
sicknesses  had  brought  me  to  an  inability  of  preaching, 
and  that  I  was  under  a  necessity  of  preaching  twelve  or 
fourteen  solemn  sermons  every  year,  to  great  auditories 

VOL.   II.  S 


274  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

at  Paul's,  and  to  the  judges,  and  at  Court;  and  that, 
therefore,  I  must  think  of  conferring  something  upon 
such  a  man  as  may  supply  my  place  in  these  solemnities; 
and  surely,  said  I,  I  will  offer  them  no  man  in  those 
cases  which  shall  not  be  at  least  equal  to  myself;  and, 
Mr.  Hazard,  I  do  not  know  your  faculties.  He  gave  me 
this  answer,  I  will  not  make  comparisons,  but  I  do  not 
doubt  but  I  should  give  them  satisfaction  in  that  kind. 
Now,  my  noble  sister,  whereas  you  repeat  often,  that  you 
and  your  sister  rested  upon  my  word,  and  my  worth ;  and, 
but  for  my  word  and  my  worth,  you  would  not  have 
proceeded  so  far :  I  must  necessarily  make  my  protestation, 
that  my  word  and  my  worth  is  herein,  as  chaste,  and  un 
touched  as  the  best  maidenhead  in  the  world.  For,  my 
noble  sister,  goes  there  no  more  to  the  giving  of  a  scholar 
a  church  in  London,  but  that  he  was  a  young  gentle 
man's  schoolmaster  ?  You  know  the  ticklishness  of 
London  pulpits,  and  how  ill  it  would  become  me  to  place 
a  man  in  a  London  church  that  were  not  both  a  strong 
and  a  sound  man.  And  therefore,  those  things  must  come 
into  consideration  before  he  can  have  a  living  from  me ; 
though  there  was  no  need  of  reflecting  upon  those  things, 
when  I  made  that  general  promise,  that  I  would  assist  his 
fortune  in  anything. 

"You  end  in  a  phrase  of  indignation  and  displeasure, 
rare  in  you  towards  me,  therefore  it  affects  me ;  which 
is,  that  he  may  part  from  me,  as  I  received  him  at  first, 
as  though  I  were  likely  to  hinder  him.  The  heat  that 
produced  that  word  I  know  is  past,  and  therefore,  my 
most  beloved  sister,  give  me  leave  to  say  to  you,  that 
he  shall  not  part  from  me,  but  I  shall  keep  him  still  in 
my  care,  and  make  you  always  my  judge  of  all  omissions. 
— Your  faithful  friend  and  servant 

"J.  DONNE." 

[January  1631.] 

He  came  back  to  London  to  find  that  Dr.  Thomas 
Moundeford,  the  President  of  the  College  of  Physicians,  a 
man  of  eighty-four,  had  died,  and  that  Donne's  own  medical 


LAST    YEARS  275 

man,  Simeon  Foxe,  had,  on  the  22nd  of  December,  been 
elected  President  in  his  place.  Dr.  Foxe,  on  examining 
the  Dean  medically,  considered  that,  "  by  cordials  and 
drinking  milk  twenty  days  together,  there  was  a  probability 
of  his  restoration."  Donne,  however,  seems  to  have  had 
an  extreme  distaste  for  milk,  and  "  he  passionately  denied 
to  drink  it."  Nevertheless,  says  Walton  : — 

"  Dr.  Foxe,  who  loved  him  most  entirely,  wearied  him 
with  solicitations,  till  he  yielded  to  take  it  for  ten  days ;  at 
the  end  of  which  time  he  told  Dr.  Foxe  he  had  drunk  it 
more  to  satisfy  him  than  to  recover  his  health,  and  that  he 
would  not  drink  it  ten  days  longer,  upon  the  best  moral 
assurance  of  having  twenty  years  added  to  his  life ;  for  he 
loved  it  not,  and  was  so  far  from  fearing  death,  which  to 
others  is  the  King  of  Terrors,  that  he  longed  for  the  day 
of  his  dissolution." 

The  moment  has  now  come,  indeed,  for  the  modern 
biographer  to  withdraw,  and  to  let  the  reader  listen  to  the 
incomparable  recital  of  the  sole  authority  for  these  last 
days,  Izaak  Walton.  He  says : — 

"  He  was  appointed  to  preach  upon  his  old  constant 
day,  the  first  Friday  in  Lent ;  he  had  notice  of  it,  and  had 
in  his  sickness  so  prepared  for  that  employment,  that  as  he 
had  long  thirsted  for  it,  so  he  resolved  his  weakness  should 
not  hinder  his  journey  ;  he  came  therefore  to  London  some 
few  days  before  his  appointed  day  of  preaching.  At  his 
coming  thither,  many  of  his  friends — who  with  sorrow  saw 
his  sickness  had  left  him  but  so  much  flesh  as  did  only 
cover  his  bones — doubted  his  strength  to  perform  that 
task,  and  did  therefore  dissuade  him  from  undertaking 
it,  assuring  him,  however,  it  was  like  to  shorten  his  life ; 
but  he  passionately  denied  their  requests,  saying  he  would 
not  doubt  that  that  God,  who  in  so  many  weaknesses  had 
assisted  him  with  an  unexpected  strength,  would  now  with 
draw  it  in  his  last  employment ;  professing  an  holy  ambition 
to  perform  that  sacred  work.  And  when,  to  the  amaze 
ment  of  some  beholders,  he  appeared  in  the  pulpit,  many  of 
them  thought  he  presented  himself  not  to  preach  mortifica 
tion  by  a  living  voice,  but  mortality  by  a  decayed  body  and 


276  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

a  dying  face.  And  doubtless  many  did  secretly  ask  that 
question  in  Ezekiel :  '  Do  these  bones  live  ?  or,  can  that 
soul  organise  that  tongue,  to  speak  so  long  as  the  sand  in 
that  glass  will  move  towards  its  centre,  and  measure  out  an 
hour  of  this  dying  man's  unspent  life  ?  Doubtless  it  can 
not.'  And  yet,  after  some  faint  pauses  in  his  zealous 
prayer,  his  strong  desires  enabled  his  weak  body  to  dis 
charge  his  memory  of  his  preconceived  meditations,  which 
were  of  dying ;  the  text  being,  '  To  God  the  Lord  belong 
the  issues  from  death.'  Many  that  then  saw  his  tears,  and 
heard  his  faint  and  hollow  voice,  professing  they  thought 
the  text  prophetically  chosen,  and  that  Dr.  Donne  had 
preached  his  own  funeral  sermon. 

"  Being  full  of  joy  that  God  had  enabled  him  to  perform 
this  desired  duty,  he  hastened  to  his  house  ;  out  of  which  he 
never  moved,  till,  like  St.  Stephen,  '  he  was  carried  by  devout 
men  to  his  grave.' 

"  The  next  day  after  his  sermon,  his  strength  being 
much  wasted,  and  his  spirits  so  spent  as  indisposed  him  to 
business  or  to  talk,  a  friend  that  had  often  been  a  witness 
of  his  free  and  facetious  discourse  asked  him,  *  Why  are 
you  sad  ? '  To  whom  he  replied,  with  a  countenance  so 
full  of  cheerful  gravity,  as  gave  testimony  of  an  inward 
tranquillity  of  mind,  and  of  a  soul  willing  to  take  a  farewell 
of  this  world ;  and  said — 

"  *  I  am  not  sad ;  but  most  of  the  night  past  I  have  enter 
tained  myself  with  many  thoughts  of  several  friends  that  have 
left  me  here,  and  are  gone  to  that  place  from  which  they 
shall  not  return ;  and  that  within  a  few  days  I  also  shall  go 
hence,  and  be  no  more  seen.  And  my  preparation  for  this 
change  is  become  my  nightly  meditation  upon  my  bed, 
which  my  infirmities  have  now  made  restless  to  me.  But  at 
this  present  time,  I  was  in  a  serious  contemplation  of  the 
providence  and  goodness  of  God  to  me ;  to  me,  who  am 
less  than  the  least  of  His  mercies ;  and  looking  back  upon 
my  life  past,  I  now  plainly  see  it  was  His  hand  that  pre 
vented  me  from  all  temporal  employment ;  and  that  it  was 
His  will  I  should  never  settle  nor  thrive  till  I  entered 
into  the  ministry ;  in  which  I  have  now  lived  almost  twenty 


LAST    YEARS  277 

years — I  hope  to  His  glory — and  by  which,  I  most  humbly 
thank  Him,  I  have  been  enabled  to  requite  most  of  those 
friends  which  showed  me  kindness  when  my  fortune  was 
very  low,  as  God  knows  it  was  :  and  —  as  it  hath  occa 
sioned  the  expression  of  my  gratitude — I  thank  God  most 
of  them  have  stood  in  need  of  my  requital.  I  have  lived 
to  be  useful  and  comfortable  to  my  good  father-in-law,  Sir 
George  More,  whose  patience  God  hath  been  pleased  to 
exercise  with  many  temporal  crosses ;  I  have  maintained  my 
own  mother,  whom  it  hath  pleased  God,  after  a  plentiful 
fortune  in  her  younger  days,  to  bring  to  great  decay  in  her 
very  old  age.  I  have  quieted  the  consciences  of  many,  that 
have  groaned  under  the  burthen  of  a  wounded  spirit,  whose 
prayers  I  hope  are  available  for  me.  I  cannot  plead 
innocency  of  life,  especially  of  my  youth ;  but  I  am  to  be 
judged  by  a  merciful  God,  who  is  not  willing  to  see  what  I 
have  done  amiss.  And  though  of  myself  I  have  nothing 
to  present  to  Him  but  sins  and  misery,  yet  I  know  He 
looks  not  upon  me  now  as  I  am  of  myself,  but  as  I  am  in 
my  Saviour,  and  hath  given  me,  even  at  this  present  time, 
some  testimonies  by  His  Holy  Spirit,  that  I  am  of  the 
number  of  His  Elect :  I  am  therefore  full  of  inexpressible 
joy,  and  shall  die  in  peace." 

This,  the  last  of  Donne's  sermons,  was  preached  before 
the  King  at  Whitehall  on  the  I2th  of  February  1631.     It  - 
was  published  soon  after  his  decease  as  Death's  Duel.     It 
was  called  by  the  King's  household   "  The  Doctor's  own 
funeral  sermon." 

One  of  the  curious  preparations  for  death  which  Donne 
made  about  this  time,  was  the  ordering  of  certain  seals,  cut 
in  bloodstones,  then  called  "  Heliotropes,"  of  which  Walton 
gives  the  following  account : — 

"  He  caused  to  be  drawn  a  figure  of  the  body  of  Christ, 
extended  upon  an  anchor,  like  those  which  painters  draw, 
when  they  would  present  us  with  the  picture  of  Christ 
crucified  on  the  Cross;  his  varying  no  otherwise  than  to 
affix  him,  not  to  a  cross,  but  to  an  anchor  (the  emblem  of 
hope) ;  this  he  caused  to  be  drawn  in  little,  and  then  many 
of  those  figures,  thus  drawn,  to  be  engraven  very  small  in 


278  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

Heliotropian  stones,  and  set  in  gold ;  and  of  these  he  sent 
to  many  of  his  dearest  friends,  to  be  used  as  seals,  or  rings, 
and  kept  as  memorials  of  him,  and  of  his  affection  to 
them." 

It  is  indicated  that  Sir  Henry  Wotton,  Joseph  Hall, 
Bishop  of  Norwich,  Bryan  Duppa,  Henry  King,  and  pro 
bably  Walton  himself,  were  among  the  recipients  of  these 
seals.  As  they  undoubtedly  differed  from  "  that  figure 
which  I  usually  seal  withal,"  which  was  the  Donne  sheaf  of 
snakes,  and  as  they  are  not  mentioned  in  the  very  elaborate 
provisions  of  the  will,  it  seems  certain  that  they  were  exe 
cuted  after  Donne's  return  to  town  in  January  1631.  This 
agrees  with  Walton's  suggestion  that  the  distribution  of 
them  was  a  mode  of  bidding  farewell  to  all  those  with 
whom  Donne  was  in  closest  spiritual  sympathy.  Among 
these  George  Herbert  took  a  place  second  to  none,  since 
the  solemn  act  by  which,  on  the  26th  of  April  1630,  he 
had  finally  severed  his  connection  with  the  Court  and  the 
world,  and  had  been  inducted  into  the  "  more  pleasant 
than  beautiful  parsonage "  of  Bemerton,  which  he  was  to 
make  so  illustrious  in  the  history  of  English  religion  and 
poetry. 

We  have  seen  that  the  persistent  legend,  which  Donne 
himself  encouraged,  that  his  metrical  faculty  abandoned 
him  in  youth,  was  absolutely  false.  He  was  a  poet  to 
his  latest  hour,  and  we  possess  the  fervent  lines  with 
which  he  accompanied  the  gift  of  one  of  his  seals — 

"TO  MR.  -GEORGE  HERBERT; 

SENT  HIM  WITH  ONE  OF  MY  SEALS  OF  THE  ANCHOR  AND  CHRIST. 
A  sheaf  of  snakes  used  heretofore  to  be  my  seal,  ivh'ich  is  the  crest  of  our  poor  family ." 

With  this  was  sent  a  Latin  version  of  the  same  poem, 
beginning  : — 

"  Qui  pnus  assuetus  serpentum  fasce  tabellas 

Signare,  hac  nostra  symbola  parva  domus, 
jidscitus  domui  Domini. 


LAST    YEARS  279 

Adopted  in  God's  family,  and  so 

My  old  coat  lost,  into  new  arms  I  go. 

The  cross  my  seal  in  baptism  spread  below, 

Does  by  that  form  into  an  anchor  grow. 

Crosses  grow  anchors  ;  bear  as  thou  shouldst  do 

Thy  cross,  and  that  cross  grows  an  anchor  too. 

But  He  that  makes  our  crosses  anchors  thus, 

Is  Christ,  who  there  is  crucified  for  us. 

Yet  with  this  I  may  my  first  serpents  hold 

(God  gives  new  blessings,  and  yet  leaves  the  old); 

The  serpent  may,  as  wise,  my  pattern  be ; 

My  poison,  as  he  feeds  on  dust,  that's  me. 

And,  as  he  rounds  the  earth  to  murder,  sure 

He  is  my  death  ;  but  on  the  cross  my  cure. 

Crucify  nature  then  ;  and  then  implore 

All  grace  from  Him,  crucified  there  before. 

When  all  is  cross,  and  that  cross  anchor  grown, 

This  seal's  a  catechism,  not  a  seal  alone. 

Under  that  little  seal  great  gifts  I  send, 

Both  works  and  pray'rs,  pawns,  and  fruits  of  a  friend. 

0  may  that  saint  that  rides  on  our  great  seal, 
To  you  that  bear  His  name  large  bounty  deal. 

JOHN  DONNE." 

Herbert  replied  in  Latin  and  English  verse. 

These  exercises,  perhaps,  belong  to  the  month  of 
January,  but  during  his  last  illness,  and  indeed  only 
eight  days  before  his  death,  Donne  composed  the  latest, 
and  far  from  the  least  fascinating,  of  his  poems — 

«A  HYMN  TO  GOD,  MY  GOD,  IN  MY  SICKNESS.* 
MARCH  23,  1631. 

"  Since  I  am  coming  to  that  holy  room, 

Where,  with  Thy  Choir  of  Saints,  for  evermore 

1  shall  be  made  Thy  music,  as  I  come 

I  tune  my  instrument  here  at  the  door, 
And,  what  I  must  do  then,  think  here  before. 


1  On  a  copy  of  these  stanzas  preserved  among  the  papers  of  Sir  Julius  Caesar, 
they  are  said  to  have  been  written  in  the  Dean's  "  great  sickness  in  December  1623  "  ; 
the  copyist  having  confounded  them  with  the  "  Hymn  to  God  the  Father,"  which 
belongs  to  that  period. 


280  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

Whilst  my  physicians  by  their  love  are  grown 

Cosmographers,  and  I  their  map,  who  lie 
Flat  on  this  bed,  that  by  them  may  be  shown 

That  this  is  my  south-west  discovery, 

Per  f return  febrisy  by  these  straits  to  die. 

I  joy,  that  in  these  straits  I  see  my  west ; 

For,  though  those  currents  yield  return  to  none, 
What  shall  my  west  hurt  me  ?     As  west  and  east 

In  all  flat  maps — and  I  am  one — are  one, 

So  death  doth  touch  the  resurrection. 

Is  the  Pacific  sea  my  home  ?     Or  are 
The  eastern  riches  ?     Is  Jerusalem  ? 

Anyan,  and  Magellan,  and  Gibraltar  ? 

All  straits,  and  none  but  straits,  are  ways  to  them 
Whether  where  Japhet  dwelt,  or  Cham,  or  Shem. 

We  think  that  Paradise  and  Calvary, 

Christ's  cross  and  Adam's  tree,  stood  in  one  place  ; 

Look,  Lord,  and  find  both  Adams  met  in  me  ; 
As  the  first  Adam's  sweat  surrounds  my  face, 
May  the  last  Adam's  blood  my  soul  embrace. 

So,  in  His  purple  wrapp'd,  receive  me,  Lord ; 
By  these  His  thorns,  give  me  His  other  crown ; 

And  as  to  others'  souls  I  preach'd  Thy  word, 
Be  this  my  text,  my  sermon  to  mine  own, 
'  Therefore  that  He  may  raise,  the  Lord  throws  down.'  " 

The  evidence  of  the  vigour  of  Donne's  dying  brain 
supplied  by  these  verses  is  amazing.  He  had  never,  in 
the  hey-day  of  his  youth  and  genius,  expressed  himself 
with  a  more  complete  originality  or  more  fully  in  accord 
ance  with  the  peculiarities  of  his  intellectual  temperament 
than  in  this  his  farewell  to  mortality. 

A  little  earlier  than  this,  but  during  the  latest  month  of 
Donne's  life,  that  extraordinary  incident  took  place  which 
illustrates  for  us,  in  the  highest  degree,  the  morbid  and 
fantastic  character  of  his  genius.  Simeon  Foxe,  perceiving 
that  the  end  of  his  illustrious  patient  was  approaching, 
entreated  him  not  to  leave  the  world  without  having  made 
some  preparation  for  a  monument  to  himself  in  his  Cathe 
dral.  The  Dean  easily  yielded  to  these  persuasions,  but 


THE    MONUMENT   TO    DONNE   IN    ST.    PAUL'S   CATHEDRAL 


LAST    YEARS  281 

stipulated  that  Dr.  Foxe  should  not  interfere  in  any  way 
whatever  with  the  character  or  form  of  the  memorial. 
In  fact,  as  will  presently  be  related,  it  was  executed  at  the 
commission  of  the  executors,  and  probably  paid  for  either 
out  of  Donne's  personal  estate  or  at  the  expense  of  the 
Chapter.  Of  what  followed,  Walton  has  preserved  an 
inimitable  account : — 

"A  monument  being  resolved  upon,  Dr.  Donne  sent 
for  a  carver  to  make  for  him  in  wood  the  figure  of  an  urn, 
giving  him  directions  for  the  compass  and  height  of  it ; 
and  to  bring  with  it  a  board,  of  the  just  height  of  his  body. 
These  being  got,  then  without  delay  a  choice  painter  was 
got  to  be  in  readiness  to  draw  his  picture,  which  was  taken 
as  followeth  : — Several  charcoal  fires  being  first  made  in  his 
large  study,  he  brought  with  him  into  that  place  his  wind 
ing-sheet  in  his  hand,  and  having  put  off  all  his  clothes, 
had  this  sheet  put  on  him,  and  so  tied  with  knots  at  his 
head  and  feet,  and  his  hands  so  placed  as  dead  bodies  are 
usually  fitted,  to  be  shrouded  and  put  into  their  coffin  or 
grave.  Upon  this  urn  he  thus  stood,  with  his  eyes  shut, 
and  with  so  much  of  the  sheet  turned  aside  as  might  show 
his  lean,  pale,  and  death-like  face,  which  was  purposely 
turned  towards  the  east,  from  whence  he  expected  the 
second  coming  of  his  and  our  Saviour  Jesus.  In  this 
posture  he  was  drawn  at  his  just  height;  and  when  the 
picture  was  fully  finished,  he  caused  it  to  be  set  by  his  bed 
side,  where  it  continued  and  became  his  hourly  object  till 
his  death,  and  was  then  given  to  his  dearest  friend  and 
executor,  Dr.  Henry  King,  then  chief  Residentiary  of  St. 
Paul's,  who  caused  him  to  be  thus  carved  in  one  entire  piece 
of  white  marble,  as  it  now  stands  in  that  church ;  and  by 
Dr.  Donne's  own  appointment,  these  words  were  to  be 
affixed  to  it  as  an  epitaph  : — 


282  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

"JOHANNES  DONNE, 

SAC.  THEOL.  PROFESS. 

POST  VARIA  STUDIA  QJJIBUS  AB  ANN  IS 

TENERRIMIS  FIDELITER,   NEC  INFELICITER 

INCUBUIT  J 
INSTINCTU  ET  IMPULSU  SP.   SANCTI,  MONITU 

ET  HORTATU 

REGIS  JACOBI,  ORDINES  SACROS  AMPLEXUS 

ANNO  SUI  JESU  MDCXIV.  ET  SU^E  JETA.TIS  XLII. 

DECANATU  HUJUS  ECCLESI^E  INDUTUS 

XXVII.   NOVEMBRIS,  MDCXXI. 

EXUTUS  MORTE  ULTIMO  DIE  MARTII  MDCXXXI. 

HIC  LICET  IN   OCCIDUO  CINERE  ASPICIT  EUM 

CUJUS  NOMEN  EST  ORIENS."   l 

It  has  been  observed  that  the  reference  to  Him,  "  cujus 
nomen  est  Oriens,"  indicates  that  the  Dean  was  to  be 
buried  looking  towards  the  east.  Donne  was  fond  of  this 
expression ;  "  Oriens  nomen  ejus  "  he  had  said  in  one  of  his 
letters  to  Sir  Robert  Ker.2  Oriens  is  used  by  St.  Hilary  as 
a  name  for  Christ. 

Five  weeks  seem  to  have  elapsed  between  Donne's 
preaching  his  last  sermon,  and  his  finally  taking  to  his  bed. 
Many  of  the  preparations  of  which  Walton  tells  us  may  be 
dated  between  the  I2th  of  February  and  the  i6th  of  March. 

1  This  epitaph  was  translated  as  follows  by  that  elegant  occasional  writer,  Arch 
deacon  Francis  Wrangham  (1769-1843) : — 

"JOHN  DONNE, 
Doctor  of  Divinity, 

after  various  studies,  pursued  by  him  from  his  earliest  years 
with  assiduity  and  not  without  success, 

entered  into  Holy  Orders, 

under  the  influence  and  impulse  of  the  Divine  Spirit 

and  by  the  advice  and  exhortation  of  King  James, 

in  the  year  of  his  Saviour  1614,  and  of  his  own  age  42. 

Having  been  invested  with  the  Deanery  of  this  Church, 

November  27,  1621, 

he  was  stripped  of  it  by  Death  on  the  last  day  of  March  1631  : 
and  here,  though  set  in  dust,  he  beholdeth  Him 
Whose  name  is  the  Rising." 


2  See  p.  191  of  the  present  volume. 


LAST    YEARS  283 

On,  or  about,  the  second  of  these  dates,  the  strange  funeral 
painting,  upon  which  his  monument  was  to  be  designed, 
having  been  finished,  the  Dean  of  St.  Paul's  took  his  last 
leave  of  his  beloved  study.  Walton  says  : — 

"  Being  sensible  of  his  hourly  decay,  he  retired  himself 
to  his  bedchamber,  and  that  week  sent  at  several  times  for 
many  of  his  most  considerable  friends,  with  whom  he  took 
a  solemn  and  deliberate  farewell,  commending  to  their 
considerations  some  sentences  useful  for  the  regulation  of 
their  lives ;  and  then  dismissed  them,  as  good  Jacob  did 
his  sons,  with  a  spiritual  benediction.  The  Sunday  follow 
ing  [March  20]  he  appointed  his  servants,  that  if  there 
were  any  business  yet  undone,  that  concerned  him  or  them 
selves,  it  should  be  prepared  against  Saturday  next  [March 
26]  ;  for  after  that  day  he  would  not  mix  his  thoughts 
with  anything  that  concerned  this  world ;  nor  ever  did ; 
but,  as  Job,  so  he  *  waited  for  the  appointed  day  of  his 
dissolution.' 

"  And  now  he  was  so  happy  as  to  have  nothing  to  do 
but  to  die ;  to  do  which,  he  stood  in  need  of  no  longer 
time ;  for  he  had  studied  it  long,  and  to  so  happy  a  perfec 
tion,  that  in  a  former  sickness  he  called  God  to  witness  (in 
his  book  of  Devotions  written  then)  'he  was  that  minute 
ready  to  deliver  his  soul  into  His  hands,  if  that  minute 
God  would  determine  his  dissolution/  In  that  sickness  he 
begged  of  God  the  constancy  to  be  preserved  in  that  estate 
for  ever ;  and  his  patient  expectation  to  have  his  immortal 
soul  disrobed  from  her  garment  of  mortality  makes  me 
confident  that  he  now  had  a  modest  assurance  that  his 
prayers  were  then  heard,  and  his  petition  granted.  He  lay 
fifteen  days  earnestly  expecting  his  hourly  change ;  and  in 
the  last  hour  of  his  last  day  [March  31,  1631],  as  his  body 
melted  away  and  vapoured  into  spirit,  his  soul  having,  I 
verily  believe,  some  revelation  of  the  beatifical  vision,  he 
said,  '  I  were  miserable  if  I  might  not  die ' ;  and  after  those 
words  closed  many  periods  of  his  faint  breath  by  saying  often, 
'  Thy  kingdom  come,  Thy  will  be  done.'  His  speech, 
which  had  long  been  his  ready  and  faithful  servant,  left 
him  not  till  the  last  minute  of  his  life,  and  then  forsook 


284  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

him,  not  to  serve  another  master  (for  who  speaks  like 
him  ?),  but  died  before  him ;  for  that  it  was  then  become 
useless  to  him  that  now  conversed  with  God  on  earth,  as 
angels  are  said  to  do  in  heaven,  only  by  thoughts  and  looks. 
Being  speechless,  and  seeing  heaven  by  that  illumination  by 
which  he  saw  it,  he  did,  as  St.  Stephen,  '  look  stedfastly  into 
it,  till  he  saw  the  Son  of  Man  standing  at  the  right  hand 
of  God '  His  Father ;  and  being  satisfied  with  this  blessed 
sight,  as  his  soul  ascended  and  his  last  breath  departed  from 
him,  he  closed  his  own  eyes,  and  then  disposed  his  hands 
and  body  into  such  a  posture,  as  required  not  the  least 
alteration  by  those  that  came  to  shroud  him. 

"  Thus  variable,  thus  virtuous  was  the  life ;  thus  excel 
lent,  thus  exemplary  was  the  death  of  this  memorable 
man. 

"  He  was  buried  in  that  place  of  St.  Paul's  Church 
which  he  had  appointed  for  that  use  some  years  before  his 
death,  and  by  which  he  passed  daily  to  pay  his  public  devotions 
to  Almighty  God  (who  was  then  served  twice  a  day  by  a 
public  form  of  prayer  and  praises  in  that  place)  ;  but  he  was 
not  buried  privately,  though  he  desired  it,  for,  beside  an 
unnumbered  number  of  others,  many  persons  of  nobility, 
and  of  eminency  for  learning,  who  did  love  and  honour 
him  in  his  life,  did  show  it  at  his  death,  by  a  voluntary  and 
sad  attendance  of  his  body  to  the  grave,  where  nothing  was 
so  remarkable  as  a  public  sorrow. 

"  To  which  place  of  his  burial  some  mournful  friends 
repaired ;  and,  as  Alexander  the  Great  did  to  the  grave  of 
the  famous  Achilles,  so  they  strewed  his  with  an  abundance 
of  curious  and  costly  flowers,  which  course  they  (who  were 
never  yet  known)  continued  morning  and  evening  for  many 
days,  not  ceasing  till  the  stones  that  were  taken  up  in 
that  Church,  to  give  his  body  admission  into  the  cold  earth 
(now  his  bed  of  rest)  were  again  by  the  mason's  art  so 
levelled  and  firmed  as  they  had  been  formerly,  and  his  place 
of  burial  undistinguishable  to  common  view. 

"The  next  day  after  his  burial  some  unknown  friend, 
some  one 1  of  the  many  lovers  and  admirers  of  his  virtue 

1  No  doubt,  Izaak  Walton  himself. 


LAST    YEARS  285 

and  learning,  writ  this  epitaph  with  a  coal  on  the  wall  over 

his  grave — 

*  Reader  !    I  am  to  let  thee  know 
Donne's  body  only  lies  below  ; 
For,  could  the  grave  his  soul  comprise, 
Earth  would  be  richer  than  the  skies.' 

"  Nor  was  this  all  the  honour  done  to  his  reverend 
ashes ;  for  as  there  be  some  persons  that  will  not  receive  a 
reward  for  that  for  which  God  accounts  Himself  a  debtor ; 
persons  that  dare  trust  God  with  their  charity,  and  without 
a  witness ;  so  there  was,  by  some  grateful  unknown  friend, 
that  thought  Dr.  Donne's  memory  ought  to  be  perpetuated, 
an  hundred  marks  sent  to  his  two  faithful  friends  and 
executors  (Dr.  King  and  Dr.  Montford),  towards  the  making 
of  his  monument.  It  was  not  for  many  years  known  by 
whom ;  but  after  the  death  of  Dr.  Foxe,  it  was  known  that 
it  was  he  that  sent  it ;  and  he  lived  to  see  as  lively  a  repre 
sentation  of  his  dead  friend  as  marble  can  express  ;  a  statue 
indeed  so  like  Dr.  Donne  that  (as  his  friend  Sir  Henry 
Wotton  hath  expressed  himself)  c  it  seems  to  breathe  faintly, 
and  posterity  shall  look  upon  it  as  a  kind  of  artificial 
miracle.' ' 

Of  Donne's  own  funeral  sermon  no  record  seems  to 
exist,  but  I  gather  from  an  expression  of  Sir  Lucius  Carey's 
that  it  was  preached  by  Laud  himself.  The  burial  was 
attended  by  a  most  distinguished  congregation  of  the  laity, 
and  the  poets  were  "  chief  mourners  at  his  hearse."  Carew 
volunteered  a  splendid  epitaph — 

"  Here  lies  a  King,  that  ruled  as  he  thought  fit 
The  universal  monarchy  of  wit ; 
Here  lies  two  flamens, — and  both  those  the  best, — 
Apollo's  first,  and  last  the  true  God's  priest." 

There  can  be  no  question  that  the  extremely  vivid  and 
scenic  mode  of  Donne's  preparations  for  death  fascinated 
the  age,  and  did  more  than  anything  else  to  rivet  con 
temporary  attention.  It  would,  however,  be  completely  to 
misunderstand  his  temper  if  we  were  led  to  question  the 
sincerity  of  an  attitude  which  seems  to  us  forced  and  almost 


286  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

theatrical.  What  we  really  distinguish  in  this  elaborate, 
public  decease,  so  long-drawn,  so  solemn,  so  boldly 
picturesque,  is  the  profoundly  Renaissance  attitude  of 
the  principal  actor.  It  was  a  piece  of  public  tragedy, 
performed  in  solemn  earnest,  with  an  intention  half 
chivalrous,  half  hortatory,  by  a  religious  humanist  whose 
temper  was  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  not  of  the 
realistic,  busy,  semi-democratic  seventeenth  into  which  he 
had  survived.  So  Sir  Philip  Sidney  died  at  Arnhem,  with 
musicians  performing  his  own  poem  of  La  Cuisse  Cass^e 
at  his  bedside.  So  Bernard  Palissy  died  in  the  Bastille, 
defying  Henri  III.  to  his  face  in  a  dramatic  defence  of  his 
convictions.  This  was  the  Renaissance  relation  to  human 
life,  which  was,  after  all,  only  a  stage,  on  the  boards  of 
which  a  man  of  originality  and  principle  must  nerve 
himself  to  play  le  beau  role  to  the  last  moment,  in  a  final 
bout  with  a  veritable  Death,  armed  with  scythe  and  hour 
glass,  a  skeleton  only  just  unseen,  but  accepted  as  some 
thing  more  than  a  mere  convention.  After  Donne's  day, 
the  increase  of  rationalism,  a  decay  of  the  fantastic  and 
poetic  conception  of  existence,  and  perhaps  a  certain 
invasion  of  humour  into  daily  life,  made  such  a  death  as 
his  impossible.  And,  even  in  1631,  it  was  old-fashioned 
enough  and  unintelligible  enough  to  attract  boundless 
public  attention.  It  was  the  manner  of  Donne's  death 
that  set  the  pinnacle  on  the  edifice  of  his  mysterious 
celebrity.  All  this  is  indicated,  as  in  a  symbol,  in  the 
extremely  original  statue  of  him,  representing  him  wrapped 
in  his .  winding-sheet,  which  was  put  up  in  St.  Paul's  by 
Nicholas  Stone,  at  the  initiative  of  Dr.  Foxe. 

This  monument  to  Donne  has  only  of  recent  years  been 
restored  to  what  was  in  all  probability  its  approximate 
original  position.  What  was  the  mode  of  its  fixture  in  the 
Gothic  cathedral  is  doubtful,  for  examination  will  show 
that,  while  the  urn  on  which  the  figure  stands  is  rounded, 
the  statue  itself  is  cut  flat  at  the  back.  The  sculptures 
and  the  inscribed  entablature  above,  are  in  their  original 
state ;  the  niche  is  modern.  I  do  not  know  that  there  is 
any  record  of  the  mode  in  which  this  solitary  monument 


LAST    YEARS 


287 


was  preserved  intact  in  the  Great  Fire.  Perhaps  the 
crash  of  the  great  falling  wooden  spire  buried  it  in  debris ; 
it  is  even  not  impossible  that  a  rope  may  have  been  thrown 
round  the  neck,  and  the  whole  work  have  been  softly 
tilted  forwards,  and  so  carried  out  of  the  blaze.  At  all 
events,  it  appears  to  be  the  only  relic  of  the  old  building 
preserved  in  anything  like  its  pristine  condition.  The  frag 
ments  now  in  the  Crypt — including  the  highly-finished 
and  elaborate  effigy  of  Sir  William  Cokayne  —  are  in  a 
deplorable  state.  By  what  happy  chance  Nicholas  Stone's 
surprising  work  escaped  it  is  extremely  difficult  to  con 
jecture.  One  toe  is  broken  off,  and  the  conflagration 
has  just  swept  across  the  surface  of  the  urn.  Otherwise, 
the  whole  work  is  in  a  condition  of  surprising  sharpness 
and  freshness.  Even  the  delicately  carved  features  are 
without  a  scratch. 

The  statue  is  one  which  displays  the  merits  of  Nicholas 
Stone  in  a  high  degree.  It  is  immensely  superior  to  the 
conventional  Elizabethan  or  early  Jacobean  sculpture,  which 
is  not  uncommon  in  our  churches.  The  entire  figure  is 
swathed  in  thin,  flat  drapery,  partly  obscuring  the  forms, 
but  not  destroying  them.  In  the  long  curved  folds  of  it 
we  see  the  results  of  Stone's  training  under  De  Keyser  in 
Amsterdam,  but  the  general  effect  of  the  drapery  is  classical 
and  refined.  The  substance  is  Italian  statuary  marble,  not 
of  the  finest  sort,  which  was  not  easily  to  be  obtained  in 
London  ;  but,  in  spite  of  one  or  two  awkward  veins,  it  is  not  a 
bad  specimen.  In  the  general  design  of  the  sculpture  a  certain 
swathed  smoothness  has  been  aimed  at.  Nothing  projects ; 
even  the  features,  though  sharply  and  realistically  cut,  are 
kept  as  little  salient  as  possible.  The  beauty  of  the.  work 
lies  in  the  exquisite  head,  which  the  light  in  the  cathedral 
makes  it,  unfortunately,  rather  difficult  to  examine.  The 
curious  way  in  which  the  pointed  moustache  is  drawn 
away,  so  as  to  show  the  lips,  is  noticeable ;  doubtless  this 
was  a  peculiarity  of  Donne's  appearance.  There  is  a 
greater  refinement  in  the  nose  and  eyes,  a  more  aristocratic 
and  yet  sensitive  look,  than  the  painted  and  engraved 
portraits  suggest.  The  head  of  the  statue  in  St.  Paul's  is 


288  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

at  once  the  most  artistic  and  the  most  attractive  present 
ment  of  Donne  which  has  come  down  to  us. 

Mr.  Hamo  Thornycroft,  R.A.,  points  out  to  me  what 
only  an  expert  would  observe,  that  although  the  statue 
is  erect,  as  we  know  it  was  intended  to  be,  yet  that  the 
drapery  is  studied,  as  the  direction  of  the  fall  of  the  folds 
shows,  from  a  recumbent  model.  This  is  easily  to  be 
comprehended,  however,  since  Nicholas  Stone,  although  he 
had  known  Donne  well  and  was  familiar  with  his  counten 
ance,  worked  on  this  occasion,  not  from  life,  but  from  a 
drawing  by  an  unnamed  "choice  painter."  Of  that 
drawing,  the  engraving  of  the  bust,  which  served  as  the 
frontispiece  of  Death's  Duel  in  1632,  seems  to  be  the  only 
surviving  record.  The  drawing  became  the  property  of 
Henry  King,  who  lent  it  to  Dr.  Montford,  when  the 
latter  gave  the  commission  to  Nicholas  Stone.  The 
sculptor  notes  in  his  account  book:  "In  1631  I  made  a 
tomb  for  Dr.  Donne,  and  set  it  up  in  St.  Paul's,  London,  for 
the  which  I  was  paid  by  Dr.  Montford  the  sum  of  ^120. 
I  took  £60  in  plate  in  part  of  payment."  Stone  paid  his 
carver,  Humphrey  Mayor,  £%  "  for  finishing  the  statue 
for  Dr.  Donne's  monument."  It  was  placed  "  within  the 
choir  in  the  south  aisle,  against  the  south-east  pier  of  the 
central  tower  of  St.  Paul's ;  and  it  stood  in  a  niche  of  black 
marble,  which  was  surrounded  by  a  square  marble  tablet, 
hung  with  garlands  of  fruit  and  leaves,  having  over  it  the 
arms  of  the  Deanery  impaling  Donne." 

Of  the  personal  appearance  of  Donne  we  possess  various 
other  testimony.  In  his  early  days  vivacity  and  grace  had 
marked  his  movements ;  this  developed  with  advancing  years 
into  a  noble  gravity.  Hackett  tells  us  of  his  youth  that  "  it 
was  impossible  that  a  vulgar  soul  should  dwell  in  such  pro 
mising  features  "  ;  Lord  Falkland,  looking  back  on  his  old 
age,  recalled  a  countenance  like  the  face  of  Moses  praying 
for  his  people.  His  features  awed  and  fascinated  those 
who  approached  him,  they  had  "  so  primitive  a  look,  such 
gravity."  He  was  of  moderately  tall  stature ;  "  of  a 
straight  and  equally- proportioned  body,  to  which  all  his 
words  and  actions  gave  an  inexpressible  addition  of  comeli- 


i.AST    YEARS  289 

ness."  Every  one  seems  to  have  been  struck  by  the  in 
comparable  grace  of  his  gestures  and  delivery.  Even  the 
irreverent  Jasper  Mayne  records — 

"  I  have  seen  thee  in  the  pulpit  stand, 
Where  we  might  take  notes  from  thy  look  and  hand, 
And  from  thy  speaking  action  bear  away 
More  sermon  than  some  teachers  used  to  say ; 
Such  was  thy  carriage,  and  thy  gesture  such, 
As  could  divide  the  heart,  and  conscience  touch ; 
Thy  motion  did  confute,  and  we  might  see 
An  error  vanquisht  by  delivery." 

His  elegant  intensity  was  recollected  in  the  next  generation 
as  the  type  of  good  pulpit  taste,  and  as  the  thing  most 
diametrically  opposed  to  the  cushion-thumping  of  the  Sons 
of  Zeal. 

Donne's  natural  temperament,  as  the  reader  of  the  fore 
going  pages  is  well  aware,  was  melancholy.  He  was  subject 
to  sudden  fits  of  dejection,  and  to  a  general  depression  and 
emptiness  of  spirit  when  alone,  or  after  wearying  excite 
ment.  But  he  was  equally  prompt  in  recovery,  and  after 
one  of  these  "  down "  moods,  he  would  radiate  life  and 
light  about  a  dazzled  and  bewitched  society.  "  His  company 
was  one  of  the  delights  of  mankind,"  we  are  told,  and 
he  was  of  that  rare  order  of  men  from  whom  sparks  and 
scintillations  are  struck  by  the  hammer  of  congenial  con 
versation.  Sadness  and  joy  were  balanced  in  him,  both  to 
excess,  and  so  lightly  hung  that  he  passed  in  a  few  moments 
from  one  to  the  other.  He  possessed  the  drawbacks  of 
his  temperament ;  he  did  not  endure  bores  easily ;  he  had 
a  volatile  and  whimsical  way  of  relieving  himself  from 
social  weariness  which  gave  offence  to  the  dull  and  to  the 
slow;  he  accuses  himself  of  what  we  should  never  have 
accused  him,  idleness  and  a  hasty  judgment.  But  he  was  a 
priest  in  the  temple  of  friendship.  Admirable  as  a  father 
and  a  husband,  he  was  still  more  inimitable  as  a  friend, 
and  of  Donne  it  might  be  said,  what  Edward  FitzGerald 
said  of  himself,  that  "  his  friendships  were  more  like 
loves." 

Donne  was  "by  nature  highly  passionate,  but  more  apt 

VOL.  II.  T 


290  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

to  relent  at  the  excesses  of  it."  According  to  Walton, 
"  his  melting  eye  showed  that  he  had  a  soft  heart,  full  of 
compassion  ;  of  too  brave  a  soul  to  offer  injuries,  and  too 
much  a  Christian  not  to  pardon  them  in  others."  "  His 
aspect  was  cheerful,  and  such  as  gave  a  silent  testimony  of 
a  clear  knowing  soul,  and  of  a  conscience  at  peace  with 
itself."  We  see,  in  his  letters,  indications  of  a  certain 
personal  timidity,  a  fluttering  dread  of  results  and  future 
conditions,  such  as  often  accompanies  an  abnormal  develop 
ment  of  the  imagination.  Passion,  with  him,  was  a  matter 
of  extraordinary  and  exhausting  intensity ;  we  are  always 
conscious  of  the  leap  and  throb  of  "  the  naked  thinking 
heart "  which  he  presses  beneath  his  trembling  fingers.  He 
seems  to  have  betrayed  his  emotions  in  the  colours  of  his 
face,  flushing  and  paling  with  the  violence  of  feeling,  a 
characteristic  to  which  Arthur  Wilson  may  refer  in  his 
hideous  couplet — 

"  Thy  flesh,  whose  channels  left  their  crimson  hue, 
And  whey-like  ran  at  last  in  a  pale  blue." 

And  so  we  leave  him,  surely  the  most  undulating,  the 
most  diverse  of  human  beings,  as  Montaigne  would  say. 
Splendid  and  obscure  he  was,  in  the  extreme  versatility  and 
passion,  the  profundity,  the  saintliness,  the  mystery  of  his 
inscrutable  character.  No  one,  in  the  history  of  English 
literature,  as  it  seems  to  me,  is  so  difficult  to  realise,  so 
impossible  to  measure,  in  the  vast  curves  of  his  extra 
ordinary  and  contradictory  features.  Of  his  life,  of  his 
experiences,  of  his  opinions,  we  know  more  now  than  it  has 
been  vouchsafed  to  us  to  know  of  any  other  of  the  great 
Elizabethan  and  Jacobean  galaxy  of  writers,  and  yet  how 
little  we  fathom  his  contradictions,  how  little  we  can 
account  for  his  impulses  and  his  limitations.  Even  those 
of  us  who  have  for  years  made  his  least  adventures  the 
subject  of  close  and  eager  investigation  must  admit  at  last 
that  he  eludes  us.  He  was  not  the  crystal-hearted  saint 
that  Walton  adored  and  exalted.  He  was  not  the  crafty 
and  redoubtable  courtier  whom  the  recusants  suspected. 
He  was  not  the  prophet  of  the  intricacies  of  fleshly  feeling 


LAST    YEARS  291 

whom  the  young  poets  looked  up  to  and  worshipped.  He 
was  none  of  these,  or  all  of  these,  or  more.  What  was 
he  ?  It  is  impossible  to  say,  for,  with  all  his  superficial 
expansion,  his  secret  died  with  him.  We  are  tempted  to 
declare  that  of  all  great  men  he  is  the  one  of  whom  least 
is  essentially  known.  Is  not  this,  perhaps,  the  secret  of  his 
perennial  fascination  ? 


POSTHUMOUS  ACTIVITY 


CHAPTER   XVI 
POSTHUMOUS  ACTIVITY 

THE  death  of  Donne  was  evidently  foreseen,  and  his  pulpit 
was  soon  filled.  Already,  a  week  after  the  event,  one  of 
his  intimate  friends  was  appointed  his  successor.  On  the 
8th  of  April,  the  King  wrote  to  Laud,  now  Bishop  of 
London,  and  to  the  Chapter  of  St.  Paul's,  that  "That 
Church  being  destitute  of  a  principal  minister  by  the 
decease  of  Dr.  Donne,  late  Dean  of  St.  Paul's,  the  King 
hath  appointed  for  supply  thereof  Thomas  Winniff,  D.D., 
and  Dean  of  Gloucester."  l 

The  Dean's  mother,  after  the  death  of  her  third  husband, 
Mr.  Rainsforth,  had  come  to  live  with  her  son  in  the 
Deanery  of  St.  Paul's.  She  was  still  an  unbending 
Romanist.  It  is  probable  that  when  Donne  was  obliged 
by  his  health  to  go  down  to  Abrey  Hatch  in  the  autumn 
of  1630,  he  took  with  him  his  mother  and  left  her  there 
on  his  final  return  to  London.  At  all  events,  after  his 
death,  she  appears  to  be  in  the  charge  of  her  grandchildren, 
Samuel  and  Constance  Harvey.  Donne  stated,  just  before 
his  death,  that  "  it  hath  pleased  God,  after  a  plentiful  fortune 
in  her  former  times,  to  bring  my  dearly  beloved  mother 
in  decay  in  her  very  old  age,"  and  he  was  therefore  careful 
to  leave  her  comfortably  provided  for,  the  money  to  be 
used  for  her  maintenance  and  divided  among  Donne's 
children  after  her  death.  That  event  was  now  not  long 
delayed,  for  Elizabeth  Rainsforth  was  buried  at  All  Hallows, 
Barking,  in  Tower  Street,  on  the  28th  of  January  1632. 
She  must  have  been  over  ninety  years  of  age. 

Of  Donne's  principal  patrons,  his  excellent  friend  the 
Earl  of  Carlisle  was,  during  the  Dean's  last  illness,  appointed 

1  Domestic  State  Papers. 
295 


296  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

Groom  of  the  Stole  and  First  Gentleman  of  the  Bedchamber 
to  the  King,  but  this  was  the  latest  of  his  many  promotions. 
He  was  beginning  to  fail  in  health,  and  on  the  25th  of 
April  1636  he  died.  The  Earl  of  Kent  lived  until  the 
2  ist  of  November  1639.  The  Earl  of  Dorset,  who  was  of 
a  younger  generation,  long  survived  his  friend.  He  was 
Lord  Chamberlain  through  the  dark  years  of  the  Civil  War, 
and  he  lived  until  the  iyth  of  July  1652.  Sir  Robert  Ker 
underwent  several  violent  vicissitudes.  On  the  3ist  of 
October  his  eldest  son,  William  Ker,  was  created  Earl  of 
Lothian,  and  in  1633,  to  raise  the  father  to  a  like  honour 
with  the  son,  Donne's  old  friend  and  correspondent  was 
made  Earl  of  Ancrum.  The  rebellion  reduced  him  from 
ostentatious  wealth  to  extreme  poverty.  He  remained  a 
faithful  royalist  and  fled  to  Holland,  where,  in  Amsterdam, 
he  died  in  wretched  conditions  about  Christmas  1654. 
His  dead  body  was  seized  for  debt,  some  months  after  its 
burial.  Later  than  all  these,  Elizabeth,  the  luckless  Queen 
of  Bohemia,  lived  on  until  the  I3th  of  February  1662. 

George  Herbert  was  buried  at  Bemerton  on  the  3rd  of 
March  1633,  having  imitated,  after  a  gentle  fashion  of  his 
own,  his  master's  dramatic  manner  of  dying,  singing  to  his 
lute  on  his  death-bed  "  such  hymns  and  anthems  as  the 
angels  and  he  now  sing  in  heaven."  Joseph  Hall,  Bishop 
of  Exeter,  having  been  transferred  to  Norwich,  was  ejected 
in  1 644,  and  retired  to  his  house  at  Heigham,  where  he  died 
on  the  8th  of  September  1656.  Bryan  Duppa,  who  asserted 
his  right  to  clanship  in  the  Tribe  of  Ben,  by  contributing 
a  poem  to  Jons  onus  Virbius  in  1637,  was  one  of  the  nine 
bishops  who  survived  to  see  the  Restoration.  In  1660  he 
was  promoted  from  Salisbury  to  Winchester,  and  died  in 
his  palace  at  Richmond  on  the  i6th  of  March  1662. 
Duppa's  funeral  sermon  was  preached  by  Henry  King, 
Bishop  of  Chichester,  by  whom  the  tradition  of  Donne's 
friendship  was  carried  on  till  the  3Oth  of  September  1669. 
On  the  death  of  her  troublesome  husband,  Mrs.  Cokain 
retired  to  her  property  at  Ashbourne,  and  remained  there 
until  her  death  on  the  29th  of  August  1664.  Dr.  Simeon 
Foxe  resided  in  the  House  of  the  College  of  Physicians  in 


POSTHUMOUS   ACTIVITY  297 

Amen  Corner,  until  he  died  on  the  2Oth  of  April  1642. 
He  cultivated  a  romantic  tenderness  for  St.  Paul's  Cathe 
dral,  spent  money  on  the  preservation  and  creation  of  its 
memorials,  and  left  instructions  for  his  body  to  be  buried 
there,  close  to  the  monument  of  the  famous  Dr.  Linacre. 
Izaak  Walton  long  outlived  all  other  acquaintances  of 
Donne,  dying  at  Winchester  on  the  ifth  of  December 
1683  in  his  ninety-first  year.  Among  his  bequests  was 
a  copy  of  "Dr.  Donne's  Sermons,  which  I  have  heard 
preached  and  read  with  much  content." 

Of  Donne's  children,  for  all  of  whom  he  made  careful 
and  equal  provision,  John  alone  attained  any  measure 
of  notoriety.  His  adventures  will  presently  be  recounted. 
George,  who  was  a  prisoner  of  war  when  his  father  died, 
returned  and  married,  for  the  baptism  of  a  daughter  of  his 
is  recorded  in  the  parish  register  of  Camberwell,  on  the 
22nd  of  March  1638.  The  date  of  his  death  is  unknown.1 
Nicholas,  the  poet's  third  son,  probably  died  in  infancy. 
Of  Constance,  no  more  is  known  than  has  been  already 
recorded.  Bridget,  who  had  been  born  on  the  I2th  of 
December  1609,  married,  at  Peckham,  about  1633,  Thomas 
Gardiner  of  Burstowe,  the  son  of  Sir  Thomas  Gardiner  of 
Camberwell.  She  had  a  child  born  on  the  yth  of  March 
1634.  In  1633  Margaret  Donne  married  Sir  William 
Bowles,  and  died  on  the  3rd  of  October  1679,  at  Chisle- 
hurst,  where  she  was  buried  in  the  church  porch.  Finally, 
Elizabeth,  who  was  not  fifteen  when  her  father  died,  on 
the  1 8th  of  May  1637  married  Cornelius  Laurence,  Doctor 
of  Physic  at  All  Hallows,  Barking.2  No  son  of  the  poet's 
sons  is  known  to  have  reached  maturity. 

It  has  been  seen,  by  those  who  have  followed  this  nar 
rative,  that  during  his  life  Donne  published  scarcely  any 
thing  in  verse,  and  comparatively  little  in  prose.  The 
Pseudo-Martyr  of  1610  and  the  Devotions  of  1624,  with 
five  or  six  separate  sermons,  were  the  most  important  of  his 
publications  in  life.  But  he  left  behind  him  voluminous 
and  highly  notable  works  in  MS.,  and  we  have  now  to 

1  Can  he  have  been  the  George  Donne  who  addressed  poor  copies  of  verses  to 
Ford,  Jonson,  and  Massinger  ?  2  See  Appendix  F. 


298  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

endeavour  to  trace  the  fate  of  these.  Some,  which  im 
pressed  the  mind  of  the  seventeenth  century,  would  add 
little  to  our  entertainment  to-day,  if  they  were  preserved. 
We  cannot  pretend  that  we  are  eager  to  read  "the  resultance 
of  1400  authors,  most  of  them  abridged  and  analysed  with 
his  own  hand  " ;  it  is  even  probable  that  we  have  not  lost 
much  in  the  "divers  Cases  of  Conscience  that  had  concerned 
his  friends,  with  his  observations  and  solutions  of  them." 
But  all  his  poems,  his  letters  to  his  numerous  and  dis 
tinguished  acquaintances,  his  disquisitions  and  his  sermons, 
carefully  scheduled  and  docketed,  "  all  particularly  and 
methodically  digested  by  himself," — these  we  tremble  to 
think  may,  through  the  years  1631  and  1632,  have  hung  on 
the  verge  of  extinction. 

For,  singularly  enough,  no  one  seems  to  have  been  left 
in  charge  of  these,  the  most  precious  of  all  Donne's  posses 
sions.  His  elaborate  Will,  in  none  of  its  dispositions, 
makes  the  smallest  reference  to  the  MSS.  They  came, 
doubtless,  under  the  general  charge  of  the  executors,  Dr. 
Henry  King  and  Dr.  John  Montford.  On  the  other 
hand,  we  are  told  in  a  statement  made  a  very  long  while 
afterwards  by  King,  that  Donne,  on  his  death-bed,  three 
days  before  his  decease,  presented  all  his  religious  MSS. 
— sermons,  notes,  and  "  resultances " — to  King  to  do 
what  he  liked  with,  professing  before  Dr.  Winniff,  Dr. 
Montford,  and  Izaak  Walton,  that  it  was  at  King's  "  rest 
less  importunity "  that  Donne  had  prepared  them  for  the 
press.  There  follows,  in  the  Bishop  of  Chichester's  letter 
to  Walton,  a  cryptic  utterance  :  "  How  these  were  got  out 
of  my  hands,  you,  who  were  the  messenger  for  them,  and 
how  lost  both  to  me  and  yourself,  is  not  now  seasonable  to 
complain."  It  has  been  suspected  that  these  MSS.  were 
kept  by  Dr.  King  in  a  cabinet,  and  that  John  Donne  the 
younger  stole  them.  In  the  Will  which  that  individual 
drew  up  in  1662  he  wrote : — 

"To  the  Reverend  the  Bishop  of  Chichester  I  return 
the  cabinet  that  was  my  father's,  now  in  my  dining-room, 
and  all  the  papers  which  are  of  authors  analysed  by  my 
father ;  many  of  which  he  hath  already  received  with  his 


POSTHUMOUS   ACTIVITY  299 

Common  Place  book,  which  I  desire  may  pass  to  Mr. 
Walton's  son,  as  being  most  likely  to  have  use  for  such 
a  help  when  his  age  shall  require  it." 

Of  all  this  we  may  make  what  we  can ;  but  although 
John  Donne  the  younger  died  at  the  end  of  January  1662, 
and  although  his  Will  was  published  on  the  23rd  of  Febru 
ary  of  that  year,  neither  Henry  King,  who  lived  until 
1669,  nor  Walton,  who  survived  until  1683,  makes  any 
mention  of  the  recovery  or  possession  of  Donne's  MSS. 
There  was  some  unaccountable  delay  in  the  production  of 
the  Dean's  posthumous  writings.  Nothing  was  printed  in 
1631,  and  for  1632  we  have  only  the  little  quarto  of 
Death's  Duel,  his  last  sermon,  with  the  ghastly  engraving 
of  the  author  as  he  posed  for  the  painter  in  his  winding- 
sheet.1  This  sermon  is  one  of  the  most  curious  fragments 
of  theological  literature  which  it  would  be  easy  to  refer  to, 
even  in  the  works  of  Donne.  It  takes  as  its  text  the  words 
from  the  68th  Psalm:  "And  unto  God  the  Lord  belong 
the  issues  of  death."  In  long,  stern  sentences  of  sonorous 
magnificence,  adorned  with  fantastic  similes  and  gorgeous 
words,  as  the  funeral  trappings  of  a  king  might  be  with 
gold  lace,  the  dying  poet  shrinks  from  no  physical  horror 
and  no  ghastly  terror  of  the  great  crisis  which  he  himself 
was  to  be  the  earliest  of  those  present  to  pass  through. 
"  That  which  we  call  life,"  he  says,  and  our  blood  seems  to 
turn  chilly  in  our  veins  as  we  listen,  "is  but  Hebdomada 
mortium,  a  week  of  death,  seven  days,  seven  periods  of  our 
life  spent  in  dying,  a  dying  seven  times  over,  and  there  is 
an  end.  Our  birth  dies  in  infancy,  and  our  infancy  dies  in 
youth,  and  youth  and  the  rest  die  in  age,  and  age  also  dies 
and  determines  all.  Nor  do  all  these,  youth  out  of  infancy, 
or  age  out  of  youth,  arise  so  as  a  Phoenix  out  of  the  ashes 
of  another  Phoenix  formerly  dead,  but  as  a  wasp  or  a 
serpent  out  of  a  carrion,  or  as  a  snake  out  of  dung." 

There  is  not  much  that  we  should  call  doctrine,  no 
pensive  or  consolatory  teaching,  no  appeal  to  souls  in  the 
modern  sense,  in  this  extraordinary  address.  The  effect 
aimed  at  is  that  of  horror,  of  solemn  preparation  for  the 

1  See  Gosse  :   Gossip  in  a  Library,  pp.  59,  60. 


300  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

advent  of  death,  as  by  one  who  fears,  in  the  flutter  of 
mortality,  to  lose  some  peculiarity  of  the  skeleton,  some 
jag  of  the  vast  crooked  scythe  of  the  spectre.  The  most 
ingenious  of  poets,  the  most  subtle  of  divines,  whose  life 
had  been  spent  in  examining  Man  in  the  crucible  of  his 
alchemic  fancy,  seems  anxious  to  preserve  to  the  very  last 
his  powers  of  unflinching  spiritual  observation.  The  Dean 
of  St.  Paul's,  whose  reputation  for  learned  sanctity  had 
scarcely  sufficed  to  shelter  him  from  scandal  on  the  ground 
of  his  casuistical  apology  for  suicide,  was  familiar  with  the 

JL  O  J  * 

idea  of  Death,  and  greeted  him  in  his  latest  public  utterance 
as  a  welcome  old  friend  whose  face  he  was  glad  to  look  on 
long  and  closely. 

At  the  end  of  Death's  Duel  are  printed  the  earliest  of 
the  encomiastic  copies  of  verse  which  it  presently  became  the 
fashion  to  shower  on  the  tomb  of  Donne.  These  are 
anonymous,  but  were  written  respectively  by  Dr.  Henry 
King  and  Dr.  Edward  Hyde.  We  may  confidently  suppose 
that  DeatJis  Duel  was  published  under  King's  supervision. 
Where  at  this  time  was  the  poet's  eldest  son?  Of  this, 
exact  evidence  is  wanting,  but  we  know  that  he,  about  six- 
and-twenty  years  of  age,  had  for  nearly  ten  years  past  been 
a  resident  of  Christ  Church,  Oxford,  and  was  a  master  of 
arts.  The  curious  incident  which  was  to  revolutionise  his 
life  did  not  occur  until  a  few  months  later ;  but  I  am 
inclined  to  think  that  the  theft  of  his  father's  papers  from 
the  custody  of  King  took  place  in  1632.  It  may  be  con 
jectured  that  he  found  King  dilatory,  and  even  disinclined 
to  risk  the  publication  of  Donne's  works,  and  it  is  conceiv 
able  that,  with  intentions  not  entirely  discreditable,  he 
determined  to  take  his  father's  reputation  into  his  own 
hands.  John  Donne  the  younger  was  not  a  worshipful 
person,  but  there  is  no  evidence  of  any  kind  forthcoming 
which  points  to  want  of  veneration  for  his  father's  genius. 

It  would  be  unjust,  however,  to  lay  to  the  charge  of 
John  Donne  the  publication  of  his  father's  Juvenilia.  The 
history  of  this  issue  is  entirely  mysterious.  Some  one  got 
hold  of  certain  puerile  writings  of  the  late  Dean's,  and 
contrived  to  persuade  Sir  Henry  Herbert  to  license  them, 


pens  ft&cjitirm&jit  aiw.iJii'. 
Amen 


JT     <£   / 


FRONTISPIECE   TO   DEATH'S  DUEL,    1632 


POSTHUMOUS    ACTIVITY 


301 


in  the  autumn  of  1632.  The  little  book  was  already 
printed  when  the  Bishop  of  Lincoln,  applying  to  the  King, 
obtained  an  injunction  in  Star  Chamber.  Sir  Henry 
Herbert  was  asked  to  give  his  reasons  for  "  warranting  the 
book  of  Dr.  Donne's  paradoxes."  What  happened  next  is 
not  certain,  but  early  in  1633  Henry  Seyle,  an  obscure 
publisher,  whose  shop  was  at  the  Tiger's  Head  in  St.  Paul's 
Churchyard,  issued  a  shabby  pamphlet  in  quarto,  entitled 
Juvenilia,  or  certaine  Paradoxes  and  Problems  written  by 
J.  Donne.  We  have  spoken  in  an  earlier  part  of  this  work 
of  the  truncated  appearance  of  this  little  book.  The 
"  Paradoxes  "  are  eleven,  as  against  twelve  in  the  authorised 
edition  of  1652,  and  the  "Problems"  ten  as  against 
seventeen.  When  John  Donne  the  younger  ultimately 
edited  these,  and  other  trifles  of  his  father's  youth,  he 
ignored  the  existence  of  the  two  editions  of  Juvenilia  of 
1633,  and  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  they  were  piratical. 

No  one  who  honoured  Donne,  or  had  any  regard  for  his 
memory,  would  have  opened  the  series  of  his  writings  with 
these  idle  little  essays  in  casuistry.  That  they  were  genuine 
is  not  to  be  questioned,  but  they  belong  to  his  gay  and 
flippant  youth.  We  shall  scarcely  be  in  danger  of  error  if 
we  date  their  composition  before  1600,  for  they  belong  to 
the  unregenerate  times  of  his  intellect  no  less  than  of  his 
soul.  In  the  " Paradoxes  "  he  takes  some  absurd  statement, 
.  such  as  that  old  men  are  more  fantastic  than  young  ones, 
or  that  only  cowards  dare  to  die,  and  endeavours  by 
casuistry  to  prove  it  true.  The  "Problems"  have  the  air 
of  being  more  mature  compositions  than  the  "  Paradoxes." 
In  them,  Donne  takes  a  question  of  vulgar  tradition  or  of 
proverbial  error,  and  examines  it,  faintly  in  the  manner 
exemplified  a  generation  later,  with  far  closer  science,  by 
Sir  Thomas  Browne  in  his  Pseudodoxia  Epidemica.  Thus 
Donne  discusses  "Why  is  Venus-star  multinominous,  called 
both  Hesperus  and  Vesper  ? "  and  "  Why  there  is  more 
variety  of  green  than  of  any  other  colour?"  On  this 
species  of  idle  trifling  the  learned  youth  of  the  reign  of 
Elizabeth  were  wont  to  expend  their  superabundant  in 
tellectual  spirits.  They  might,  perhaps,  have  been  worse 


302  LIFE   OF   JOHN   DONNE 

employed,  for  they  were  sharpening  the  arrows  of  their 
wit  on  these  vain  exercises,  and,  after  all,  as  La  Rochefou 
cauld  was  presently  to  remark,  "  T6tude  est  le  garde-fou  de 
la  jeunesse."  But  the  publication  of  Juvenilia  could  not 
enhance  the  reputation  of  the  dead  Dean  of  St.  Paul's. 

It  was  very  different  with  the  next  instalment  of  his 
posthumous  writings.  Few  publications  have  had  a  stronger 
influence  in  controlling  and  guiding  the  current  of  public 
taste  than  the  quarto  volume  of  Poems  by  J.  D.y  which  was 
issued  by  John  Marriot  from  his  shop  in  St.  Dunstan's 
Churchyard  in  1633,  but  entered  upon  the  Stationers' 
Registers  on  the  I3th  of  September  of  the  preceding 
year.  The  care  of  Donne's  son,  and  the  researches  of 
later  editors,  have  added  to  the  treasures  contained  in 
this  book ;  but,  speaking  broadly,  Donne  lies  here  re 
vealed  to  us  in  full  as  a  poet,  and  if  we  had  no  more 
than  is  contained  in  these  four  hundred  pages,  his  place 
in  our  literary  evolution  would  not  be  modified.  The 
quarto  of  1633  is  the  nucleus  round  which  our  criticism  of 
Donne  has  to  crystallise,  and  the  history  of  the  volume, 
therefore,  possesses  extreme  interest.  Unfortunately  it  has 
remained  no  less  extremely  obscure.  Who  produced  it  ? 
Who  supplied  the  materials?  By  whom,  if  by  any  one, 
was  it  authorised  and  corrected  for  the  press  ?  To  these 
questions  there  are  no  positive  replies  forthcoming.  It 
has  been  customary  to  take  for  granted  that  the  responsi 
bility  lay  with  the  younger  John  Donne.  The  latest  and 
best  of  Donne's  commentators  roundly  complains  of  "  the 
carelessness  with  which  [Donne's  Poems]  were  tossed  into 
the  lap  of  the  public  by  his  unworthy  son."  For  this,  I 
confess,  I  am  unable  to  discover  one  iota  of  evidence. 

As  in  the  case  of  Henry  Seyle  and  the  Juvenilia,  so  in 
the  case  of  John  Marriot  and  the  Poems,  John  Donne  the 
younger  does  not  seem  to  have  been  consulted.  The  pre 
face — "  to  the  Understanders  " — is  not  signed  by  him,  but 
by  the  printer,  by  whom  seems  to  be  meant,  not  M.  F.,  the 
compositor,  but  John  Marriot,  the  bookseller  for  whom  the 
job  was  done.  The  publication  of  the  volume  was  delayed 
because  the  censor  was  doubtful  whether  he  could  pass  the 


POSTHUMOUS    ACTIVITY  303 

Satires  and  certain  of  the  Elegies,  but  at  length  these  were 
allowed  to  be  printed.  What  Marriot's  exact  authority  was 
it  is  impossible  to  say,  but  it  is  proper  to  point  out  that 
there  could  be  no  difficulty  whatever  in  procuring  a  text  of 
Donne's  poems  which  should  be  fairly  correct  so  far  as  it 
went,  and  yet  surreptitious.  It  is  not  too  much  to  suppose 
that  a  dozen  such  MSS.,  several  of  which  have  survived  to 
the  present  day,  were  circulating  among  men  of  letters 
when  Donne  died,  and  each  of  these,  it  is  probable,  had 
given  birth  to  a  cluster  of  more  or  less  full  copies.  The 
wonder  is,  not  that  the  edition  of  1633  contains  some 
errors  and  some  doubtful  numbers,  but  that  it  should  be, 
on  the  whole,  as  remarkably  authoritative  as  it  is.  It  is 
very  inexact  to  say  that,  as  posthumous  editions  of  Jacobean 
poets  go,  it  is  particularly  careless. 

That  John  Donne,  the  younger,  was  not  concerned 
seems  to  follow  from  a  document  which  has  several  times 
been  printed,  "  the  humble  petition  of  John  Donne,  Clerk," 
to  Archbishop  Laud  in  1637.  This  is,  as  I  take  it,  the 
younger  Donne's  first  attempt  to  assert  his  own  authority 
over  his  father's  writings,  and  in  order  to  facilitate  his  own 
recognition,  he  repudiates  all  that  has  hitherto  been  done. 
He  speaks  of  "many  scandalous  pamphlets  printed  and 
published  under  [Donne's]  name,  which  were  none  of  his, 
by  several  booksellers,  without  any  leave  or  authority." 
The  last  clause  was  doubtless  in  part  correct ;  the  state 
ment  that  the  "  pamphlets "  were  none  of  Donne's  was  a 
rather  barefaced  lie,  for  the  writer  goes  on  to  enumerate. 
These  so-called  scandalous  piracies  included  the  Juvenilia, 
which  the  younger  Donne  himself  printed  as  his  father's  in 
1652,  the  Ignatius  his  Conclave,  which  had  appeared  in  his 
father's  lifetime,  and  the  quarto  of  1633,  which  he  calls 
"  certain  poems  by  the  said  John  Marriot,"  but  which, 
when  at  last,  in  1650,  he  obtained  possession  of,  he  freely 
acknowledged  to  be  the  genuine  work  of  the  great  Dean  of 
St.  Paul's. 

Meanwhile,  John  Marriot's  introduction  offers  certain 
points  of  interest.  He  demands  for  these  posthumous 
verses  the  very  loftiest  homage.  "  This  is  not  ordinary," 


304  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

he  warns  his  readers,  "  the  Understanders."  He  is  prepared 
to  maintain,  in  the  country  of  Chaucer,  of  Spenser,  of 
Shakespeare,  of  Jonson,  that  this  is  the  best  book  of  verses 
"  that  ever  this  kingdom  hath  yet  seen,  and  he  that  would 
doubt  of  it  must  go  out  of  the  kingdom  to  inform  him 
self,  for  the  best  judgments  within  it  take  it  for  granted." 
Marriot  hints  that  he  has  been  forced  to  publish  the  poems 
rather  prematurely,  before  he  has  had  time  to  complete 
or  correct  the  text,  because  else  there  would  have  been 
a  foreign  piracy,  "  it  would  have  come  to  us  from  beyond 
the  seas."  He  is  evidently  aware  that  he  will  be  judged 
too  hasty,  but  he  declares  that  his  publication  "  hath  the 
best  warrant  that  can  be,  public  authority  and  private 
friends,"  a  boast  the  first  clause  of  which  seems  incom 
patible  with  the  injunction  of  the  Archbishop  of  Canter 
bury,  when  his  notice  was  drawn  to  the  existence  of  the 
book  in  1637.  But  the  help  of  "  private  friends  "  Marriot 
undoubtedly  had,  for  a  cloud  of  witnesses  testify  at  the 
close  of  the  volume. 

Of  these  "  Elegies  upon  the  Author,"  too,  those  by 
King  and  Hyde  have  been  already  mentioned  ;  there  were 
also  encomiastic  copies  of  verses  by  Thomas  Browne  (after 
wards  omitted),  by  Richard  Corbet,  Henry  Valentine,  Izaak 
Walton,  Thomas  Carew  (or  Carey),  Sir  Lucius  Carey, 
better  known  as  the  great  Lord  Falkland,  Jasper  Mayne, 
Arthur  Wilson,  Richard  Braithwayte,  and  Endymion 
Porter.  These  were  the  men  in  early  middle  life  who 
formed  the  advanced  guard  of  Donne's  poetical  reputation ; 
this  was  the  elder  generation  of  his  pupils  and  inflamed 
admirers.  The  forms  which  their  scholarship  and  admira 
tion  took  must  be  reserved  for  a  later  chapter ;  it  is  here 
necessary  only  to  point  out  that  our  analysis  of  these  names 
will  show  that  Marriot  had  the  support  of  the  men  who 
represented  the  cultus  of  Donne  with  most  dignity  in  1633. 
Ben  Jonson's  fine  lines,  "  The  heavens  rejoice  in  motion," 
should  have  come  here,  but  they  were  delayed  until  the 
edition  of  1650. 

When  we  closely  examine  the  quarto  of  1633,  we 
observe  that,  interesting  and  valuable  as  it  is,  it  leaves 


POSTHUMOUS   ACTIVITY  305 

many  signs  of  amateur  editing.  The  poems  are  thrown 
together  without  any  attempt  at  intelligent  order ;  neither 
date  nor  subject  nor  relation  is  in  the  least  regarded.  The 
text  offers  some  very  puzzling  peculiarities  ;  in  some  poems 
its  variations,  from  that  adopted  from  1635  onwards,  are 
not  only  numerous  but  bewildering,  since  it  is  difficult  to 
be  sure  which  is  genuine  Donne  and  which  is  not.  Some 
times  it  is  possible  that  both  readings  are  correct.  In  1633 
we  read  (in  "  Love's  Growth  ") — 

"  But  mixed  of  all  stuffs  paining  soul  or  sense 
And  of  the  sun  his  'working  vigour  borrow, 
Love's  not  so  pure  and  abstract  as  they  use 
To  say,  which  have  no  mistress  but  their  Muse." 

In  1635,  and  onwards,  this  appears — 

"  But  mixed  of  all  stuffs  vexing  soul  or  sense 
And  of  the  sun  his  active  vigour  borrow," 

and  in  1669 — 

"  Love's  not  so  pure  an  abstract." 

In  these  and  many  other  similar  cases,  I  am  inclined  to 
believe  that  the  later  version  is  Donne's  original  text,  and 
the  MS.  used  in  1633  is  one  revised  by  himself.  "Vexing" 
was  doubtless  changed  to  "  paining  "  to  avoid  the  assonance 
with  "  mixed,"  and  "  working  "  gives  the  poet's  meaning 
more  accurately  than  "  active."  But  against  this  theory,  it 
is  only  right  to  urge  the  fact  that  in  many  cases  the  text  of 
1633  obviously  blunders  from  sheer  lack  of  intelligence  in 
the  copyist  or  the  editor.  There  are  very  few  pieces  here, 
however,  which  it  is  now  known  that  Donne  did  not  write, 
the  main  exception  being  Basse's  famous  epitaph  on  Shakes 
peare,  which  slipped  in  in  1633,*  but  was  detected  at  once, 
and  never  appears  as  Donne's  again.  At  the  end  of  the 
poems  there  are  printed  eight  letters  addressed  to  Sir  Henry 
Goodyer,  and  here  and  elsewhere  in  the  volume  are  found 
prose  addresses  to  the  Countess  of  Bedford  and  to  Sir 

1  Page  149  of  the  Quarto. 
VOL.  II.  U 


306  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

Robert  Ker.  Finally,  there  may  be  quoted  a  "  Hexa- 
stichon  Bibliopolae  "  from  the  pen  of  John  Marriot  him 
self— 

"  I  see  in  his  last  preached  and  printed  book, 

His  Picture  in  a  sheet ;  in  Paul's  I  look 

And  see  his  statue  in  a  sheet  of  stone ; 

And  save  his  body  in  the  grave  hath  one, 

Those  sheets  present  him  dead ;  these  if  you  buy 

You  have  him  living  to  eternity." 

Meanwhile,  the  theological  writings  of  Donne  were 
neglected.  But  in  this  same  year  (1633)  there  was  pub 
lished  in  London  a  little  volume,  T*he  Ancient  History  of  the 
Septuagint  .  .  .  newly  done  into  English  by  J.  Done,  which 
has  commonly  been  included  among  the  works  of  the  Dean 
of  St.  Paul's,  and  was  probably  supposed  to  be  his  in  the 
seventeenth  century.  This  was  a  translation  of  the  work 
"  written  in  Greek  by  Aristeus  1900  years  since,  concerning 
the  first  translation  of  the  Holy  Bible  by  the  Seventy-two 
Interpreters."  Aristeus,  or  Aristeas,  was  an  envoy  of 
Ptolemy  Philadelphus  in  the  third  century  before  Christ, 
on  whom  was  fastened  a  spurious  treatise  on  the  composi 
tion  of  the  Septuagint.  The  translator's  preface,  signed 
"  John  Done,"  speaks  of  "  this  small  but  ancient  history, 
which  this  last  summer  I  made  part  of  my  exercise  to  put 
into  an  English  habit " ;  but  this  preface  is  undated. 
The  authorship  of  Donne,  however,  is  absolutely  negatived 
by  a  reference  towards  the  end  of  this  highly  pedantic  and 
unreadable  treatise  to  "this  present  year,  1633."  It  is  cer 
tain  that  The  Ancient  History  of  the  Septuagint  has  no  right 
to  appear  in  catalogues  of  the  works  of  the  Dean  of  St. 
Paul's. 

During  Donne's  lifetime,  all  his  occasional  religious 
writings  had  been  published  by  Thomas  Jones.  It  is 
strange  that,  after  his  death,  the  name  of  this  highly 
respectable  bookseller,  who  must  have  been  in  close  rela 
tion  with  the  Dean  for  many  years,  never  appears  on  one 
of  his  title-pages  again.  In  1634,  the  University  Press 
at  Cambridge  began  what  seemed  likely  to  be  a  series  of 
Donne's  sermons.  First  of  all  Two  Sermons  preached  before 


POSTHUMOUS    ACTIVITY  307 

King  Charles  appeared;  then  four  others,  each  separately. 
Perhaps  these  quarto  pamphlets  had  little  sale,  for  in  the 
same  year  (1634)  the  identical  sheets  were  bound  together 
and  issued  with  a  general  title,  Six  Sermons,  upon  several 
occasions,  preached  before  the  King,  and  elsewhere :  by  that 
late  learned  and  reverend  divine,  John  Donne.  There  does 
not  seem  to  have  been  much  encouragement  for  these 
addresses,  and  the  University  Press  went  no  further  in  its 
laudable  attempt  at  a  sort  of  periodical  publication  of 
Donne's  theological  works. 

The  sale  of  the  Poems  had  been  very  extensive,  and 
already  in  1635  another  edition  was  called  for.  This  was 
a  much  prettier  book,  a  small  octavo,  with  a  portrait 
engraved  by  William  Marshall  from  the  picture  painted  in 
1591.  Izaak  Walton  contributed  below  this  portrait  his 
enthusiastic  lines — 

"  This  was,  for  youth,  strength,  mirth,  and  wit,  that  time 
Most  count  their  golden  age — but  'twas  not  thine. 
Thine  was  thy  later  years,  so  much  refin'd 
From  youth's  dross,  mirth,  and  wit ;  as  thy  pure  mind 
Thought,  like  the  angels,  nothing  but  the  praise 
Of  thy  Creator  in  those  last,  best  days. 
Witness  this  book,  thy  emblem,  which  begins 
With  love,  but  ends  with  sighs  and  tears  for  sins." 

The  poems  were  entirely  re-assorted,  with  some  attempt 
at  propriety  of  arrangement ;  as  Walton  indicates,  the  love 
poems  were  brought  to  the  beginning,  the  divine  pieces 
massed  at  the  end.  A  number  of  spurious  poems,  however, 
were  allowed  to  creep  into  this  edition,  which  has  even  less 
authority  than  that  of  1633,  but  is  valuable  as  containing 
between  twenty  and  thirty  pieces,  some  of  them  of  consider 
able  importance,  which  were  not  known  to  the  earlier 
editor.  The  publisher  is  still  John  Marriot,  but  whom  he 
employed  to  carry  out  all  the  drastic  alterations  in  the  text, 
or  how  he  secured  the  new  pieces,  we  do  not  know ;  Izaak 
Walton,  however,  now  for  the  first  time  comes  forward, 
and  we  shall  probably  not  make  any  serious  mistake  if  we 
suppose  him  to  have  been  the  revising  editor.  It  was 
doubtless  he  who  addressed  to  John  Marriot,  in  1635,  this 


308  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

"  hexastichon  incerti,"  in  evident  rivalry  with  that  printed 
by  the  bibliopole  himself — 

"  In  thy  impression  of  Donne's  Poems  rare 
For  his  eternity  thou  hast  ta'en  care ; 
'Twas  well,  and  pious ;  and  for  ever  may 
He  live ;  yet  show  I  thee  a  better  way  ; 
Print  but  his  sermons,  and  if  those  we  buy, 
He,  we,  and  thou  shall  live  to  eternity." 

No  one,  however,  at  present  felt  moved  to  take  this 
hint,  and  to  preserve  the  theological  writings  of  Donne, 
which  were  to  remain  untouched  for  five  years  longer. 
The  behaviour  of  Henry  King  in  this  particular  is  most 
unaccountable.  It  was  he  who  had  painfully  insisted  that 
Donne  should  prepare  his  sermons  for  the  press  ;  it  was  in 
his  hands  that  they  were  solemnly  laid  by  the  dying 
preacher ;  he  it  was  who  had  been  named  executor  in  the 
lost  codicil  to  Donne's  will,  largely,  one  would  suppose,  for 
the  protection  of  those  MSS.  Yet,  through  all  these  years, 
King  is  obstinately  silent,  and  when  at  length  the  Sermons 
of  1640  appear,  we  are  unable  to  discover  that  he  has 
anything  to  do  with  the  tardy  act  of  their  publication. 

John  Donne,  the  younger,  then  for  the  first  time 
appeared  on  the  bibliographical  scene.  He  had  been  the 
hero  of  a  very  ugly  adventure,  for  the  fullest  account  of 
which  we  are  indebted  (of  all  people  !)  to  Archbishop 
Laud,  at  that  time  Chancellor  of  the  University  of  Oxford. 
The  younger  Donne,  who  was  now  a  student  of  Christ 
Church,  was  riding  home  to  college  in  the  early  days  of 
August  1634,  in  company  with  another  student  of  the 
house,  when  a  little  boy  called  Humphrey  Dunt,  eight 
years  of  age,  jumped  in  the  street  and  startled  the  horse  of 
Donne's  companion.  They  were  almost  home,  for  the 
accident  happened  opposite  the  noble  old  mansion  of 
Wolsey,  called  St.  Old's  (St.  Aldate's).  Donne,  who  had  a 
highly  irascible  temper,  struck  the  little  boy  four  or  five 
times  about  the  head  with  his  whip.  The  child  seemed 
none  the  worse  at  the  time,  but  soon  began  to  complain  of 
pains  in  the  head ;  eight  days  afterwards  he  took  to  his 


POSTHUMOUS    ACTIVITY  309 

bed,  and  a  fortnight  after  that  he  died.  The  scandal  was 
great,  and  John  Donne  was  accused  of  the  manslaughter  of 
little  Humphrey  Dunt.  He  was  arrested,  and  on  the  26th 
of  August  1634  he  was  legally  tried  before  the  Under- 
steward  of  the  University,  Ureton  Crooke;  he  was  ac 
quitted  in  consequence  of  the  vagueness  of  the  medical 
evidence,  for  two  surgeons  and  a  physician  attested  that 
they  could  not  certify  to  any  particular  cause  of  death,  as 
there  was  no  appearance  of  hurt  anywhere. 

John  Donne,  however,  although  acquitted  of  this  grave 
offence,  felt  it  desirable  to  quit  Oxford  for  a  while,  and 
proceeded  to  Padua,  where  he  took  the  degree  of  D.C.L. 
Late  in  1637,  the  scandal  having  blown  over,  he  came 
back  to  England,  and  one  of  his  first  acts  seems  to  have 
been  to  attempt  to  recover,  or  to  assume,  a  right  over  his 
father's  posthumous  works.  He  called  upon  the  Arch 
bishop  of  Canterbury,  in  the  petition  of  which  we  have 
already  spoken,  to  forbid  the  further  sale  of  the  Poems,  of 
the  Juvenilia,  and  of  the  Ignatius  his  Conclave,  which  John 
Marriot  had  discovered  and  had  reprinted  in  1635.  Laud 
responded  as  follows  : — 

"  I  require  the  parties  whom  this  petition  concerns  not 
to  meddle  any  further  with  the  printing  or  selling  of  any 
pretended  works  of  the  late  Dean  of  St.  Paul's,  save  only 
such  as  shall  be  licensed  by  public  authority  and  approved 
by  the  Petitioner,  as  they  will  answer  contrary  at  their 
peril.  And  this  I  desire  Mr.  Dean  of  the  Arches  to  take 
care.  W.  CANT. 

"Dec.  1 6,  1637." 

Without  doubt,  the  power  of  the  ecclesiastical  courts 
to  suppress  publications  was  now  greatly  reduced.  It  was 
no  longer  what  it  had  been  half  a  century  earlier,  when 
Drayton's  Harmony  of  the  Church  disappeared  before  an 
episcopal  injunction  like  a  handful  of  hay  in  a  furnace. 
No  human  being  seems  to  have  given  the  slightest  atten 
tion  to  this  order  of  Laud's,  and  not  only  did  the  1635 
edition  of  Donne's  Poems  go  on  selling,  but  in  1639  a  third 


310  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

issue  appeared,  still  in  Marriot's  hands,  and  containing 
only  few  and  unessential  alterations.  It  may  be  conjec 
tured  that  John  Donne  had  used  the  injunction,  not  to 
suppress  the  books  or  divert  them  from  free  circulation, 
but  to  assure  himself  a  share  in  the  profits. 

At  length,  in  1640,  the  reputation  of  the  celebrated 
divine,  so  long  neglected,  was  avenged  by  the  publication 
of  what  was  perhaps  the  most  eminent  collection  of  reli 
gious  addresses  printed  in  the  first  half  of  the  seventeenth 
century.  The  LXXX.  Sermons  preached  by  that  learned  and 
reverend  Divine,  John  Donne,  Dr.  in  Divinity,  late  Dean  of 
the  Cathedral  Church  of  St.  Paul's,  London,  is  a  handsome 
folio  of  more  than  eight  hundred  pages.  In  a  letter, 
printed  now  for  the  first  time,  Donne  tells  an  anonymous 
correspondent,  on  the  25th  of  November  1625,  that  he 
has  been  employing  his  constrained  leisure,  during  his 
retreat  at  Chelsea  from  the  plague,  in  the  collecting  of  his 
sermons.  He  says :  "  I  have  revised  as  many  of  my 
sermons  as  I  have  kept  any  note  of,  and  I  have  written 
out  a  great  many,  and  hope  to  do  more.  I  am  already 
come  to  the  number  of  eighty,  of  which  my  son,  who,  I 
hope,  will  take  the  same  profession,  or  some  other  in  the 
world  of  understanding,  may  hereafter  make  some  use." 
The  importance  of  this  statement  is  obvious.  It  shows  us 
that  the  LXXX.  Sermons  of  1640  had  been  prepared  for 
future  publication  by  the  author  in  1625,  and  had  received 
from  his  hand  full  and  leisurely  revision.  It  shows,  more 
over,  that  the  Dean  regarded  his  son  John  as  his  probable 
editor  in  the  future,  and  it  relieves  that  son  from  any 
charge  of  interfering  in  matters  which  did  not  concern 
him.  By  the  light  which  this  important  discovery  gives 
us,  we  may  see  that  the  Sermons  of  1640  is  of  all  the  pos 
thumous  writings  of  Donne  the  one  which  bears  upon  it 
the  strongest  seal  of  textual  authenticity,  and  we  may 
accept  with  confidence  all  the  autobiographical  touches 
which  its  headings  supply.  Would  that  they  were  fuller 
and  more  abundant ! 

The  folio  has,  besides  its  regular  title-page,  an  engraved 
title  by  Merian,  with  a  reproduction  of  the  portrait  of 


POSTHUMOUS    ACTIVITY  311 

Donne,  with  full  beard  and  moustache,  painted  in  1615  ; 
this  gives  us  the  courtier  just  newly  transformed  into  the 
divine.  The  book  is  dedicated  by  the  younger  Donne  to 
King  Charles,  acknowledging  the  especial  favour  vouch 
safed  to  the  author  by  his  Majesty,  and  "so  many  indul 
gent  testimonies  of  your  good  acceptance  of  his  services." 
The  editor  states  that  Archbishop  Laud,  "the  person  most 
entrusted  by  your  Majesty  in  the  government  of  the 
Church,  and  most  highly  dignified  in  it,"  has  encouraged 
him  to  publish  these  sermons.  As  John  Donne  the 
younger  has  been  somewhat  cruelly  treated  by  successive 
biographers,  it  seems  only  fair  to  say  that  in  this  rather 
dignified  preface  he  speaks  of  his  father's  theological  work 
with  perfect  decorum,  commending  to  the  notice  of  the 
King  its  "  devotion,"  its  "  moderated  and  discreet  zeal," 
its  "deep-seated  knowledge,"  its  "strict"  and  "chari 
table  doctrine."  John  Donne  the  younger  is  a  dog  who 
has  got  a  bad  name ;  that  he  was  not  a  man  of  delicacy  in 
his  private  life  must  be  admitted,  but  there  is  no  sense  in 
denying  to  him  the  possession  of  every  natural  virtue. 

He  was,  indeed,  at  this  time,  posing  as  a  very  virtuous 
and  contrite  being.  I  have  not  been  able  to  discover  the 
exact  date  of  his  ordination,  but  he  seems  to  have  taken 
orders  at  the  age  of  thirty-four,  in  1638.  On  the  3Oth 
of  June  of  that  year  he  was  re-incorporated  in  the  Uni 
versity  of  Oxford,  with  the  degree  of  D.C.L.  accredited 
to  him  from  Padua.  He  began  to  look  out  for  prefer 
ment  in  the  Church,  and  with  success.  The  King  pre 
sented  him  to  the  rectory  of  High  Roding  in  Essex  on 
the  loth  of  July  1638,  and  to  the  rectory  of  Fulbeck,  in 
Lincolnshire,  on  the  loth  of  June  1639.  But,  already  a 
fortnight  before  the  latter  appointment,  he  had  been 
beneficed  in  the  diocese  of  Lincoln,  having  been  presented  to 
the  rectory  of  Ufford,  in  Northamptonshire,  by  the  patron. 
He  was,  therefore,  promptly  and  well  provided  for,  and 
might,  but  for  the  Civil  War,  have  risen  to  high  preferment 
in  the  Church.  The  exceedingly  decorous  tone  of  his  dedi 
cation  of  the  volume  of  1640  to  the  King  is  evidently  an 
acceptance  of  the  role  of  a  dignified  and  rising  churchman. 


312  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 


An  indication  of  the  general  enthusiasm  roused  by  the 
publication  of  these  Sermons^  by  far  the  most  brilliant  of 
that  age,  may  be  gathered  from  a  letter  which  has  been 
preserved,  addressed  to  the  younger  Donne  by  Dr.  John 
Towers,  Bishop  of  Peterborough  : — 

"  70  JOHN  DONNE. 

"  SIR, — You  have  sent  me  a  treasure,  and  I  would  not 
spare  time  to  tell  you  so,  till  I  had  somewhat  satisfied  the 
thirst  I  had  to  drink  down  many  of  those  excellent  sermons, 
which  I  have  so  long  desired.  And  by  this  I  have  the  ad 
vantage,  that  I  can  know  what  I  thank  you  for,  though  I 
could  presumptuously  value  them  by  the  rest  of  his  which  I 
have  heard  and  read  formerly — for  I  think  I  have  all  those 
that  in  the  press  did  forerun  these — yet  by  this  time  I  can 
sensibly  acknowledge  to  you  how  great  cause  so  many  of 
us  have  to  thank  you.  How  well  may  your  parishioners 
pardon  your  silence  to  them  for  awhile,  since  by  it  you 
have  preached  to  them  and  their  children's  children,  and  to 
all  our  English  parishes  for  ever.  For,  certainly,  many  ages 
hence  when  they  shall  be  made  good,  or  confirmed  in  good 
ness,  by  studying  your  father,  they  shall  account  those 
times  primitive  in  which  he  preached,  and  you  will  then,  if 
not  now,  be  in  danger  to  lose  your  property  in  him.  He 
will  be  called  a  Father  of  the  Church. 

"Sir,  though  this  book,  with  his  former  printed 
sermons,  be  a  great  stock  to  the  Church,  from  one  man, 
yet  if  you  shall  please  to  perform  the  trust  of  a  good 
executor,  there  is,  I  presume,  a  great  remainder  of  his 
legacy,  which,  when  you  have  taken  breath,  we  must  call 
you  to  account  for  in  a  Court  of  Equity.  Though  you 
may  think  this  will  abundantly  satisfy,  yet  believe  it,  Sir, 
it  will  but  increase  our  appetite.  We  shall  give  you  time, 
Sir,  by  no  general  release,  yet  his  God  and  yours  assist  you, 
to  whose  blessing  I  commend  you,  and  am,  Sir, 
"  Your  very  friend  in  Christ  Jesus, 

"Jo.  PETERBOROUGH. 

"Peterborough,  July  20,  1640." 


POSTHUMOUS   ACTIVITY  313 

The  LXXX.  Sermons  would  have  been  quite  enough,  if 
they  stood  alone,  to  give  the  Bishop  of  Peterborough  the 
measure  of  Donne's  genius  as  a  preacher.  We  have  already 
commented  on  the  manner  of  their  composition,  but  it  is 
perhaps  desirable  to  remind  the  reader  that  what  is  here 
put  before  him  is  not  an  exact  transcript  or  even  report 
of  what  Donne  said  in  the  pulpit.  He  was  essentially  an 
extempore  preacher,  a  fact  which  must  increase  our  admira 
tion  of  the  elaboration  of  thought,  richness  of  illustration, 
and  copious  repertory  of  learning  which  dazzled  and  de 
lighted  his  hearers.  He  carried  with  him  to  the  pulpit,  it 
is  true,  very  full  and  systematic  notes,  and  we  know  not  in 
how  far  these  amounted  to  a  skeleton  of  the  sermon.  It 
seems  certain,  however,  that  he  took  no  MS.  to  church 
with  him,  and  left  none  at  home,  but  that  when  he  deter 
mined  to  write  out  a  sermon,  he  did  it  afterwards,  em 
broidering  the  rough  outline  of  his  address  with  such 
beauties  of  oratory  as  he  remembered  to  have  used  on  the 
spur  of  the  moment,  or  now  reflected  that  he  might  have 
used.  He  depended,  without  question,  greatly  upon  his 
memory.  It  will  be  recollected  that  when  Sir  Henry 
Goodyer  asked  him  for  a  copy  of  one  of  his  sermons, 
some  time  after  the  delivery  of  it,  Donne  replied,  "  I  will 
pretermit  no  time  to  write  it,  although  in  good  faith  I  have 
half  forgot  it." 

No  one  living  has  given  to  the  study  of  Dr.  Donne's 
sermons  so  close  an  attention  as  Dr.  Jessopp.  I  am  glad, 
therefore,  to  be  permitted  to  quote  his  judgment  of  the 
position  they  hold  in  Jacobean  theology.  The  opinion  of 
Dr.  Jessopp  is  the  more  valuable  because  it  is  fortified  not 
merely  by  a  peculiarly  loving  study  of  Donne  as  a  divine, 
but  by  an  acquaintance  with  the  minute  developments  of 
seventeenth-century  theology  in  England  which  is  probably 
unrivalled.  He  writes  : — 

"  As  a  theologian,  Donne  occupied  a  middle  position 
between  the  two  extreme  parties  among  the  clergy,  whose 
differences  were  becoming  daily  more  pronounced,  and  their 
attitude  more  hostile  towards  each  other.  On  the  burning 
questions  of  the  ceremonies  and  the  sacraments,  he  was 


V 


3H  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

emphatically  a  High  Churchman,  outspoken,  uncompro 
mising,  definite,  though  gentle,  sympathetic,  and  animated 
by  a  large-hearted  tolerance.  But  in  his  treatment  of  Holy 
Scriptures  no  Puritan  of  them  all  insisted  more  frequently 
upon  the  inspiration  of  every  syllable  in  the  Old  Testament 
and  the  New.  With  far  less  of  that  trifling  with  his 
hearers,  which  is  too  frequently  the  blemish  in  Bishop 
Andrewes'  sermons,  Donne's  interpretations  occasionally 
startle  us  by  their  grotesqueness ;  they  are  the  outcome  of 
his  almost  superstitious  bibliolatry,  if  this  modern  phrase 
may  be  allowed.  It  was  this,  however,  which  gained  for 
him  the  ear  of  the  trading  classes,  and  the  confidence  and 
popularity  which  never  left  him.  Both  parties  in  the 
Church  claimed  him  as  their  own.  ...  It  was  this  many- 
sidedness  that  attracted  the  thoughtful  and  devout  to 
listen  to  the  message  he  came  to  deliver.  He  spoke  like 
one  who  had  studied  and  prayed  out  the  conclusions  he 
arrived  at;  men  felt  they  could  leave  themselves  in  the 
hands  of  a  preacher,  who  was  no  partisan." 

That  the  publication  of  the  LXXX.  Sermons  had  been 
so  long  delayed  appears  to  have  arisen  from  the  fact  that  a 
biography  of  the  author  had  been  promised,  as  introductory 
matter,  by  the  celebrated  Provost  of  Eton,  Sir  Henry 
Wotton.  This  would  have  offered  a  signal  attraction  to 
the  buyers  of  the  folio,  and  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at 
that  Marriot  was  willing  to  wait  for  it.  In  December 
1639,  however,  Wotton  died,  and  when  the  publisher 
inquired  for  the  Life  of  Donne,  behold,  it  had  n6ver  been 
written.  The  exact  conditions  under  which  Donne  and 
Wotton  had  cultivated  that  life-long  friendship,  of  which 
Walton  tells  us,  are  curiously  obscure.  In  point  of  fact, 
were  it  not  for  Walton's  repeated  assurances,  we  should 
not  be  aware  that  they  had  been  more  than  the  merest 
acquaintances.  They  were  at  Oxford  together,  indeed,  but 
Wotton  was  five  years  the  senior  of  Donne,  an  interval 
which  at  that  early  age  presents  an  almost  insuperable  bar 
to  familiar  intercourse.  When  Donne  arrived  in  London, 
as  a  youth  of  nineteen,  Wotton  had  already  departed  on  his 
nine  years'  wandering  through  Europe,  in  the  process  of 


POSTHUMOUS   ACTIVITY 


315 


which  it  is  of  course  possible,  though  never  suggested  by 
Walton,  that  Donne  may  for  some  time  have  been  his 
companion.  He  returned  to  England  when  Donne  was 
just  about  to  ruin  his  own  prospects  by  a  marriage  which 
forced  him  to  retire  to  the  country ;  and  before  Donne  re 
appeared  in  London,  Wotton  had  once  more  withdrawn  to 
Italy,  where,  after  the  accession  of  James  I.,  he  was  appointed 
Ambassador  at  Venice.  He  remained  in  Italy  until  1624, 
when  he  returned  to  England,  and  was  appointed  Provost 
of  Eton,  in  which  college  he  was  residing  when  Donne 
died.  It  is  therefore  demonstrable  that  any  close  com 
panionship  between  these  two  men  was  impossible  at  every 
juncture  of  their  lives.  They  can  but  have  met  occasionally 
and  for  brief  periods.  If,  therefore,  they  cultivated  so 
warm  and  constant  a  friendship  as  Walton  reports,  it  must 
have  been  through  the  medium  of  correspondence.  But  no 
letters  of  Wotton  to  Donne  have  been  preserved,  and  very 
few  of  Donne  to  Wotton.1  We  must  therefore  take 
Walton's  word  for  the  existence  of  an  intimacy  of  which 
almost  all  external  evidence  is  lost.  What  Walton  says 
(or  said  in  1 640,  for  he  afterwards  touched  up  his  remarks) 
was  as  follows  : — 

"  Betwixt  [Sir  Henry  Wotton]  and  the  author  [of  the 
LXXX.  Sermons]  there  was  so  mutual  a  knowledge,  and 
such  a  friendship  contracted  in  their  youth,  as  nothing  but 
death  could  force  a  separation.  And,  though  their  bodies 
were  divided,  that  learned  knight's  love  followed  his  friend's 
fame  beyond  the  forgetful  grave." 

Wotton  testified  to  this  affection  by  undertaking  to 
write  Donne's  life,  and  he  applied  to  Izaak  Walton  to 
collect  materials  for  him.  "  I,"  says  Walton,  "  did  prepare 
them  in  a  readiness  to  be  augmented,  and  rectified  by  his 
powerful  pen"  (1640).  In  1658  he  added  that  he  did 
"  most  gladly  undertake  the  employment,  and  continued  it 
with  great  content,  till  I  had  made  my  collection  ready." 
We  may  easily  reconstruct  what  happened  in  this  matter. 
Sir  Henry  Wotton,  a  very  magnificent  amateur,  with  whose 

1  Mr.  Horatio  Brown  has  had  the  kindness  to  search  the  archives  at  Venice  for 
traces  of  Donne's  correspondence,  but  without  the  smallest  success. 


316  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

literary  and  piscatory  recreations  Walton  was  proud  to  be 
associated,  remarked  how  welcome  would  be  a  life  of  their 
illustrious  friend,  the  deceased  Dean  of  St.  Paul's ;  where 
upon,  Walton  urged  the  Provost  to  oblige  the  world  with 
Donne's  life  "  exactly  written."  Wotton,  who  shrank 
delicately  from  the  printing-press,  would  hesitate,  and  yet 
admit  the  attractiveness  of  such  a  proposal ;  and  would  at 
last  say  that,  if  Walton  could  obtain  for  him  the  material 
facts — their  "  bodies  "  having  been  "  divided  " — he  would 
give  the  matter  his  best  consideration.  Walton  thereupon 
set  about  gathering  data  together  and  setting  down  his 
recollections — many  of  them,  doubtless,  already  submitted 
to  paper — and  Wotton  was  satisfied  to  find  Walton  so 
zealous.  Of  course,  when  the  Provost  of  Eton  died  in 
1639,  no  traces  of  his  Life  of  Donne  were  forthcoming. 
Wotton  was  the  most  elegant  of  amateurs,  but  he  was 
essentially  an  amateur. 

It  has  been  customary  to  lament  that  Wotton  was  pre 
vented  from  carrying  out  his  design.  On  the  contrary,  we 
ought  to  rejoice  that  he  did  not,  by  the  preparation  of  a 
vapid  eulogy  in  the  customary  renaissance  manner,  inter 
fere  with  the  production  of  Izaak  Walton's  exquisite  little 
masterpiece.  There  is  nothing  in  the  Reliquiae,  nothing  in 
the  sparse  miscellaneous  writings  of  Wotton,  to  indicate 
that  at  any  part  of  his  life  he  had  possessed  the  unusual 
gifts  required  by  a  biographer;  nor  must  it  be  forgotten 
that,  when  Donne  died,  Sir  Henry,  a  wearied  and  asthma- 
tical  man,  was  already  advanced  in  years.  His  irresolution 
in  carrying  out  literary  schemes  was  constitutional ;  he  had 
proposed  to  himself  a  Life  of  Martin  Luther,  a  complete 
Manual  of  Architecture,  a  History  of  the  Reformation  in 
Germany,  and  many  other  projects.  He  was  the  prince  of 
those  busy  men  of  diplomacy  who  are  always  hankering 
after  a  life  of  lettered  repose,  and  who,  when  they  secure  it, 
know  not  how  to  employ  it. 

Accordingly,  Marriot  was  disappointed  of  his  promised 
life  of  Donne,  and  was  regretfully  preparing  to  publish  the 
LXXX.  Sermons  without  one,  when  Izaak  Walton  stepped 
in : — 


POSTHUMOUS    ACTIVITY  317 

"When  I  heard,"  he  says  in  1640,  "  that  sad  news, 
and  likewise  that  these  sermons  were  to  be  published  with 
out  the  author's  life,  which  I  thought  was  rare,  indigna 
tion  or  grief,  I  know  not  whether,  transported  me  so  far 
that  I  reviewed  my  forsaken  collections,  and  resolved  the 
world  should  see  the  best  picture  of  the  author  that  my 
artless  pencil,  guided  by  the  hand  of  truth,  could  present 
to  it." 

The  happy  result  was  that  the  folio  LXXX.  Sermons 
contains  as  its  introduction  what  is  called  "  The  Life  and 
Death  of  Dr.  Donne,"  signed  Iz  :  Wa  :  This  original  title, 
4 'the  Life  and  Death,"  is  worthy  of  notice;  it  emphasised 
a  fact  which  has  been  since  neglected  and  forgotten,  that 
Walton's  monograph  expressly  deals  with  the  divine  life 
and  exemplary  death  of  the  Dean,  and  ought  not  to  be 
considered  as  an  attempt  at  a  literal  picture  of  his 
transition  through  all  his  ages.  It  is  wilfully  and  pur 
posely  drawn  out  of  focus,  the  early  physical  part  care 
fully  attenuated,  the  life  of  holiness  that  culminated  in 
a  glorious  death  being  no  less  carefully  expanded  and 
emphasised.  We  do  no  injustice  to  Walton  in  insisting 
upon  this  fact,  for  he  would  have  been  the  first  to 
acknowledge  and  to  justify  it.  This  "  Life  and  Death " 
of  1640  has  never,  I  believe,  been  reprinted.  It  was 
presently  corrected  and  much  expanded  by  the  author, 
and  cannot,  of  course,  compare  in  authority  with  the 
accepted  version ;  still,  it  has  its  points  of  critical  and 
biographical  interest. 

Such  was  the  inception  of  one  of  the  most  exquisite 
studies  in  biographical  eulogy  which  the  English  language 
possesses,  and  thus  began  the  series  of  five  matchless  Lives, 
which  have  been,  and  will  remain,  the  delight  of  successive 
generations.  In  the  present  biography,  attention  has  had 
so  frequently  to  be  drawn  to  little  details  as  to  which 
Walton  was  inexactly  informed,  that  it  is  a  pleasure  for  the 
author  to  find  here  an  opportunity  of  expressing  without 
stint  his  devotion  to  the  beautiful  genius  of  Walton. 
Poets  and  critics  of  every  class  have  united  to  praise  these 
exquisite  monographs,  but  no  one  has  qualified  the  charm 


318  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

of  their  author  more  exactly   than    Wordsworth  (in  the 
Ecclesiastical  Sketches  of  1822) — 

"  There  are  no  colours  in  the  fairest  sky 

So  fair  as  these.     The  feather,  whence  the  pen 

Was  shaped  that  traced  the  lives  of  these  good  Men, 
Dropped  from  an  Angel's  wing.  With  moistened  eye 
We  read  of  faith  and  purest  chastity 

In  Statesman,  Priest,  and  humble  Citizen. 

O,  could  we  copy  their  mild  virtues,  then 
What  joy  to  live,  what  blessedness  to  die ! 
Methinks  their  very  Names  shine  still  and  bright 

Apart — like  glow-worms  in  the  woods  of  spring, 
Or  lonely  tapers  shooting  far  a  light 

That  guides  and  cheers — or  seen  like  stars  on  high, 
Satellites  burning  in  a  lucid  ring 

Around  meek  Walton's  heavenly  memory." 

The  Civil  War  disturbed,  although  it  did  not  quite 
put  a  stop  to,  the  circulation  of  Donne's  posthumous 
works.  Between  1639  an<^  T^49  the  Poems,  although 
they  had  by  this  time  taken  a  recognised  and  even  foremost 
place  in  the  imaginative  literature  of  the  age,  were  not 
reprinted.  Most  of  Donne's  immediate  friends  and 
disciples  were  on  the  losing  side,  although  it  is  only  fair 
to  say  that  he  seems  to  have  had  admirers  as  warm  among 
Roundheads  as  among  Royalists.  During  the  war,  the 
younger  John  Donne  passed  through  many  vicissitudes, 
and  was  deprived  of  his  benefices.  He  complained  to 
Philip  Herbert,  in  1644,  that  ever  since  the  beginning  of 
the  campaign,  "  my  study  has  been  often  searched,  all  my 
books,  and  almost  my  brains,  by  their  continual  alarms, 
sequestered  for  the  use  of  the  Committee."  He  demanded 
protection  against  two  classes  of  monster,  men  that  cannot 
write  and  men  that  cannot  read.  He  left  the  diocese  of 
Lincoln  and  came  up  to  live  in  a  London  house  in  Covent 
Garden.  It  was  at  this  time  that  he  published  his  father's 
treatise  on  self-homicide,  to  which  we  have  already  devoted 
considerable  attention.  There  is  no  date  on  the  title-page 
of  the  original  edition,  but  Rushworth  authorised  its  publi 
cation  on  the  2Oth  of  September  1644.  The  title-page  is 
curiously  circumstantial  in  explaining  that  Biathanatos  was 


POSTHUMOUS    ACTIVITY  319 

"  written  by  John  Donne,  who  afterwards  received  Orders 
from  the  Church  of  England,  and  died  Dean  of  St.  Paul's, 
London."  It  was  "published  by  authority,"  in  quarto,  at 
the  price  of  three  shillings.  This  is  perhaps  the  most 
precisely  edited  of  all  Donne's  posthumous  works,  and  does 
credit  to  his  son's  care. 

That  the  younger  Donne  should  have  published  the 
Biathanatos  at  all  has  provoked  great  indignation.  Dr. 
Jessopp,  who  has  a  violent  prejudice  against  the  younger 
Donne,  says  that  "  disregarding  his  father's  wishes,  with 
characteristic  brutality,  he  made  merchandise  of  the  MS." 
This  is  forcible,  but  somewhat  excessive.  I  see  no 
particular  "brutality"  in  the  act,  and  as  to  "his  father's 
wishes,"  these  had  been  expressed  with  an  obscurity 
almost  Jesuitical.  "  Publish  it  not,  yet  burn  it  not ; 
and  between  those  do  what  you  will  with  it,"  Donne  had 
said  in  1619  to  the  nobleman  who  was  now  the  Earl 
of  Ancrum.  "It  was  a  book  written  by  Jack  Donne," 
he  explained,  "  and  not  by  Dr.  Donne."  But  the  author 
had  been  very  careful  to  preserve  it  in  several  copies,  and 
now  that  so  much  of  the  indiscreeter  work  of  "Jack  Donne" 
had  been  given  to  the  world,  was  it  still  incumbent  to 
withhold  the  Biathanatos  ?  Perhaps  it  was,  and  yet  I  cannot 
persuade  myself  to  be  so  very  indignant  with  the  younger 
Donne.1 

There  followed  a  period  of  five  years  during  which 
literature  was  almost  silenced  by  the  Civil  War,  but,  im 
mediately  upon  the  beheading  of  Charles  I.,  the  vogue  of 
Donne  became  reanimated,  and  the  publication  of  his  writings 
recommenced.  There  was  a  reprint  of  the  Poems  in  1649, 
with  the  two  Coryat  pieces  introduced,  and  another,  of  a 
much  more  ambitious  order,  in  1650.  Young  John  Donne 
now,  for  the  first  time,  takes  his  father's  poems  under  his 
personal  protection,  and  he  dedicates  the  collection  to 

i  A  trifling  bibliographical  fact  connected  with  the  first  edition  of  the  Biathanatos 
may  be  recorded  here.  My  own  copy,  which  is  in  very  fresh  condition,  in  the 
original  shape,  has  preserved  the  paper  label  with  which  the  publisher  sent  it  out, 
bearing  the  printed  letters  BIA9ANATOS  arranged  perpendicularly.  Mr.  S.  Arthur 
Strong,  whose  familiarity  with  libraries  is  unrivalled,  tells  me  that  this  is  the 
earliest  example  he  has  met  with  of  a  printed  paper  label  on  an  English  book. 


320  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

William  Craven,  who  had  been  created  First  Lord  Craven 
of  Hamstead-Marshall  in  1627.  Lord  Craven,  a  little, 
learned,  active  man  of  extraordinary  energy,  had  been  at 
Oxford  with  the  younger  Donne,  and  was  but  a  few  months 
his  junior.  The  1650  (the  fifth)  edition  of  the  Poems  is 
notable  for  including  at  last  Ben  Jonson's  fine  address — 

"  Donne,  the  delight  of  Phoebus  and  each  Muse, 
Who,  to  thy  one,  all  other  brains  refuse; 
Whose  every  work,  of  thy  most  early  wit, 
Came  forth  example  and  remains  so  yet," 

and  for  containing  a  section  entitled  "  Divers  Copies  never 
before  in  print."  In  other  respects  it  is  identical  with  the 
1649  edition,  and  seems  to  be  struck  off  from  the  same  type. 

John  Donne  the  younger  was  by  this  time  attached  to 
Basil  Fielding,  second  Earl  of  Denbigh,  as  chaplain.  The 
following  entry  occurs  in  the  Lords'  Journal : — 

"  Wednesday^  i^th  June  1648. — Upon  reading  the 
petition  of  Doctor  John  Donne,  Chaplain  to  the  Earl  of 
Denbigh,  who  is  arrested  contrary  to  the  Privilege  of  Par 
liament,  it  is  ordered  :  That  it  is  referred  to  the  Committee 
of  Privilege  to  consider  whether  said  Doctor  Donne  be 
capable  of  Privilege  of  Parliament  or  no,  and  report  the 
same  to  this  House." 

The  first  Lord  Denbigh  had  died  of  his  wounds  in  the 
war  in  1643.  It  was  his  widow,  Susan,  the  sister  of  Buck 
ingham,  who  protected  Crashaw  when  he  was  ejected,  and 
who  was  converted  to  Rome  by  that  poet's  ministrations. 
Donne's  patron  was  her  son,  the  second  earl,  who  had 
finished  his  education  at  Padua,  where  Donne  doubtless  had 
"  spent  many  years  with  him,  and  in  that  so  famed  com 
monwealth  of  Venice,"  whither,  as  Lord  Feilding  of  Newn- 
ham-Paddox,  he  had  been  sent  by  Charles  I.  in  1634. 
Donne  says  that  "  in  a  season  so  tempestuous,  it  is  a  great 
encouragement  to  see  your  Lordship  called  to  the  helm," 
and  there  can  be  no  question  that  the  preferment  of  the 
Earl  of  Denbigh  must  have  been  a  matter  of  high  satisfac 
tion  to  his  persecuted  chaplain.  The  "  helm  "  in  question 
was  the  Speakership  of  the  House  of  Lords,  to  which  Den- 


POSTHUMOUS   ACTIVITY  321 

high  was  elected  on  the  I4th  of  December  1648.  To  this 
nobleman,  "  my  very  good  Lord  and  patron,"  Donne  dedi 
cates  the  second  instalment  of  his  father's  theological  work, 
the  Fifty  Sermons  of  1649,  a  folio  awkwardly  styled  "The 
Second  Volume,"  although  it  matches  neither  in  size  nor 
form  with  the  LXXX.  Sermons  of  1640. 

In  his  improved  circumstances  John  Donne  made  him 
self  very  active.  In  1651  he  placed  in  the  hands  of 
Marriot  a  collection  of  Essays  in  Divinity,  of  which  he 
had  found  "  an  exact  copy,  under  the  author's  own  hand," 
among  his  father's  papers.  They  formed  a  little  duo 
decimo  of  224  pages,  after  having  been  eked  out  with  some 
prayers,  which,  by  internal  evidence,  seem  to  belong  to  other 
periods  of  Donne's  life.  The  editor  stated  that  these  Essays 
"  were  the  voluntary  sacrifices  of  several  hours,  when  [the 
author]  had  many  debates  betwixt  God  and  himself,  whether 
he  were  worthy  and  competently  learned  to  enter  into  Holy 
Orders."  This  narrows  the  date  of  their  composition  to 
December  1614  and  January  1615.  On  the  whole,  the 
Essays  in  Divinity  form  the  least  exhilarating  of  Donne's 
published  works.  They  have  not  the  subtlety  of  his  con 
troversial  writings,  the  magnificent  variety  and  volume  of 
the  sermons,  nor  the  intense  self-revelation  of  the  Devotions. 
The  first  essay  has  a  certain  importance  in  reference  to  his 
attitude  in  taking  Orders,  but  after  this  the  personal  mood 
is  entirely  submerged  in  a  succession  of  exceedingly  per 
functory  and  uninteresting  exercises,  mainly  on  disputatious 
points  arising  out  of  the  study  of  portions  of  the  Old  Testa 
ment.  There  is  a  remarkable  absence  of  all  adornment  of 
style,  and,  in  fact,  I  believe  these  little  studies  to  be,  in  the 
main,  mere  notes  for  future  sermons.  We  occasionally 
come  upon  felicities  of  diction  which  reveal  the  author. 
Probably  Donne  was  the  only  man  in  England  who  would 
have  spoken  of  "  the  great  patriarchal  Catholic  Church,  of 
which  every  one  of  us  is  a  little  chapel,"  or  who,  when 
threatened  with  the  absence  of  worthy  auditors  in  a  country 
parish,  would  have  replied,  "I  shall  be  content  that  oaks 
and  beeches  be  my  scholars,  and  witnesses  of  my  solitary 
meditations." 

VOL.  II.  X 


322  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

A  formal  declaration  of  Anglican  faith,  dated,  as  we 
see,  at  the  moment  when  Donne,  at  the  advanced  age  of 
forty-two,  was  taking  Orders,  possesses  a  biographical  value, 
and  may  be  here  detached  from  the  dull  little  book  in 
which  it  lies  buried  : — 

"  In  my  poor  opinion,  the  forms  of  God's  worship, 
established  in  the  Church  of  England,  are  more  convenient 
and  advantageous  than  [those]  of  any  other  kingdom,  both 
to  provoke  and  kindle  devotion,  and  also  to  fix  it  that  it 
stray  not  into  infinite  expansions  and  subdivisions,  into  the 
former  of  which  churches  utterly  despoiled  of  ceremonies 
seem  to  me  to  have  fallen,  and  the  Roman  Church,  by  pre 
senting  innumerable  objects,  into  the  latter.  And  though, 
in  all  my  thanksgivings  to  God,  I  ever  humbly  acknowledge 
as  one  of  His  greatest  mercies  to  me  that  He  gave  me  my  pas 
ture  in  this  parky  and  my  milk  from  the  breasts  of  this  Church^ 
yet  out  of  a  fervent  and,  I  hope,  not  inordinate  affection 
even  to  such  an  unity,  I  do  zealously  wish  that  the  whole 
Catholic  Church  were  reduced  to  such  unity  and  agreement  in 
the  form  and  pro-established  in  any  one  of  these  churches, 
though  ours  were  principally  to  be  wished." 

With  these  fragmentary  Essays  are  joined  several  private 
devotions,  printed  in  a  different  type  and  evidently  belong 
ing  to  different  periods.  Of  the  prayer  which  I  conceive  to 
have  been  written  at  the  time  of  Donne's  final  conversion,  I 
have  already  given  an  account.  Another  very  beautiful 
supplication  appears  to  have  been  in  use  among  his  family 
on  private  occasions.  These  exhaust,  I  believe,  the  elements 
of  interest  in  the  Essays  in  Divinity,  an  extremely  rare  little 
book,  which  was  never  reprinted  during  more  than  two 
centuries,  and  is  now  with  difficulty  attainable  even  in  the 
solitary  re-issue  of  1855. 

At  the  close  of  the  Essays  in  Divinity  there  was  intro 
duced  an  advertisement  to  the  effect  that  "  now  in  the  press 
and  to  be  printed  "  was  a  Fasciculus  Poematum  et  Epigram- 
matum  Miscelaneorum  Authore  Johanne  Dome  (sic\  D.D" 
"  Englished  by  Jasper  Maine,  Doctor  in  Divinity."  This 
was  the  fraudulent  collection  of  spurious  pieces  in  Latin,  of 
which  repeated  mention  has  been  made.  Had  these  verses 


POSTHUMOUS   ACTIVITY  323 

been  genuine,  they  would  now  have  been  at  least  sixty  years 
old.  Here,  it  is  to  be  observed,  the  Latin  originals  seem 
to  be  promised,  but  they  were  not  vouchsafed.  What 
eventually  appeared  was  a  duodecimo  pamphlet  of  eight 
leaves  called  A  Sheaf  of  Miscellany  Epigrams,  and  announced 
to  be  "  translated  by  J.  Main,  D.D."  But  enough  has 
probably  been  said,  in  earlier  pages  of  these  volumes, 
about  this  exasperating  and  not  very  important  piece  of 
mystification,  the  exact  history  of  which  we  shall  perhaps 
never  know.  These  forged  epigrams  of  Jasper  Mayne's, 
of  which,  I  suspect,  no  Latin  originals  ever  existed,  were 
added  to  the  1652  edition  of  Donne's  minor  prose  works, 
put  together  by  his  son,  and  dedicated  to  Francis,  Lord 
Newport  of  High  Ercal.  The  preface  is  a  pretty  piece  of 
writing,  and  as  the  volume  which  contains  it  is  very  rare 
and  has  never  been  reprinted,  it  may  be  desirable  to  quote 
here  that  part  of  it  which  exposes  John  Donne's  estima 
tion  of  his  father's  Paradoxes,  Problems,  Essays^  and  Char 
acters  : —  „ 

"  I  humbly  here  present  unto  your  Honour,  things  of 
the  least  and  greatest  weight  that  ever  fell  from  my  father's 
pen,  which  yet  are  not  so  light  that  they  seem  vain,  nor  of 
such  weight  that  they  may  appear  dull  or  heavy  to  the 
reader. 

"  The  primroses  and  violets  of  the  spring  entertain  us 
with  more  delight  than  the  fruits  of  the  autumn ;  and 
through  our  gardens  we  pass  into  our  groves  and  orchards, 
preserving  and  candying  the  buds  and  blossoms  of  some 
trees,  admitting  them  amongst  our  delicacies  and  sweet 
meats,  whenas  the  riper  fruit  serves  only  to  quicken  and 
provoke  our  appetite  to  a  coarser  fare. 

u  These  are  the  essays  of  two  ages,  when  you  may  see 
the  quickness  of  the  first,  and  the  firmness  of  the  latter.  If 
they  could  present  to  your  Lordship  the  youth  and  beauty 
of  Helen,  or  the  courage  and  strength  of  Hector,  they  could 
not  have  found  a  more  proportionable  patron,  either  to 
caress  the  one  or  encounter  the  other,  you  being  both  Atossa 
and  Cassius  too." 

At  this  time  there  were  two  simultaneous  Lords  New- 


324  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

port,  an  earl  and  a  baron,  a  Blount  and  a  Newport.  Donne's 
patron  was  the  second  of  these,  a  man  famous  for  his  hand 
some  face  and  carnage.  When  the  younger  Donne  signed 
his  dedication,  from  his  house  in  Covent  Garden,  on  the  2nd 
of  March  1652,  Lord  Newport  had  succeeded  to  the  title  just 
one  year.  Very  late  in  the  century  he  was  created  Earl  of 
Bradford,  and  he  lived  on  to  the  age  of  eighty-eight,  dying 
in  1708,  perhaps  the  very  last  survivor  of  those  who  had 
been  in  any  way  personally  connected  with  Donne. 

In  1651,  John  Donne  put  together  in  a  quarto  volume 
of  3 1 8  pages  the  Letters  to  Several  Persons  of  Honour ,  written 
by  his  father.  He  prefaced  it  by  a  very  interesting  por 
trait  of  the  poet  at  the  age  of  forty,  engraved  by  the 
Parisian  artist,  Peter  Lambart,  who  was  born  in  the  year  in 
which  the  picture  was  painted,  and  could  never  have  seen 
Donne  in  the  flesh.  This  is  a  vigorous  and  suggestive 
piece  of  portraiture.  We  have  already  spoken  of  the  Letters 
of  1651,  which  have  indeed  formed  the  foundation  of  the 
present  publication.  No  such  important  work  was  ever 
thrown  upon  the  world  in  a  more  slovenly  way,  or  with  less 
regard  for  the  feelings  of  the  future  biographer  or  editor. 
There  is  no  attempt  made  to  arrange  the  letters  upon  any 
system ;  they  appear  to  have  been  flung  into  the  book,  as 
into  a  basket,  and  left  to  take  care  of  themselves.  In  the 
majority  of  instances,  the  date  is  omitted  altogether ;  when 
it  is  given  it  is  often  erroneously  copied.  Even  the  names 
of  the  persons  to  whom  the  letters  are  addressed  are 
sometimes  obviously  wrong.  It  is  true  that  Donne  had  a 
trick  of  omitting  these  data  on  whimsical  occasions ;  but 
nine  times  out  of  ten  the  blanks  in  the  edition  of  1651  are 
matters  of  pure  carelessness.  It  is  doubtless  owing  to  the 
obscurity  and  confusion  with  which  these  delightful  docu 
ments  are  massed  together  that,  even  in  this  age  of  reprints, 
no  one  has  ever  reissued  the  Letters  of  Donne,  which  is 
now  a  rather  uncommon  book. 

The  Letters  did  not  find  any  large  sale,  and  in  1654  the 
sheets  were  rebound,  with  a  fresh  title-page,  and  issued  as 
a  new  edition,  although  there  was  nothing  new  about  it. 
In  this  same  year,  J.  Flesher,  who  had  taken  over  some  of 


POSTHUMOUS    ACTIVITY 


3*5 


Marriot's  business,  produced  a  sixth  edition  of  the  Poems, 
in  which  there  is  nothing  to  note,  except  a  binder's  blunder 
by  which  the  Epistle  Dedicatory  and  Ben  Jonson's  Epi 
gram  have  dropped  out. 

The  last  of  Donne's  separate  writings  to  see  the  light 
in  the  seventeenth  century  was  the  XXVI.  Sermons  of  1661, 
issued  as  the  Third  Volume  of  Donne's  Sermons.  This 
was  dedicated  by  the  younger  Donne  to  Charles  II.,  as  a 
gift  on  his  Restoration,  a  payment  to  Caesar  of  things  due 
unto  Caesar.  The  Editor  dared  to  make  this  statement  as 
to  the  earlier  history  of  his  work  : — 

"Upon  the  death  of  my  father,  Dr.  Donne,  sometimes 
Dean  of  Paul's,  I  was  sent  to  by  his  Majesty,  of  blessed 
memory,  to  re-collect  and  publish  his  sermons ;  I  was 
encouraged  by  many  of  the  nobility,  both  spiritual  and 
temporal,  and  indeed  by  the  most  eminent  men  that  the 
kingdom  then  had,  of  all  professions,  telling  me  what  a 
public  good  I  should  confer  upon  the  Church,  and  that  by 
this  means  I  should  not  only  preach  to  all  the  parishes  of 
England,  but  to  those  whose  infirmities  did  not  suffer 
them  to  come  to  their  own  churches  at  home.  But,  above 
all,  I  was  encouraged  by  the  example  of  St.  Paul,  who, 
though  he  took  wages  of  other  Churches,  and  yet  served 
the  Corinthians,  thought  himself  excusable  in  that  he  was 
always  doing  service  to  the  Church  of  Christ." 

Our  wish  is  to  deal  as  gently  as  may  be  with  the 
character  of  John  Donne  the  younger,  but  no  doubt  he 
was  a  sad  liar.  We  may  question  whether  this  enthusiastic 
paragraph  contained  a  single  statement  which  was  not  de 
finitely  untrue.  That  he  should  make  these  representa 
tions  while  the  Bishop  of  Chichester  and  Izaak  Walton 
were  still  alive,  shows,  however,  that  the  younger  Donne 
was  amply  provided  with  moral  courage.  Of  the  XXVI. 
Sermons  a  small  edition,  only  500  copies,  was  printed,  and 
it  is  now  a  much  more -uncommon  book  than  its  prede 
cessors.  In  it,  all  but  three  of  the  sermons  are  carefully 
dated ;  they  mainly  belong  to  the  earlier  part  of  Donne's 
London  labours,  before  he  was  made  Dean. 

Little  remains  to  be  added  to  the  original  history  of 


326  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

Donne's  posthumous  works.  A  seventh  edition  of  the 
Poems,  published  in  1669,  is  of  considerable  value.  It 
contains  several  new  poems,  and  the  entire  text  has  been 
carefully  revised,  evidently  by  collation  with  an  MS.  copy 
not  known  to  previous  editors.  This  sufficed  to  satisfy  the 
admirers  of  Donne,  a  rapidly  dwindling  congregation,  until 
exactly  half  a  century  later,  in  1719,  when  was  published 
by  Tonson  the  eighth  and  last  early  edition  of  the  Poems, 
with  a  Life  and  a  Portrait.  It  may  be  suggested  as  pro 
bable  that  Tonson  was  encouraged  to  undertake  this  publi 
cation  by  Robert  Harley,  Earl  of  Oxford,  who  was  one  of 
the  last  belated  admirers  of  Donne  in  the  age  of  Anne. 
He  it  was,  supported  by  the  Duke  of  Shrewsbury,  who, 
somewhere  about  1717,  commended  the  Satires  of  Donne 
to  the  revising  hand  of  Pope  and  Parnell.  Pope's  conven 
tionalised  paraphrases  of  Donne  appeared  anonymously  in 
*733>  and  more  fully  in  the  quarto  volume  of  Pope's  Works 
in  1735. 


THE   INFLUENCE   OF   DONNE 


CHAPTER  XVII 
THE  INFLUENCE  OF  DONNE 

IN  examining  the  remarkably  wide  and  deep,  though  almost 
entirely  malign,  influence  of  Donne  upon  the  poetry  of 
this  country,  it  is  necessary  first  of  all  to  dwell  on  the 
complete  intellectual  isolation  of  his  youth  and  middle 
age.  The  Elizabethan  poets  were,  as  a  rule,  a  sociable 
and  sympathetic  body  of  men.  They  acted  and  interacted 
upon  one  another  with  vivacity ;  they  met  at  frequent 
intervals  to  encourage  themselves  in  the  art  they  exercised 
and  to  read  each  other's  verses.  The  habit  which  sprang 
up  of  contributing  strings  of  complimentary  effusions  to 
accompany  the  published  efforts  of  a  friend  was  sympto 
matic  of  the  gregarious  tendency  of  the  age.  So,  even, 
were  the  fierce  feuds  and  noisy,  rather  than  envenomed, 
encounters  which  periodically  thrilled  the  poetic  world. 
It  was  not  hatred,  so  much,  or  even  jealousy,  which  in 
spired  these  famous  battles,  as  the  inevitability  that  in 
a  society,  the  atoms  of  which  hustled  about  so  rapidly 
in  the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  the  rest,  collisions 
should  occasionally  occur.  In  the  last  years  of  Elizabeth 
and  the  first  years  of  James,  London  swarmed  with  poets 
and  poeticules,  and  each  of  these  was,  more  or  less,  in 
personal  relation  with  the  others. 

Herein  lies  the  first  peculiarity  of  Donne.  After  the 
juvenile  concession  to  the  taste  of  the  hour,  implied  in  his 
Satires  of  1593  and  onward,  he  gave  no  further  hostages  to 
the  fashion.  Nor  do  we  find  that  he  paid  any  attention  to 
the  leaders  of  literature  whom  it  was  inevitable  that  he 
should  meet  at  Court  or  in  the  taverns.  At  no  period 
even  of  his  youth  does  he  seem  to  have  been  impressed  by[ 
the  fame  of  his  English  compeers,  to  have  felt  admiration 


329 


330  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

or  even  curiosity  in  their  work.  One  is  left  with  the  im 
pression  that  Donne  would  not  have  turned  to  see  Edmund 
Spenser  go  by,  nor  have  passed  into  an  inner  room  at 
the  Mermaid  to  listen  to  the  talk  of  Shakespeare.  His 
\was  the  scornful  indifference  of  the  innovator,  the  tempera 
ment  of  the  man  born  to  inaugurate  a  new  order  of  taste. 
It  is  instructive  to  take  the  parallel  case  of  Michael  Drayton. 
Born  ten  years  earlier  than  Donne,  he  was  already  famous 
as  one  of  the  foremost  lyrists  and  sonneteers  of  the  age 
before  Donne  sailed  to  Cadiz.  The  subsequent  lives  of 
the  two  men  were  coincident,  and  they  died  almost  to 
gether  ;  they  were  buried,  as  it  were,  in  unison,  the  one  in 
Westminster  Abbey,  the  other  in  St.  Paul's.  Drayton  had 
been  peculiarly  identified  with  the  household  of  Donne's 
most  intimate  friend,  Sir  Henry  Goodyer.  In  these  parallel 
conditions  we  expect  to  find  the  younger  man  brought  into 
enforced  relations  with  the  elder.  It  is  not  so ;  in  all  his 
verses  and  letters,  in  all  his  correspondence  with  Goodyer, 
Donne  never  lets  drop  the  slightest  allusion  to  the  existence 
of  the  active  and  affable  Drayton.  He  probably  regarded 
him,  as  a  typical  writer  of  the  old  school,  with  contempt ; 
and  when  the  reputation  of  the  author  of  the  Poly-Olbion 
was  at  its  height,  he  doubtless  never  turned  a  page  of  it, 
except  to  criticise  the  engraved  maps. 

The  absolute  ignoring  of  Drayton  might  be  the  result 
of  some  personal  repulsion,  for  the  conversation  of  Drayton 
was  not,  especially  in  later  years,  to  every  one's  taste.  But 
when  we  find  Donne  at  the  court  of  the  Countess  of  Bedford 
at  Twickenham,  forced  to  move  in  the  constellation  of  her 
attendant  poets,  and  yet  never  mentioning  one  of  them,  we 
are  struck  by  his  austere  and  contemptuous  silence.  In 
Lady  Bedford's  gardens  he  must  constantly  have  walked 
beside  the  gracious  and  affable  Samuel  Daniel,  her  poet 
laureate,  if  not,  as  is  believed,  the  King's  also.  In  Daniel 
there  should  have  been  everything  to  attract  and  nothing 
to  repel  the  spirit  of  Donne.  High  thoughts,  a  spare  and 
unadorned  diction,  a  distinguished  intellectual  grace,  were 
the  central  attributes  of  the  beautiful  and  gentle  spirit  who 
bewailed  a  mortal  Delia  and  listened  to  Ulysses  and  the 


THE    INFLUENCE    OF    DONNE 


33i 


Siren.  But  Donne's  arrogant  silence  is  unbroken.  Daniel, 
with  his  smooth  measures  and  his  classic  imagery,  belonged 
to  the  old  Elizabethan  school,  with  which  Donne,  as  a 
metrical  iconoclast,  would  have  neither  part  nor  lot.  It 
seems  as  though  the  poetry  inspired  by  the  renaissance 
passion  for  beauty,  the  poetry  written  by  Spenser  and 
Shakespeare,  and  continued  by  a  hundred  tuneful  spirits 
down  to  Shirley  and  Herrick,  was  to  Donne  a  meat  offered 
to  idols.  He  carried  his  fierce  nonconformity  in  his  heart, 
and  he  would  not  sit  at  table  with  the  heathen  Spenserian 
and  Petrarchist. 

To  this  separatism  there  was  one  exception.  To  a 
solitary  writer  in  verse  of  the  age  of  Elizabeth,  Donne  is 
civil ;  one  such  writer  afforded  to  Donne  so  much  attention 
as  the  veriest  poetaster  readily  received  from  his  masters 
and  betters.  Ben  Jonson  was  not  isolated  in  the  sense  that 
Donne  was ;  but  he  too  was  out  of  sympathy  with  the  age 
into  which  he  was  born  ;  he  fretted  in  its  silken  and  tinselled 
fetters,  and  desired  to  break  away  from  the  melody  and  the 

fastoral  sweetness.  With  the  sturdy,  rugged  genius  of  Ben 
onson  there  is  no  question  but  that  Donne  enjoyed  a  certain 
imperfect  sympathy.  For  Jonson  he  once  deigned  to  write, 
in  Latin  it  is  true,  a  copy  of  complimentary  verses.  To 
Jonson  he  occasionally  refers  in  the  language  of  esteem. 
To  Jonson  he  paid  the  compliment  of  addressing  one  of 
his  angriest  diatribes  against  fortune  and  the  popular  mind. 
No  doubt  Donne  shows  little  vital  interest  in  Jonson's 
poetical  experiments,  but  yet  his  slight  references  to  the 
Masques  and  his  compliment  to  Folpone  vastly  outweigh  all 
that  can  be  brought  together  from  every  source  to  prove 
his  interest  in  the  remainder  of  his  contemporaries. 

Ben  Jonson,  on  the  other  hand,  was  cordially  drawn  to 
the  severe  and  repel lant  Donne,  who  could  be  so  charming 
in  the  world,  and  was  so  cold  and  scornful  to  all  his  brother- 
poets.  In  the  austerity  of  Donne,  Jonson  recognised  a 
quality  sympathetic  to  his  own  roughness.  He  recognised 
too,  no  doubt,  a  superior  strength  of  contumely  in  Donne. 
Jonson  could  not  prevail  upon  himself  to  be  silent ;  he 
must  rail  out  and  lash  the  age  with  his  tongue  and  pen ; 


332  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

must  even,  so  they  say,  snatch  a  pistol  from  a  bad  poet  like 
Marston,  "and  beat  him,  too."  To  Jonson,  after  one  of 
his  rattling  boutades^  the  stately,  scornful  impassibility  of 
Donne  must  have  seemed  highly  enviable.  Here  was  a 
poet  who  thought  that  everything  was  being  written  on  a 
false  principle,  with  corrupt  taste,  and  who  yet  never  strove 
nor  cried.  Accordingly,  when  Donne  was  still  obscure  in 
fame  and  fortune,  we  find  Ben  Jonson  fascinated  by  him. 
"  You  cannot  believe,"  Jonson  says,  "  how  dear  and  reverend 
your  friendship  is  to  me."  He  signs  himself  Donne's  "  ever 
true  Lover  "  ;  he  dreads  no  greater  penalty  than  "  the  loss 
of  you,  my  true  friend,  for  others  I  reckon  not."  For 
Donne's  good  opinion,  Jonson  was  eager ;  in  his  approach 
he  adopts  a  most  unwonted  humility.  He  submits  his 
poems  to  Donne — 

"  Read  all  I  send,  and,  if  I  find  but  one 
Mark'd  by  thy  hand,  and  with  the  better  stone, 
My  title's  seal'd." 

He  claims  for  his  friend  supremacy  as  critic  alike  and  as 
creator — 

"  Who  shall  doubt,  Donne,  if  I  a  poet  be, 
When  I  dare  send  my  epigrams  to  thee, 
That  so  alone  canst  judge,  so  alone  make  ? " 

We  receive  an  interesting  indication  of  the  growth  of 
Donne's  reputation  from  Drummond  of  Hawthornden's 
report  of  the  conversations  the  friends  had  about  poetry 
when  Ben  Jonson  came  to  stay  with  Drummond  in  1619. 
Jonson  speaks,  over  and  over  again,  as  though  Donne  were 
a  poet  whose  works  were  as  familiarly  known  to  his  inter 
locutor  as  those  of  any  of  his  various  published  contem 
poraries.  Yet  Donne  had  at  this  time  printed  practically 
nothing  except  An  Anatomy  of  the  World.  Obviously,  the 
MSS.  of  his  poems  were  by  this  time  in  wide  circulation, 
and  had  reached  Scotland.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  some  of 
them  are  among  the  Hawthornden  papers  to  this  day. 
When,  therefore,  Drummond  records  that  Ben  Jonson 
"  esteemeth  John  Donne  the  first  poet  in  the  world  in  some 


THE    INFLUENCE    OF    DONNE         333 

things,"  he  may  be  recalcitrant  but  he  is  not  scandalised. 
That  Drummond,  with  his  French  influences,  and  his  com 
parative  detachment  from  Spenser,  would  be  prepared  to 
regard  Donne  with  a  certain  sympathy,  we  may  safely 
presume.  Sometimes,  especially  in  his  divine  odes  and 
madrigals,  the  Scotch  poet  approaches  the  manner  of 
Donne,  but  always  with  this  great  distinction,  that  in 
Drummond  gorgeousness  of  style  masks  an  intellectual 
poverty,  while  in  Donne  the  mental  force  beneath  the 
rough  mode  of  expression  is  Titanic. 

Jonson  was  not  always  so  favourable  to  his  friend.  If 
on  one  day  he  esteemed  him  "  the  best  poet  in  the  world  in 
some  things,"  on  the  next  he  averred  that  "  Donne,  for  not 
being  understood,  would  perish,"  and  that  "  Donne,  for  not 
keeping  accent,  deserved  hanging."  Probably  one  of  the 
greatest  of  calamities  that  has  ever  befallen  English  litera 
ture  was  the  destruction  in  the  fire  of  1623  of  the  para 
phrase  or  adaptation  to  English  use  which  Jonson  had 
made  of  the  Ars  Poetica.  It  was  furnished  with  a  mul 
titude  of  notes — 

"  All  the  old  Venusine,  in  poetry, 
And  lighted  by  the  Stagyrite,  could  spy, 
Was  there  made  English." 

This  Art  of  English  Poesy  was  in  dialogue,  and  appears 
to  have  taken  the  form  of  a  discussion  between  the  Poet 
himself  and  Criticus,  in  whose  mouth  the  precepts  and 
opinions  of  Donne  were  placed.  It  would  be  of  the  highest 
interest  to  us  to  know  how  the  theories  of  Donne  struck 
his  friend,  and  to  have  them  presented  to  us  as  seen  in  the 
perspective  of  Ben  Jonson's  vigorous  mind. 

It  is  a  curious  fact  that  Jonson  alone,  of  those  who 
in  the  first  half  of  the  seventeenth  century  discussed  the 
characteristics  of  Donne's  style,  commented  on  the  peculi 
arities  of  his  metre.  This  would  seem  to  have  filled  even 
his  fondest  disciples  with  horror,  and  it  is  much  to  be 
doubted  whether  they  understood  the  principle  upon  which 
he  worked.  On  this  point,  successive  critics  have  agreed 
in  finding  Donne  an  unpardonable  sinner.  It  seems  even 


334  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

to  be  supposed  by  some  writers  that  the  curious  condition 
of  his  early  verse  is  due  to  ignorance,  and  that  Donne  did 
not  know  how  to  scan.  As  to  this,  I  can  but  repeat,  what 
I  have  said  before,1  that  what  there  was  to  know  about 
prosody  was,  we  may  be  sure,  perfectly  known  to  Donne. 
But  it  is  evident  that  he  intentionally  essayed  to  introduce 
a  revolution  into  English  versification.  One  of  the  main 
objections  he  took  to  the  verse  of  his  youth  was  that  it 
was  so  mellifluous,  sinuous,  and  soft.  A  five-syllabled 
iambic  line  of  Spenser  or  of  Daniel  trots  along  with  the 
gentlest  amble  of  inevitable  shorts  and  longs.  Donne 
thought  that  the  line  should  be  broken  up  into  successive 
quick  and  slow  beats.  The  conventional  line  vexed  his  ear  i 
with  its  insipidity,  and  it  doubtless  appeared  to  him  that  his 
great  predecessors  had  never  completely  shaken  off  a  timidity 
and  monotony  which  had  come  down  to  them  from  Surrey 
and  Gascoigne.  It  is  possible  that  he  wished  to  improve  on 
the  rhymed  verse  of  Spenser,  as  Shakespeare  had  improved 
on  the  blank  verse  of  Sackville. 

The  curious  ruggedness  of  the  Satires  and  Elegies 
becomes  comprehensible  only  when  we  adopt  some  such 
theory  I  have  suggested.  Part  of  Donne's  iconoclasm  con 
sisted  in  his  scorn  of  the  flaccid  beat  of  the  verse  of  the  l 
sonneteers.  He  desired  greatly  to  develop  the  orchestral 
possibilities  of  English  verse,  and  I  have  remarked  that  the 
irregular  lyrics  of  Mr.  Robert  Bridges  and  the  endless 
experiments  of  the  Symbolists  in  France  are  likely  to  be 
far  more  fruitful  to  us  in  trying  to  understand  Donne's 
object,  than  any  conventional  repetition  of  the  accepted 
rules  of  prosody.  The  iambic  rhymed  line  of  Donne  has 
audacities  such  as  are  permitted  to  his  blank  verse  by 
Milton ;  and  although  the  felicities  are  rare  in  the  older 
poet,  instead  of  being  almost  incessant  as  in  the  younger, 
Donne  at  his  best  is  not  less  melodious  than  Milton.  One 
of  his  most  famous  traps  for  the  ear,  is  the  opening  line  of 
"  Twickenham  Garden,"  which  the  ordinary  reader  is  ever 
tempted  to  dismiss  as  not  being  iambic  verse  at  all.  We 
have  to  recognise  in  it  the  poet's  attempt  to  identify  the 

1  The  Jacobean  Poefs,  1894,  pp.  60-63;  from  which  a  few  lines  are  here  reproduced. 


THE    INFLUENCE    OF    DONNE         335 

beat  of  his  verse  with  his  bewildered  and  dejected  state, 
reading  it  somewhat  in  this  notation  : — 

"  Bldsted  I  with  sighs  ||  and  |  surrounded  |  with  tedrs." 

It  is  almost  certain  that  this  intrepid  shifting  about  at  will 
of  the  accent  is  a  symptom  of  youth  in  the  poem,  that  we 
can  almost,  that  is  to  say,  approximately,  date  any  given 
piece  of  his  by  the  degree  in  which  this  prosodical  violence 
is  sustained.1  After  middle-life,  Donne  dropped  the  experi 
ment  more  and  more  completely,  having  found,  no  doubt, 
that  his  closest  friends  were  by  no  means  certain  to  compre 
hend  what  he  meant  by  the  rapid  changes  of  the  instrument ; 
nor,  in  reading  to  themselves,  could  produce  the  effect  which 
he  had  intended.  These  variations  of  cadence,  then,  must 
be  looked  upon  as  a  peculiarity  not  essential  to  Donne's 
style,  nor  persistent  in  it,  but  as  a  studied  eccentricity  of  his 
youth.  At  his  very  best,  as  in 

"  I  long  to  talk  with  some  old  lover's  ghost, 
Who  died  before  the  God  of  Love  was  born," 

or  as  in 

"  A  naked,  thinking  heart,  that  makes  no  show, 
Is  to  a  woman  but  a  kind  of  ghost," 

there  is  no  trace  of  this  "  not  keeping  of  accent,"  which 
puzzled  and  enraged  Ben  Jonson. 

His  conscious  isolation,  no  doubt,  made  Donne  hesitate 
to  press  his  poetry  upon  his  own  generation.  He  found 
its  flavour,  the  strong  herbal  perfume  of  it,  not  agreeable 
in  the  nostrils  of  the  latest  Elizabethans.  Neither  the 
verse,  nor  the  imagination,  nor  the  attitude  of  soul  were 
what  people  in  1600  were  ready  to  welcome,  or  even  to 
apprehend.  We  can  imagine  Donne  rather  wistfully  saying — 

"  Ho  io  appreso  quel  che,  s'io  ridico, 
A  molti  fia  savor  di  forte  agrume,"  2 

1  In  the  interesting  notes  scribbled  in   1811   by  Coleridge,  in  Lamb's  copy  of 
Donne's  Poems>  S.  T.  C.  remarks  on  the  judicious  use  Donne  makes  of  the  anapsest  in 
iambic  measures  where  he  wishes,  in  the  eagerness  of  haste,  to  confirm  or  to  exag 
gerate  emotion.    This  valuable  copy  is  now  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  W.  H.  Arnold,  of 
New  York. 

2  Paradiso,  xvii.  116,  117. 


336  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

and  this  may  have  been  a  main  reason  why  he  refrained 
from  publication.  He  kept  his  rosemary  and  his  marjoram, 
his  rough  odorous  herbs,  to  himself. 

Among  the  contemporary  impressions  of  Donne's 
mission  as  a  poet,  by  far  the  most  valuable  which  has 
come  down  to  us  is  that  contributed  by  the  poet,  Thomas 
Carew.  As  poetry  and  as  criticism  alike,  his  elegy  on 
Donne  is  of  high  merit,  and  vastly  outbalances  all  the  rest 
of  the  more  or  less  perfunctory  pieces  with  which  it  is 
presented.  We  might  not  otherwise  have  been  made 
aware  of  the  acute  attention  paid  by  Carew  to  the  reforms 
of  Donne,  nor  of  the  influence  which  the  latter  exercised 
on  a  writer  of  genuine  independent  impulse  and  high 
talent.  Carew  was  by  a  generation  younger  than  Donne, 
but  was  the  senior  of  both  Herbert  and  King.  We 
will,  therefore,  consider  his  remarks  before  we  touch 
on  their  discipleship,  because  of  the  very  definite  evidence 
Carew  gives  of  the  way  in  which  Donne  was  regarded  from, 
let  us  say,  1619  (when  Jonson  discussed  him  with  Drum- 
mond),  onward  to  the  end  of  his  life.  Carew  in  1619  was 
perhaps  in  his  twenty-fifth  year ;  he  had  returned  from 
travel  in  France  and  Italy,  determined  to  cultivate  English 
verse  with  an  enthusiasm  which  his  brilliant  talent  justified, 
and  he  was  tired,  as  young  men  are  apt  to  be,  of  hearing 
the  favourites  of  their  fathers'  generation  monotonously 
praised. 

It  is  not  to  be  questioned  that  at  this  juncture  one  of 
the  MS.  copies  of  his  poems,  which  Donne  had  caused  to 
be  multiplied,  fell  into  Carew's  hands.  Hitherto,  Ben 
Jonson,  in  his  lyrics,  had  been  his  model ;  it  would  not  be 
true,  perhaps,  to  say  that  those  of  Donne  now  or  ever 
became  Carew's  model,  but  they  excited  his  amazement 
and  his  curiosity.  For  a  moment,  the  existing  poetry  of 
this  country,  from  the  Renaissance  to  the  scholars  of 
Spenser,  seemed  to  be  blotted  out  in  a  mist  of  admiring 
wonder.  England  had  "  no  voice,  no  tune  "  but  what 
Donne  supplied.  So,  about  the  year  1865,  to  young  men 
then  just  leaving  college,  the  melodies  and  ardours  of  Mr. 
Swinburne  seemed,  for  the  time  being,  to  drown  and  out- 


THE    INFLUENCE    OF    DONNE         337 

dazzle  the  rest  of  poetical  literature.  Carew  endeavours 
to  define  the  extraordinary  effect  of  the  first  reading  of 
Donne's  verses.  He  describes,  rapturously, 

"the  fire 
That  filled  with  spirit  and  heat  the  Delphic  choir," 

at  the  approach  of  this  new  voice,  and  he  proceeds,  with 
the  calmness  gained  by  some  twelve  years  of  familiarity 
with  this  extraordinary  and  bewildering  genius,  to  distin 
guish  what  it  was  which  produced  on  the  minds  of  himself 
and  others  this  impression  of  Donne's  novelty  and  un 
challenged  supremacy.  In  the  first  place,  there  was  in^ 
Donne  the  note  of  revolt  against  the  conventional  imagery, 
diction,  and  order  of  ideas  which  had  belonged  to  the  Re 
naissance.  This  new  poetry  was  a  "fire"  which  " purged 
the  Muses'  garden  of  its  pedantic  weeds" — that  is  to  say, 
of  the  time-honoured  classical  conventions.  For  servile 
imitation  of  the  ancients,  seen  through  the  Italian  atmos 
phere,  Donne  substituted  "fresh  invention."  He  "paid 
the  debts  "  of  "  the  penurious  bankrupt  age  "  by  exchang 
ing  for  mere  loans  upon  antiquity  a  new,  rich,  realistic 
poetry  of  endless  possibilities  of  resource.  (The  reader 
must  be  most  careful  to  observe  that  these  are  not  the 
sentiments  of  comparative  criticism  to-day,  but  the  con 
victions  of  the  young  men,  of  whom  Carew  was  the  clair 
voyant  forerunner,  who  marshalled  themselves  under 
Donne's  banner  from  1620  to  1650.) 

What  these  young  poets  saw  in  Donne,  and  what 
attracted  them  so  passionately  to  him,  was  the  concen 
tration  of  his  intellectual  personality.  He  broke  through 
the  tradition ;  he  began  as  if  poetry  had  never  been  written 

before  ;  he,  as  Carew  says —  v 

*  »>-*•*• 

*  ,  "  open'd  u,s  a  mine 
Of  rich  and  pregnant  fancy." 

He  banished  the  gods  and  goddesses  from  his  verse,  npt  a 
Roundhead  fiercer  than  he  in  his  scorn  of  "  those  old  idols." 
He 'wiped  away  "the  wrong"  which  the  English  language 

VOL.   II.  Y 


338  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

in  its  neo-pagan  raptures  had  "  done  the  Greek  or  Latin 
tongue."  His  gigantic  fancy  put  such  a  strain  upon  the 
resources  of  the  English  language,  that  its  "  tough,  thick- 
ribb'd  hoops"  almost  burst  beneath  the  pressure.  The 
earlier  Elizabethan  writers  had  been  "  libertines  in  poetry"; 
Donne  recalled  them  to  law  and  order.  This  is  how  Carew 
describes  the  extraordinary  emotion  caused  by  the  first 
reading  of  Donne's  poems — 

"  the  flame 

Of  thy  brave  soul,  that  shot  such  heat  and  light 
As  burned  our  earth  and  made  our  darkness  bright, 
Committed  holy  rapes  upon  the  will, 
Did  through  the  eye  the  melting  heart  distil, 
And  the  deep  knowledge  of  dark  truths  did  teach." 

Once  again,  Donne  has 

"  opened  us  a  mine 

Of  rich  and  pregnant  fancy,  drawn  a  line 
Of  masculine  expression  .  .  . 
Thou  shalt  yield  no  precedence,  but  of  time," — 

that  is  to  say,  the  ancient  poets  have  no  advantage  of 
originality  over  thee,  save  the  purely  accidental  one  of 
having  been  born  in  an  earlier  age. 

When  we  turn  to  Donne's  poems,  but  in  particular  to 
his  lyrics,  and  endeavour  to  find  out  what  it  was  which 
excited  these  raptures  of  appreciation,  we  are  at  first  unable 
to  accept  the  seventeenth-century  point  of  vision.  Nothing 
is  more  difficult  than  to  be  certain  that  we  value  in  the  old 
poets  what  their  contemporaries  valued.  Those  pieces  of 
Shakespeare  which  are  on  every  tongue  to-day,  and  excite 
our  unbounded  admiration,  are  not  alluded  to  by  any  of  his 
contemporaries.  We  have  no  evidence  that  a  single  friend  of 
Milton  saw  what  we  all  see  in  the  central  part  of  "L* Allegro" 
or  in  "At  a  Solemn  Music."  What  contemporary  criti 
cism  found  in  Herrick  was  "  a  pretty  flowery  and  pas 
toral  gale  of  fancy,  in  a  vernal  prospect  of  some  hill,  cave, 
rock,  or  fountain."  We  ask  ourselves,  in  despair,  what 
can  the  people  who  wrote  such  words  have  seen  in  "Gather 
the  rosebuds  while  ye  may,"  or  in  "  Bid  me  to  live  "  ?  In 


THE    INFLUENCE    OF    DONNE         339 

the  same  way,  we  have  the  greatest  difficulty  in  constrain 
ing  ourselves  to  regard  Donne's  verse  from  the  point  of 
view  and  in  the  light  of  its  early,  enthusiastic  readers  of 
1620. 

Perhaps  we  cannot  do  better  than  read  over  again  an 
entirely  typical  poem,  written  towards  the  middle  of  his 
career,  and  illustrating,  without  extravagance,  the  very 
peculiarities  which  Donne's  disciples  admired.  For  this 
purpose,  "  Twickenham  Garden "  may  serve  as  well  as 
any : — 

"  Blasted  with  sighs,  and  surrounded  with  tears, 

Hither  I  come  to  seek  the  spring, 
And  at  mine  eyes,  and  at  mine  ears, 

Receive  such  balms  as  else  cure  every  thing. 

But  O  !   self-traitor,  I  do  bring 
The  spider  Love,  which  transubstantiates  all, 
And  can  convert  manna  to  gall ; 
And  that  this  place  may  thoroughly  be  thought 
True  paradise,  I  have  the  serpent  brought. 

'Twere  wholesomer  for  me  that  winter  did 

Benight  the  glory  of  this  place, 
And  that  a  grave  frost  did  forbid 

These  trees  to  laugh  and  mock  me  to  my  face ; 

But  that  I  may  not  this  disgrace 
Endure,  nor  yet  leave  loving,  Love,  let  me 
Some  senseless  piece  of  this  place  be ; 
Make  me  a  mandrake,  so  I  may  grow  here, 
Or  a  stone  fountain  weeping  out  my  year. 

Hither  with  crystal  phials,  lovers,  come, 
And  take  my  tears,  which  are  love's  wine, 

And  try  your  mistress'  tears  at  home, 

For  all  are  false,  that  taste  not  just  like  mine. 
Alas  !   hearts  do  not  in  eyes  shine, 

Nor  can  you  more  judge  woman's  thoughts  by  tears 

Than,  by  her  shadow,  what  she  wears. 

O  perverse  sex,  where  none  is  true  but  she 

Who's  therefore  true,  because  her  truth  kills  me." 

If  we  compare  this  with  an  analogous  piece  of  ordinary 
Elizabethan  or  early  Jacobean  poetry,  we  observe,  first  of 
all,  that  it  is  tightly  packed  with  thought.  As  to  the 
value  of  the  thought,  opinions  may  differ,  but  of  the 
subtlety,  the  variety,  and  the  abundance  of  mental  move- 


LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

ment  in  this  piece  there  can  be  no  question.  The  Eliza 
bethan  poet  had  held  a  mirror  up  to  nature ;  Donne  (the  I 
illustration  is  almost  his  own)  shivered  the  glass,  and  pre 
served  a  reflection  from  every  several  fragment.  This 
redundancy  of  intellectual  suggestion  was  one  of  Donne's 
principal  innovations. 

In  the  second  place,  we  notice  an  absence  of  all  con-  ,; 
ventional  or  historical  ornament.  There  is  no  mention 
here  of  "  cruel  Amaryllis,"  or  "  great  Pan,"  or  "  the  wanton 
shears  of  Destiny."  A  rigid  adherence  to  topics  and  to 
objects  familiar  to  the  non-poetical  reader  of  the  moment  is  3 
strictly  observed.  This,  as  I  suppose,  was  another  of  the 
main  sources  of  Donne's  fascination ;  he  was,  in  a  totally 
new  and  unprecedented  sense,  a  realist.  In  this  he  revolted^ 
with  success  against  all  the  procedure  of  the  Renaissance, 
and  is,  in  his  turbid  and  unskilful  way,  the  forerunner  of 
modern  Naturalism  in  English  poetry.  This  is  an  aspect 
of  his  influence  which  has  been  strangely  overlooked,  and, 
no  doubt,  for  this  reason,  that  what  was  realistic  in  the 
reign  of  James  I.  seems  utterly  old-fangled  and  antiquarian 
in  that  of  Victoria ;  so  that  the  poetry  of  Donne,  instead 
of  striking  us — as  it  did  his  contemporaries — as  amazingly 
fresh  and  new  in  its  illustrations,  strikes  us  as  unspeakably 
moth-eaten  and  decrepid.  In  this  poem  of  "  Twickenham 
Hill "  there  is  even  an  innovation  in  naming,  topographi 
cally,  a  place  by  its  existing,  modern  name ;  and  this  pre 
pares  us  for  all  the  allusions  to  habits,  superstitions,  rites, 
occasions  of  the  moment  which  occur  to  the  rapid  brain 
of  the  author. 

If  the  poems  of  Donne  are  examined,  we  shall  find  that 
it  is  only  on  the  rarest  occasions  that  he  draws  his  imagery) 
from  mythology  or  romantic  history.     He  has  no  interest 
in  Greek   or   Latin   legend.       He  neither   translates  nor 
paraphrases  the  poets  of  antiquity.     For  the  conventional 
elements  of  beauty,  as  it  was  understood  in  that  age,  for 
roses,  that  is  to  say,  and  shepherds,  lutes,  zephyrs,  "Thetis'/ 
crystal  floods,"  and  "flower-enamelled  meadows,"  Donne  has 
a  perfect  contempt.     He  endeavours  to  extract  intellectual) 
beauty  from  purely  subjective  sources,  by  the  concentration 


THE    INFLUENCE    OF    DONNE         341 

of  intensity  and  passion  upon  modern  thought.  Accord 
ingly,  he  draws  his  illustrations,  not  from  asphodel  or 
from  the  moon,  but  from  the  humdrum  professional 
employments  of  his  own  age,  from  chemistry,  medicine, 
law,  mechanics,  astrology,  religious  ritual,  daily  human 
business  of  every  sort.  The  decency  of  reticence  between 
lovers  reminds  him  of  a  sacerdotal  mystery,  and  he 
cries — 

"  'Twere  profanation  of  our  joys 
To  tell  the  laity  our  love." 

Love  is  a  spider  dropped  into  the  luscious  chalice  of  life 
and  "  transubstantiating "  it  to  poison.  The  sun  is  no 
more  Phoebus,  or  the  golden-haired  son  of  Hyperion,  but 
a  pedantic  lackey,  whose  duty  is  to  "tell  court-huntsmen 
that  the  king  will  ride."  If  the  poet  abuses  his  mistress 
for  her  want  of  faith,  he  does  it  in  the  language  of  an 
attorney,  and  his  curses  are  "  annexed  in  schedules  "  to  the 
document.  A  woman's  tear,  on  which  her  lover's  tear 
falls,  is  like  a  round  ball,  on  which  a  skilled  workman 
paints  the  countries  of  the  world. 

From  the  days  of  Dr.  Johnson  downwards,  the  nature 
of  these  images  has  been  not  a  little  misunderstood.  They 
have  two  characteristics,  which  have  been  unduly  identified — 
they  are  sometimes  realistic,  and  they  are  sometimes  in 
appropriate.  To  us  to-day  they  are  almost  all  grotesque, 
because  they  are  fetched  from  a  scheme  of  things  now 
utterly  obsolete ;  but  we  must  endeavour  to  recollect  that 
such  phrases  as — 

"  no  chemic  yet  the  elixir  got 

But  glorifies  his  pregnant  pot, 

If  by  the  way  to  him  befall 

Some  odoriferous  thing,  or  medicinal," 

or, 

"  As  he  that  sees  a  star  fall,  runs  apace, 
And  finds  a  jelly  in  the  place," 

phrases  which  now  call  for  a  commeiftary,  and  disturb  our 
appreciation  of  the  poet's  fancy,  were  references  to  the 
science  or  half-science  of  the  Jacobean  age  as  modern  and 


342  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

"  topical "  as  allusions  to  the  Rontgen  rays  would  be  to 
day.  In  less  than  the  three  hundred  years  which  divide 
us  from  Donne's  youth,  the  poems  of  Mr.  Rudyard  Kipling 
will  require  a  commentary  five  times  as  bulky  as  the  text. 
Such  is  the  inevitable  result  of  indulging  in  the  technical, 
phraseology  of  the  moment,  and  quitting  the  traditional' 
basis  of  language. 

But  if  many  of  Donne's  illustrations  were  appropriate 
enough  and  pointed  enough  in  his  own  age,  there  were 
many  which  deserved  from  the  very  first  the  condemnation 
of  good  judges.  Here  it  would  be  difficult  to  find  better 
criticism  than  is  supplied  by  Dr.  Johnson,  in  his  vivacious 
Life  of  Cowley.  What  he  says  there  of  the  whole  school 
is  peculiarly  true  of  Donne,  and  may  be  specially  adapted 
to  his  use.  "What  he  wanted  of  the  sublime,  he  en 
deavoured  to  supply  by  hyperbole ;  his  amplification  had 
no  limits ;  he  left  not  only  reason  but  fancy  behind 
him  ;  and  produced  combinations  of  confused  magnificence, 
that  not  only  could  not  be  credited,  but  could  not  be 
imagined."  It  is  the  same  admirable  critic  who  observes 
that,  if  Donne  was  "  upon  common  subjects  unnecessarily 
and  unpoetically  subtle,  yet  where  scholastic  speculation  can 
be  properly  admitted,  his  copiousness  and  acuteness  may 
justly  be  admired."  He  notices  also,  what  it  is  necessary 
to  emphasise  in  all  examination  of  Donne's  position,  a 
determination  to  dazzle  and  excite  his  contemporaries  by, 
something  perfectly  new,  even  at  the  expense  of  truth  and 
of  the  sober  force  of  beauty. 

The  age  was  perfectly  ready  to  be  thus  excited  and 
dazzled.  It  only  asked  to  be  conducted  as  promptly  as 
possible  into  new  and  extravagant  paths  of  fancy.  Nor 
was  this  tendency  to  imaginative  extravagance  confined  to 
England ;  it  invaded  all  parts  of  Europe  at  the  same 
moment,  and  in  a  manner  so  simultaneous  as  to  baffle  the 
critical  historian.  Three  remarkable  writers — Marini,  G6n- 
gora,  Donne — started  this  analytic  and  hyperbolic  style  at] 
the  same  time,  and  ft  is  very  difficult  to  say  whether  either 
of  the  three  was  affected  by  the  practices  of  the  others. 
Although  Marini  is  commonly  spoken  of  as  the  leader  and 


THE    INFLUENCE    OF    DONNE 


343 


founder  of  this  kind  of  writing,  his  actual  claim  to  be  the 
master  of  the  "  metaphysical "  poets  is  not  great.  Far 
more  intellect  and  originality  went  to  the  making  of  Luis 
de  Argote  y  Gdngora,  who  was  born  in  1561,  twelve  years 
earlier  than  Donne  and  eight  than  Marini.  We  have  seen 
that  Donne  read  everything  that  reached  England  in  the  way 
of  current  Spanish  literature,  and  it  would  remove  a  diffi 
culty  if  we  were  complacently  to  attribute  Donne's  attitude 
to  an  intuitional  imitation  of  that  of  Gdngora.  Unfortu 
nately,  as  Mr.  Fitzmaurice-Kelly  points  out,  the  reputation 
of  Gdngora  was  entirely  local  until,  in  1605,  Espinosa  pub 
lished  his  verses  in  the  F lores  de  Poefas  ilustres.  To  suppose 
that  Donne  had  met  with  them  in  MS.  before  this  date  is 
to  strain  probability  to  excess.  But  long  before  1605  the 
style  of  Donne  was  developed  to  its  full  limit,  and  more 
over  at  that  time  Gdngora  was  far  from  having  adopted 
the  extravagant  use  of  metaphor  and  torturing  obscurity 
which  gave  the  Soledades  so  curious  a  superficial  resem 
blance  to  the  Elegies  of  Donne.  It  is  therefore  quite  as 
difficult  to  suppose  the  English  poet  influenced  by  the 
Spanish  as  it  would  be  to  reverse  the  terms. 

When  we  speak  of  Marini,  the  case  is  somewhat  differ 
ent.  No  careful  student  questions  that  the  poetry  both  of 
Spain  and  England  was  affected  by  the  vogue  of  the 
Neapolitan.  Carillo,  of  whom  Mr.  J.  Fitzmaurice  Kelly  has 
given  an  interesting  account,  was  an  enthusiastic  disciple  of 
Marini,  and  the  Spaniards  read  Marinesque  verses,  in  the 
Obras  of  Carillo  ( 1 6 1 1 ),  long  before  the  authentic  Adone  was 
published  in  Italy.  In  England  the  imitation  of  Marini  by 
Crashaw  and  Cowley  was  presently  patent.  But,  here  again, 
it  is  almost  impossible  to  believe  that  Donne  came  under  the 
influence  of  Marini.  To  credit  it  we  should  have  to  believe 
that  the  English  poet  visited  Naples  as  a  youth,  and  was 
initiated  into  the  mysteries  of  Marinism  before  the  ingeni 
ous  master  himself  had  decided  what  turn  his  own  theories 
should  take.  Until  the  Adone  was  published,  the  peculiar 
talent  of  Marini  was  hardly  perceived  outside  Naples  and 
Spain;  and  by  this  time  (1623)  Donne  was  Dean  of  St. 
Paul's  and  a  finished  writer.  Moreover,  while  it  is  certain 


344  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

that  between  Donne  and  G6ngora  there  existed  a  very 
curious  intellectual  parallelism — which  led  each  to  create  a 
school  of  culteranismo  the  results  of  which,  in  either  country, 
had  a  remarkable  resemblance — the  likeness  between  Donne 
and  Marini  is,  on  the  other  hand,  very  superficial,  and 
grows  less  and  less  definite  the  more  narrowly  we  examine 
it.  We  must,  at  length,  give  to  Donne  such  credit  as  is 
due  to  complete  originality  in  working  out  and  forcing 
upon  English  taste  a  style  in  which  affectation  and  wilful 
obscurity  took  a  part  so  prominent  that  by  ordinary  readers 
no  other  qualities  are  nowadays  perceived.  This  style  was 
gradually  accepted,  and  it  may  now  be  interesting  to  trace 
with  some  precision  the  stages  of  the  school  of  Donne  in 
the  seventeenth  century. 

There  can  be  no  doubt,  I  think,  that  the  earliest  of 
Donne's  disciples  in  poetry  was  Henry  King,  his  well- 
beloved  friend  and  executor.  As  soon  as  Donne  entered 
the  church,  in  1615,  and  began  to  preach  at  Paddington, 
he  came  within  the  influential  family  circle  of  John  King, 
Bishop  of  London,  and  this  acquaintance  with  the  father 
deepened  into  intimacy  with  the  son.  Henry  King  was 
closely  identified  with  Donne  at  St.  Paul's,  for  he  was 
a  canon  residentiary  of  the  Cathedral.  It  is  not  usual  to 
recollect  that  King,  whose  poems  did  not  appear  until  1657, 
when  he  was  Bishop  of  Chichester  and  sixty-six  years  of 
age,  really  went  back  to  the  very  close  of  the  Elizabethan 
age.  He  was  a  member  of  the  transitional  generation,  to 
which  Wither,  Browne,  Quarles,  and  Herrick  belonged. 
His  poetry  is  gentle  and  pensive,  melancholy  in  tone, 
wanting  in  force  of  animal  spirits.  But  it  has  an  historic 
interest  to  us  in  the  present  context,  because  in  Henry 
King  we  have  a  writer,  certainly  as  early  as  1612,  inditing 
verse,  which  is  imitation  of  Donne  and  of  no  one  else. 
Indeed,  in  an  elegy  on  Prince  Henry,  King  was  actually 
associated  with  Donne  several  years  before  the  latter  took 
Orders.  He  carries  his  imitation  of  the  Dean  of  St.  Paul's 
even  to  a  partiality  for  tags  of  Spanish  proverbial  philo 
sophy. 

The  mild  verse  of  Henry  King  does  not  lend  itself  very 


THE    INFLUENCE    OF    DONNE         345 

easily  to  quotation.  Here,  however,  is  a  typical  passage 
from  "  The  Exequy,"  one  of  the  longest  of  King's  pieces, 
and  one  of  which,  as  of  most  of  his  poetry,  it  may  be  said 
that  not  a  line  would  be  what  it  now  is  if  Donne  had  never 
lived.  The  poet  urges  Death  to  be  careful  of  his  mis 
tress — 

"  Be  kind  to  her ;  and,  prithee,  look 

Thou  write  into  thy  doomsday- book 

Each  parcel  of  this  rarity 

Which  in  thy  casket  shrin'd  doth  lie ; 

See  that  thou  make  thy  reckoning  straight, 

And  yield  her  back  again  by  weight ; 

For  thou  must  audit  on  thy  trust 

Each  grain  and  atom  of  this  dust, 

As  thou  will  answer  Him,  that  lent, 

Not  gave,  thee  my  dear  monument." 

Every  image,  every  illustration  here  is  taken  from  the 
pedestrian  business  of  the  hour,  and  follows  only  too  closely 
the  realistic  law  which  Donne  had  invented.  Henry  King 
was  forty  when  Donne  died.  We  need  not  question  that 
the  Dean  saw,  and  even  possibly  touched  up,  the  majority 
of  those  poems  which  the  younger  Marriot  published  for 
King  in  1657,  since,  as  the  publisher  said  to  the  Bishop  in 
performing  this  gentle  outrage  upon  his  modesty,  "  These 
juvenilia  are  most  of  them  the  issues  of  your  youthful 
muse."  Almost  the  same  expression  had  been  used,  a 
quarter  of  a  century  earlier,  by  the  elder  Marriot  in  refer 
ence  to  the  posthumous  poems  of  Donne  himself.  Henry 
King  lived  on  until  1669,  when  he  died,  full  of  years  and 
honours,  but  never  having  done,  so  far  as  we  can  perceive, 
anything  to  protect  or  further  the  posthumous  fame  of  his 
great  master. 

A  later  but  a  more  celebrated  disciple  of  Donne's  is 

\George  Herbert,  who  in  his  poetical  work  bears  to  the 
Dean  very  much  the  relation  of  Pope  to  Dryden.  Her- 

\bert  is  more  polished,  more  adroit,  in  fuller  command 
of  the  medium ;  but  we  miss  from  his  evenly  attractive 
verse  the  strength  and  concentration,  the  high  originality 
and  the  splendid  flashes  of  intuition  which  light  up  the 
dark  landscapes  of  Donne.  The  early  poetry  of  George 


346  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

Herbert,  courtly  and  amatory,  was  all  destroyed  when,  about 
1627,  he  passed  through  "such  spiritual  conflicts,  as  none 
can  think,  but  only  those  that  have  endured  them."  It  was 
just  at  this  time,  during  the  incursion  of  the  plague,  that 
he  was  so  closely  brought  under  the  influence  of  Donne  at 
Chelsea.  The  precious  volume  of  sacred  poems  and  private 
ejaculations,  called  The  Temple,  mirrors,  as  we  have  his 
own  authority  for  saying,  the  ardours  and  tremors  of  this 
critical  time.  We  need  not  be  surprised,  therefore,  to  find 
the  very  aura  of  Donne  exhaled,  like  a  spice,  from  this 
exquisite  casket  of  divine  verse.  George  Herbert  died  two 
years  after  his  master,  and  the  collections  of  their  posthu 
mous  poetry  appeared  almost  simultaneously.  'The  'Temple 
was,  from  the  first,  an  extremely  successful  and  popular 
book,  and  must  have  done  much  to  familiarise  readers  with 
the  mode  of  the  new  poetry. 

The  same  characteristics,  in  very  unattractive  form,  are 
found  in  the  verses  of  George  Herbert's  elder  brother 
Edward,  afterwards  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury,  a  very 
brilliant  man  who  was  a  remarkably  dull  poetaster.  His 
verses  did  not  appear  until  1665.  A  late  elegy  on  Donne, 
attributed  to  "Dr.  C.  B.  of  O.,"  is  understood  to  have  been 
written  by  that  "  most  celebrated  wit,"  Richard  Corbet, 
who  was  made  Bishop  of  Oxford  in  1629.  He  was  famous 
for  the  "jests,  romantic  fancies,  and  exploits  which  he  made 
and  performed  extemporary."  He  was  translated  to  Nor 
wich,  and  in  1647  published  his  "elegant  poems,"  which 
are  of  no  great  merit.  Jasper  Mayne,  whose  name  has 
occurred  too  often  in  these  volumes,  was  a  still  less  impor 
tant  lyrist,  although  not  without  distinction  as  a  dramatist ; 
in  1653  he  published  a  quarto  volume  of  sermons  in  which 
the  influence  of  Donne  was  apparent.  All  these  were  men 
of  secondary  or  tertiary  rank,  who  accepted  Donne  as  their 
leader  in  his  lifetime,  and  who  aided  him  in  obtaining  a 
victory  for  his  ideas.  They  were  not  without  a  certain 
vanity  in  their  power  to  appreciate  his  obscure  and  intel 
lectual  poetry.  Henry  King  speaks  of  the  art  of  Donne  as 
a  mystery,  to  which  not  all  may  be  admitted,  and  Jasper 
Mayne,  with  naivete,  boasts  that  he  is  thought  a  wit  who 


THE    INFLUENCE    OF    DONNE         347 

understands  the  Songs  and  Sonnets.  So,  lately,  in  France, 
it  was  supposed  to  give  proof  of  unusual  culture  to 
be  able  to  appreciate  the  poems  of  Stephane  Mallarme. 
To  comprehend  the  incomprehensible  is  always  distin 
guished. 

We  descend  to  the  generation  which  could  scarcely  have 
seen  Donne,  and  certainly  could  not  claim  to  have  received 
initiation  at  his  hands.  The  future  Bishop  of  Chichester 
had  become  inspired  at  the  very  touch  of  "  that  awful  fire, 
which  once  did  burn  from "  the  living  lips  of  Donne. 
Habington,  a  virtuous  Catholic  gentleman,  retired  on  his 
estates  in  Worcestershire,  precisely  needed  this  personal 
touch  to  transform  his  lukewarm  talent  to  the  heat  of 
genius.  Much  more  impression  was  made  on  William 
Davenant,  who  nevertheless  was  a  ponderous  and  turbid 
writer.  Nor  are  the  beauties  so  much  as  the  faults  and 
tasteless  caprices  of  Sir  John  Suckling  due  to  imitation  of 
Donne.  It  is  a  reflection  very  melancholy  to  the  admirer 
of  the  Dean  of  St.  Paul's  that,  as  a  rule,  his  work  either 
attracted  young  men  of  an  essentially  unpoetic  type  to  the 
study  of  verse,  or  else,  which  may  be  more  disastrous,  it 
encouraged  in  the  genuinely  poetic  a  cultivation  of  the 
most  prosaic  qualities  of  their  minds.  Even  the  great 
Cowley,  who  was  the  most  illustrious  of  all  Donne's  direct 
disciples,  is  no  exception  to  this  rule.  The  following  of 
Donne  seems  to  have  desiccated  his  imagination,  and  to  have 
encouraged  in  him,  at  the  expense  of  passion,  a  wearisome 
intellectual  volubility. 

The  most  illustrious  of  Donne's  indirect  disciples  was 
Crashaw,  the  greatest  of  English  mystics.  Without  the 
example  of  Donne,  Crashaw  would  have  written  in  a  totally 
different  manner,  but  the  influences  at  work  in  the  modelling 
of  his  genius  are  largely  exotic  also.  He  was  seduced  by 
the  gorgeous  and  sensuous  conceits  of  Marini,  the  worst  of 
masters,  but  was  saved  from  destruction  by  the  Spanish  neo- 
platonists.  Donne  wrote  his  chief  poetry  too  early  to  be  dis 
turbed  by  the  Spiritual  Works  of  St.  John  of  the  Cross,  which 
were  posthumously  published  in  1 6 1 6,  but  these  entered  into 
the  very  blood  of  Crashaw,  while  to  the  great  St.  Teresa  he 


348  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

owed  as  much,  nay,  probably  more,  than  Donne  himself  had 
done.  The  intensity  of  Donne's  style  at  its  best,  and  the 
mental  concentration  which  he  had  taught,  lent  themselves 
peculiarly  well  to  the  expression  of  transcendental  spiritual 
emotion.  Indeed,  in  England,  mysticism  has  always  since 
the  reign  of  Elizabeth  spoken  in  the  voice  of  Donne.  The 
Spanish  illuminates  combined  with  the  English  master 
to  impress  upon  the  burning  heart  of  Crashaw  an  ecstasy 
which  found  speech  in  some  of  the  most  exquisite  utter 
ances  of  the  seventeenth  century,  and  it  is  only  fair,  while 
we  deplore  the  dulness  of  much  of  the  verse  which  claimed 
descent  from  Donne,  to  remember  that  he  was  at  least 
equally  the  forerunner  and  "  only  begetter "  of  those 
"large  draughts  of  intellectual  day,"  those  throbbing  and 
flaming  phrases  of  divine  hyperbole,  which  place  the  name 
of  Crashaw,  an  Englishman,  beside,  or  a  very  little  way 
below,  that  of  the  Mother  of  all  mystics,  the  incomparable 
Carmelite  of  Avila. 

During  the  transitional  period,  when  poetry,  in  its 
extreme  decay,  was  hesitating  to  accept  the  reformed 
versification  offered  to  it  by  Waller  and  Denham,  the  only 
influences  to  be  observed  were  those  of  Ben  Jonson  on 
dramatic  and  of  Donne  on  non-dramatic  verse.  The  latter, 
in  some  cases,  such  as  those  of  the  Matchless  Orinda, 
Flatman,  and  Nahum  Tate,  achieved  positive  popularity, 
although  to  our  ears  and  eyes  to-day  almost  entirely  un 
readable.  The  direct  model  of  these  poets,  however,  was 
not  Donne,  but  Cowley,  whose  style  was  more  directly 
imitable,  and  who  did  not  offer  the  stumbling-block  of 
profound  imagination  and  daring  flights  of  style.  The 
corruption  of  the  genius  of  Donne  may  be  seen  to  great 
effect  in  Thomas  Flatman,  who  was  born  about  the  time 
that  Donne  died.  The  Poems  and  Songs  of  this  man,  now 
fallen  into  absolute  neglect,  was  a  favourite  book  with 
readers  of  the  Restoration  period,  and  ran  through  many 
editions.  This  is  an  example  of  his  manner — 

"  By  immaterial  defecated  love, 
Your  soul  its  heavenly  origin  doth  prove, 
And  in  least  dangerous  raptures  soars  above. 


THE    INFLUENCE    OF    DONNE         349 

Our  modish  rhymes,  like  culinary  fire, 
Unctuous  and  earthy,  shall  in  smoke  expire ; 
In  odorous  clouds  your  incense  shall  aspire." 

In  such  lines  as  these,  Flatman  contrives  with  astonishing 
precision  to  reproduce  the  fume,  if  not  indeed  what  he 
calls  "the  flame,"  of  "reverend  Donne." 

No  one  who  studies  that  remarkable  and  now  neglected 
poem,  the  Annus  Mirabilis,  can  fail  to  notice  the  paramount 
prestige  which  Donne  exercised  over  the  youthful  mind  of 

\Dryden.  The  genius  of  the  Dean  of  St.  Paul's  was  thus 
present  at  the  inauguration  of  the  new  order  of  style,  and 
although  the  preface  says  much  of  Lucan  and  of  Ovid,  and 
nothing  of  the  English  poet,  yet  it  is  Donne  far  more  than 
the  Latins  who  is  really  active  in  Dryden's  memory.  The 
weight  of  the  lines,  the  intensity  which  the  writer  endea 
vours  to  press  into  them,  the  violence  and  startling  nature 

-  of  the  illustrations,  and,  above  all,  the  constant  reference  to 
images  essentially  modern  and  realistic,  all  this  is  due  to 

mo  other  model  than  Donne.  The  sound  of  the  Dean's 
strong  verse  echoes  in  such  stanzas  as — 

"  Plied  thick  and  close  as  when  the  fight  begun, 

Their  huge  unwieldy  navy  wastes  away ; 
So  sicken  waning  moons  too  near  the  sun, 

And  blunt  their  crescents  on  the  edge  of  day," 

and  the  movement  of  his  fancy  is  seen  in  such  as  this,  so 
closely  criticised  both  by  Johnson  and  Scott — 

"  With  roomy  decks,  her  guns  of  mighty  strength, 

Whose  low-laid  mouths  each  mounting  billow  laves, 
Deep  in  her  draught,  and  warlike  in  her  length, 
She  seems  a  sea-wasp  flying  on  the  waves," 

while  the  perilous  agility  of  Donne's  wit  is  felt  in  the 
description  of  the  heavy  rains  which  checked  the  Great 
Fire— 

"  An  hollow  crystal  pyramid  He  takes 

In  firmamental  waters  dipped  above, 
Of  it  a  broad  extinguisher  He  makes, 

And  hoods  the  flames  that  to  their  quarry  strove." 


350  LIFE    OF    JOHN    DONNE 

After  1667,  the  direct  traces  of  the  imitation  of  Donne 
disappear,  or  at  least  become  faint  and  general,  in  the  verse 
of  Dryden.  He  did  not,  however,  neglect  his  great  pre 
decessor,  and  in  several  of  his  essays  he  made  some  critical 
remarks  of  great  value.  In  the  preface  to  Eleonora,  in 
1692,  we  read  : — 

"  Doctor  Donne,  the  greatest  wit,  though  not  the  best 
poet  of  our  nation,  acknowledges  that  he  had  never  seen 
Mistress  Drury,  whom  he  has  made  immortal  in  his 
admirable  Anniversaries.  I  have  had  the  same  fortune 
[Dryden  never  saw  the  Countess  of  Abingdon],  though  I 
have  not  succeeded  to  the  same  genius.  However,  I  have 
followed  [Donne's]  footsteps  in  the  design  of  his  pane 
gyric." 

Dryden  came  to  depreciate  the  love  poetry  of  Donne, 
saying  that  "he  affects  the  metaphysics,  not  only  in  his 
satires,  but  in  his  amorous  verses,  where  nature  only  should 
reign  :  and  perplexes  the  minds  of  the  fair  sex  with  the 
speculations  of  philosophy,  where  he  should  engage  their 
hearts,  and  entertain  them  with  the  softness  of  love." 

In  the  Essay  on  Satire,  prefixed  in  1693  to  his 
"Juvenal,"  Dryden  speaks  repeatedly  of  Donne,  whose 
best  verses  were  manifestly  appealing  less  and  less  to  the 
taste  of  the  age  : — 

"  Why  should  we  offer  to  confine  free  spirits  to  one 
form,  when  we  cannot  so  much  as  confine  our  bodies  to  one 
fashion  of  apparel  ?  Would  not  Donne's  Satires,  which 
abound  with  so  much  wit,  appear  more  charming  if  he  had 
taken  care  of  his  words  and  of  his  numbers  ?  But  he 
followed  Horace  so  very  close,  that  of  necessity  he  must 
fall  with  him ;  and  I  may  safely  say  it  of  this  present  age, 
that,  if  we  are  not  so  great  wits  as  Donne,  yet,  certainly, 
we  are  better  poets." 

When,  in  a  regrettable  passage  of  undiluted  eulogy, 
Dryden  wished  to  flatter  Lord  Dorset  to  the  top  of  his 
bent,  he  told  him  that  Donne  alone,  of  all  the  English 
poets,  had  equalled  him  in  talent,  and  that  even  the 
Dean  of  St.  Paul's  "was  not  happy  enough  to  arrive  at 
[Dorset's]  versification."  Again,  that  laudation  may  reach 


THE    INFLUENCE    OF    DONNE         351 

its  acme,  Dryden  declares  that  Dorset  "  equals  Donne  in  the 
variety,  multiplicity,  and  choice  of  thoughts,  and  excels  him 
in  the  manner  and  the  words.  I  read  you  both  with  the 
same  admiration."  This  is  tantamount  to  saying  that, 
especially  in  the  department  of  "wit,"  Dryden  admired 
I  Donne  more  than  he  admired  any  other  British  poet.  And 
this  more  than  sixty  years  after  Donne's  death,  and  across 
more  than  one  complete  revolution  in  taste  and  literary 
fashion !  For  those  who  were  sagacious  enough  to  read 
between  the  lines,  and  discount  the  flattery  of  Dorset,  this 
was  praise  for  Donne  of  an  extraordinary  quality.  He  has 
never  since  found  an  admirer  so  strenuous  among  critics 
of  a  like  authority  with  Dryden. 

The  words  "  wit "  and  "  poet "  have  changed  their 
meaning  again  in  two  hundred  years.  With  what  was  witty 
Dryden  identified  the  exercise  of  the  intellect ;  it  was  the 
incessant  mental  preoccupation  which  he  came,  in  his  old 
age,  to  blame  in  Donne.  As  poetry,  he  now  distinguished, 
not  imagination,  or  even  fancy,  but  a  technical  uniformity 
and  smoothness,  and  a  close  adherence  to  the  supposed 
Aristotelian  laws.  For  Dryden' s  advanced  taste,  even 
Donne  was  now  too  raw  and  spontaneous,  and  preserved  too 
much  of  the  barbaric  note  of  Elizabeth.  English  poetry, 
in  its  redeemed  and  corrected  forms,  was  to  look  no  further 
back  for  models  than  to  Cowley,  Waller,  and  Denham. 
But,  after  all,  these  had  in  their  day  been  the  disciples  and 
imitators  of  Donne,  and  had  used  his  vogue  with  the  young 
as  a  lever  to  dislodge  the  romantic  supremacy  of  Spenser 
and  the  Petrarchists.  So  that  in  his  very  depreciation  of 
Donne,  and  his  defence  of  the  polite  numbers  of  Waller 
and  Denham,  Dryden  is  really  asserting  the  permanent 
impress  made  by  the  Dean  of  St.  Paul's  on  English 
poetry. 

When  the  eighteenth  century  has  fairly  commenced,  it 
grows  difficult  to  trace  the  influence  of  Donne.  His  Poems, 
as  we  have  seen,  were  reprinted  in  1719,  and  before  that  time 
his  Satires  were  modernised  by  Pope  in  two  paraphrases,  of 
which  that  called  T'he  Impertinent  is  the  more  successful. 
It  is  easy  to  see  that  Pope,  while  far  too  acute  not  to 


352  LIFE    OF   JOHN    DONNE 

perceive  the  masculine  force  of  Donne,  was  completely  out 
of  sympathy  with  his  style.  He  was  even  more  conscious 
than  Dryden  had  been  of  the  rugosities  of  Donne's  metre, 
and  he  was  incapable  of  appreciating  any  method  in  satire 
except  that  of  polished  and  pointed  antithesis.  The  central 
quality  of  Donne,  his  mystical  passion,  was  beyond  the 
comprehension  of  Pope,  who,  nevertheless,  has  more  than 
a  touch  of  Donne's  intellectual  stress  and  fervour.  Where 
the  diction  of  Pope  is  richest  and  most  idiomatic  we  see,  or 
may  think  we  see,  the  suffused  influence  of  the  Dean  of  St. 
Paul's.  If,  for  instance,  we  read  the  last  lines  of  the 
Dunciad^  where  Chaos  reasserts  its  sway,  "  and  universal 
darkness  buries  all,"  we  must  confess  that  if  any  Eliza 
bethan  poet  can  be  imagined  writing  those  verses,  or  any  of 
them,  it  can  only  be  Donne — 

"  Physic  of  metaphysic  begs  defence, 
And  metaphysic  calls  for  aid  on  sense  ! 
See  mystery  to  mathematics  fly  ! 
In  vain  !  they  gaze,  turn  giddy,  rave  and  die  !  " 

These  are  lines  which  it  is  absolutely  inconceivable  should 
have  proceeded  from  the  pen  of  Spenser  or  Sir  Philip 
Sidney  or  Drayton.  It  is,  we  feel,  by  no  means  so  incredible 
that  Donne  might  have  included  them  in  a  " metamorphosis  " 
or  an  "  anniversary."  That  kind  of  writing,  at  all  events, 
may  be  traced  backward  to  Donne,  and  no  further.  From 
him  the  descent  of  it  is  unbroken,  and  in  that  sense  the 
direct  influence  of  Donne  may  be  discovered  in  the  writings 
of  Pope,  although  the  two  men  were  in  most  essentials  so 
diametrically  opposed. 

In  the  minor  figures  around  and  below  Pope,  it  seems 
entirely  unrecognisable,  except  in  the  dissolved  form  in 
which  all  far-fetched  conceits  and  arid  sports  of  fancy  may 
be  traced  back  to  the  original  heresies  of  the  Dean  of  St. 
Paul's.  The  funereal  poets  of  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth 
century  revived  a  species  of  gloomy  passion  which  was  far 
more  in  sympathy  with  the  better  part  of  Donne.  It  is 
difficult  to  believe  that  Young  had  not  read  the  pieces  in 
which  the  great  Dean  a  hundred  years  earlier  extolled  the 


THE    INFLUENCE    OF    DONNE        353 

majesty  of  Death.  The  conceits  of  Night  Thoughts,  Young's 
laborious  rhetorical  affectations,  such  as 

"  Amid  such  mighty  plunder,  why  exhaust 
Thy  partial  quiver  on  a  mark  so  mean," 

or  as — 

*'  O  had  he,  mounted  on  his  wing  of  fire, 
Soar'd  where  I  sink,  and  sung  immortal  man, 
How  had  it  blest  mankind — and  rescued  me  !  " 

are  instances  of  forced  poetic  wit  differentiated  in  nothing 
but  changed  phraseology  from  similar  extravagances  in 
the  less  fortunate  passages  of  Donne. 

The  modern  appreciation  of  Donne  seems  to  begin 
with  Robert  Browning,  who  met  with  the  poems  when  he 
was  still  a  boy  (about  1827),  and  was  greatly  influenced  by 
them.  He  put  the  Mandrake  song  to  music.  He  quoted 
and  praised  the  Dean  so  constantly  in  later  years  that 
Miss  Barrett  noticed  it  early  in  their  acquaintance ;  "  your 
Donne,"  she  says  on  several  occasions.  The  stamp  of  the 
Dean's  peculiar  intensity  of  feeling  can  be  traced  in  many 
of  Browning's  lyrics;  his  famous  "obscurity"  is  closely 
analogous  to  Donne's.  Of  subsequent  instances  of  the 
influence  of  Donne  on  English  poetry  this  is  hardly  the 
place  to  speak. 


VOL.  II. 


APPENDICES 


APPENDIX  A 


THE  WILL  OF  DONNE'S  FATHER 


IN  the  name  of  God,  Amen.  The  sixteenth  day  of  January  i575[6]. 
And  in  the  eighteenth  year  of  the  reign  of  our  sovereign  lady  Queen 
Elizabeth,  I,  John  Donne,  citizen  and  ironmonger  of  London,  being 
sick  in  body  but  of  good  and  perfect  mind  and  remembrance,  &c.,  do 
make  this  my  present  testament  in  form  following  :  That  is  to  say,  First 
and  principally,  I  give  and  commend  my  soul  into  the  hands  of 
Almighty  God  my  Maker,  Saviour  and  Redeemer,  in  whom  and  by 
the  merit  of  the  second  Person,  Jesus  Christ,  I  trust  and  believe 
assuredly  to  be  saved  and  to  have  full  and  clear  remission  and  for 
giveness  of  my  sins.  And  I  commit  my  body  to  the  earth  to  be  buried 
in  the  parish  of  Saint  Nicholas  Olive  in  Breadstreet  in  London,  where 
I  am  now  a  parishioner,  in  such  convenient  place  there  as  shall  be 
appointed  by  my  executrix  hereunder  named.  And  after  that  done, 
then  I  will  that  all  my  goods  and  chattels,  plate,  household  stuff,  ready 
money  and  debts,  and  all  other  my  movable  goods  and  chattels  what 
soever,  shall  be  divided  into  three  equal  and  indifferent  parts  and 
portions,  according  to  the  laudable  use  and  custom  of  the  City  of 
London ;  whereof  one  equal  part  thereof  I  give  and  bequeath  unto 
Elizabeth,  my  wife,  to  her  own  proper  use.  And  one  other  equal  part 
thereof  I  give  and  bequeath  to  and  amongst  all  my  children,  as  well 
now  living.  As  to  the  third,  which  my  wife  now  goeth  withal  amongst 
all  my  said  children,  to  be  divided  portion  and  portion  like.  And  so 
be  paid  to  my  said  children  equally  portion  and  portion  like :  that  is  to 
say,  when  my  said  sons  shall  come  to  their  ages  of  twenty  and  one 
years,  and  my  said  daughters  shall  accomplish  their  several  lawful  age 
of  twenty  and  one  years,  or  on  marriage.  And  the  other  part  thereof 
I  reserve  to  myself  and  to  my  executrix  hereunder  named,  to  pay  my 
debts  and  perform  my  legacies  hereunder  expressed.  And  the  remainder 
of  my  said  part  my  debts  and  legacies,  paid  and  performed,  I  wholly 
give  and  bequeath  unto  my  said  executrix  and  my  children  equally 
amongst  them,  to  be  divided  portion  and  portion  like,  every  of  my  said 
children  to  be  heir  to  other,  if  death  shall  happen  unto  any  of  them  in 
the  meantime.  Item,  I  give  and  bequeath  unto  Mr.  Francis  Sandbach 
one  hundred  pounds  in  money,  to  be  employed  in  deed  of  charity  and 
relief  of  poor  people  at  his  discretion  within  six  months  after  my  decease. 

357 


358  APPENDICES 

Item,  I  give  and  bequeath  unto  Mr.  Edmond  Adamson,  gentleman, 
one  hundred  pounds  in  money  to  be  liberally  employed  and  bestowed 
by  him  in  work  of  charity  and  of  relieving  of  poor  and  needy  persons 
at  his  discretion  within  the  like  space  of  six  months  next  after  my 
decease.  Item,  I  give  and  bequeath  unto  Christopher  Rust,  gentleman, 
one  hundred  pounds  in  money  to  be  by  him  employed  and  bestowed 
in  work  of  charity  and  relieving  of  poor  and  impotent  people  within  the 
space  of  three  months  after  my  decease  at  his  discretion.  Item,  I  give 
and  bequeath  unto  the  worshipful  Company  of  the  Ironmongers  in 
London,  whereof  I  myself  am  a  member,  the  sum  of  ten  pounds  in 
money.  Item,  I  give  and  bequeath  to  my  loving  friends,  Robert 
Estland,  William  Skidmore,  ten  pounds  apiece  in  money  to  make  them 
and  their  wives  rings  with  Death's  head.  Item,  I  give  and  bequeath 
unto  John  Crosland,  ironmonger,  ten  pounds  in  money  to  make  him 
and  his  wife  rings  with  Death's  head.  Item,  I  give  and  bequeath  unto 
Robert  Harrison,  salter,  my  best  gown  welted  with  velvet  and  faced 
with  budge.  Item,  I  give  and  bequeath  unto  the  beadle  of  this  said 
Company  of  Ironmongers  my  best  gown  faced  with  damask  and  not 
guarded  with  velvet.  Item,  I  give  and  bequeath  unto  twelve  poor  men 
which  shall  attend  upon  my  body  to  burial  twelve  gowns.  Item,  I 
give  and  bequeath  unto  the  prisons  in  London  and  the  suburbs  thereof, 
that  is  to  say,  Newgate,  Ludgate,  the  Fleet,  the  two  Compters  in 
the  Poultry,  in  the  Woodstreet,  and  to  Bedlam,  and  to  the  relief  of  the 
poor  prisoners  in  the  King's  Bench,  the  Marshalry,  the  White  Lion,  and 
the  Compter  in  Southwark  twenty  shillings  apiece.  Item,  I  give  and 
bequeath  unto  and  amongst  the  poor  people  harboured  in  the  hospitals 
of  Christ  Church,  St.  Bartholemew's,  Bidwell,  and  St.  Thomas  in  South 
wark  twenty  pounds ;  that  is  to  say,  to  every  of  the  same  hospitals  five 
pounds.  Item,  I  give  and  bequeath  unto  my  brother  Dawson  of  the 
city  of  Oxford  one  hundred  marks  in  money.  Item,  I  give  and  bequeath 
unto  my  sister,  Harden,  a  gown  of  black  cloth.  Item,  I  give  and  be 
queath  unto  my  said  brother  Dawson  and  my  sister  his  wife  and  to  their 
two  children  and  to  every  of  them,  gowns  of  black  cloth.  Item,  I 
give  and  bequeath  unto  my  cousin  Alice  Donne,  now  dwelling  with  me, 
twenty  pounds  in  money,  to  be  paid  unto  the  said  Alice  at  her  age  of 
twenty  and  one  years  (if  she  so  long  shall  live).  Item,  I  give  and 
bequeath  unto  John  Dawson,  my  kinsman,  the  sum  of  ten  pounds  in 
money,  to  be  paid  to  the  said  John  within  three  months  next  after  my 
decease.  Item,  I  give  and  bequeath  to  and  amongst  the  poor  people 
dwelling  in  the  parish  of  Saint  Nicholas  Olive  aforesaid,  to  be  dealt  and 
distributed  by  the  parson  and  churchwardens  of  the  said  parish  church, 
where  most  need  shall  appear,  within  one  week  next  after  my  decease, 
the  sum  of  three  pounds  in  money.  Item,  I  give  and  bequeath  unto 
John  Sayward,  parson  of  the  said  parish  church,  twenty  shillings. 
Item,  I  give  and  bequeath  unto  my  servant  John  White,  six  pounds 
thirteen  shillings  and  fourpence  in  money.  Item,  I  give  and  bequeath 
unto  Agnes  Cooper  and  Agnes  Dawson,  my  maiden  aunts,  and  to  each 
of  them,  fifty  shillings  apiece.  Item,  I  give  and  bequeath  unto  Chris- 


APPENDICES  359 

topher  Rust,  gentleman,  three  pounds  in  gold  to  make  him  a  ring,  to  be 
engraved  with  a  Death's  head.  Item,  I  give  and  bequeath  unto  my 
cousin,  John  Heywood,  three  pounds  in  gold  to  make  him  a  ring  with 
a  Death's  head.  The  residue  of  my  third  part  of  all  and  singular  my 
goods,  chattels,  plate,  household  stuff,  ready  money  and  debts,  and  all 
other  my  movables  whatsoever,  my  debts  paid,  my  legacies  and  this 
my  will  performed  accordingly,  I  wholly  give  and  bequeath  unto  and 
amongst  Elizabeth  my  wife  and  my  children,  portion  and  portion  like. 
And  I  make  and  ordain  the  said  Elizabeth  my  wife,  sole  executrix  of 
this  my  testament  and  last  will.  And  overseers  of  my  said  testament  to 
see  the  same  truly  performed  accordingly,  I  ordain  and  make  Mr. 
Francis  Sandbach,  Esquire,  and  Edmond  Adamson,  gentleman.  And  I 
give  and  bequeath  unto  either  of  them  for  their  pains  to  be  taken  in 
that  behalf  five  pounds  in  gold  apiece  to  make  either  of  them  a  ring 
with  a  Death's  head,  requiring  them  to  be  aiding  and  assisting  to  my 
said  executrix  in  the  true  execution  of  this  my  present  testament,  as  my 
trust  is  in  them.  Item,  I  give  and  bequeath  unto  Mr.  Plankney  twenty 
shillings.  And  I  do  by  this  my  present  testament  revoke  and  annihilate 
all  other  wills  and  testaments  by  me  heretofore  made,  and  I  will  that 
none  of  them  shall  stand  or  abide  in  form  or  effect,  but  only  this  my 
present  testament  in  such  manner  and  form  as  I  have  afore  willed  and 
devised.  In  witness  thereof  to  this  my  present  testament  and  last  will, 
I,  the  said  John  Donne,  have  set  my  seal,  the  day  and  year  above 
written.  By  me,  John  Donne,  witnesses  hereunto,  Robert  Harrison, 
salter ;  William  Broadbank,  scrivener ;  and  John  White. 

Probatum  fuit  hujusmodi  testamentum  coram  Domino  judice  curie 
Prerogative  Cantuarensis  commissario  apud  London,  octavo  die  mensis 
Februarii  Anno  Domino  millesimo  quingentissimo  septuagessimo  quinto, 
juramento  Christoferi  Robinson  notarii  publici  procuratoris  Elizabethe 
relicte  et  executracis,  &c.  Qui  commissa  fuit  administrate  omnium  et 
singulorum  bonorum,  &c.  De  bene,  &c.,  jurata,  &c. 


APPENDIX   B 
THE  WILL  OF  DR.  JOHN  DONNE 

IN  the  name  of  the  holy  blessed  and  glorious  Trinity,  Amen. 

I,  John  Donne,  by  the  mercy  of  Christ  Jesus  and  by  the  calling  of 
the  Church  of  England  priest  being  at  this  time  in  good  and  perfect 
understanding  praised  be  God  therefore,  do  hereby  make  my  last  Will 
and  Testament  in  manner  and  form  following. 

First  I  give  my  good  and  gracious  God  an  entire  sacrifice  of  body 


360  APPENDICES 

and  soul  with  my  most  humble  thanks  for  that  assurance  which  His 
blessed  Spirit  imprints  in  me  now  of  the  salvation  of  the  one  and  the 
resurrection  of  the  other  and  for  that  constant  and  cheerful  resolution 
which  the  same  Spirit  established  in  me  to  live  and  die  in  the  religion 
now  professed  in  the  Church  of  England.  In  expectation  of  that 
resurrection  I  desire  that  my  body  may  be  buried  in  the  most  private 
manner  that  may  be  in  that  place  of  Saint  Paul's  Church,  London 
which  the  now  residentiaries  of  that  church  have  been  pleased  at  my 
request  to  assign  for  that  purpose. 

Item  I  make  my  well  beloved  friends  Henry  King  Doctor  of 
Divinity  and  John  Montford  Doctor  of  Divinity  both  residentiaries  of 
the  church  of  Saint  Paul's  London  executors  of  this  my  will. 

And  my  will  and  desire  is  that  my  very  worthy  friend  and  kind 
brother-in-law  Sir  Thomas  Grymes  of  Peckham  in  the  county  of  Surrey 
Knight  be  overseer  of  this  my  will  to  whom  I  give  hereby  that 
striking  clock  which  I  ordinarily  wear  and  also  the  picture  of  King 
James. 

To  Doctor  King  my  executor  I  give  that  medal  of  gold  of  the 
synod  of  Dort  which  the  estates  presented  me  withal  at  the  Hague  as 
also  the  two  pictures  of  Padre  Paolo  and  Fulgentio  which  hang  in  the 
parlour  at  my  house  at  Paul's  and  to  Doctor  Montford  my  other 
executor  I  give  forty  ounces  of  white  plate  and  the  two  pictures  that 
hang  on  the  same  side  of  the  parlour. 

Item  I  give  to  the  right  honourable  the  Earl  of  Carlisle  the  picture 
of  the  blessed  Virgin  Mary  which  hangs  in  the  little  dining-chamber. 
And  to  the  right  honourable  the  Earl  of  Dorset  the  picture  of  Adam 
and  Eve  which  hangs  in  the  great  chamber. 

Item  I  give  to  Doctor  Winniff  Dean  of  Gloucester  and  residentiary 
of  St.  Paul's  the  picture  called  the  Skeleton  which  hangs  in  the  Hall 
and  to  my  kind  friend  Mr.  George  Garrard  the  picture  of  Mary  Magda 
lene  in  my  chamber  and  to  my  ancient  friend  Doctor  Brook,  Master  of 
Trinity  College  in  Cambridge  the  picture  of  the  blessed  Virgin  and 
Joseph  which  hangs  in  my  study  and  to  Mr.  Tourvall  a  French  Minister 
(but  by  the  ordination  of  the  English  Church)  I  give  any  picture  which 
he  will  choose  of  those  which  hang  in  the  little  dining-room  and  are  not 
formerly  bequeathed. 

Item  I  give  to  my  two  faithful  servants  Robert  Christmas  and 
Thomas  Roper  officers  of  the  Church  of  St.  Paul's  to  each  of  them 
five  pounds  to  make  them  seal  rings  engraved  with  that  figure  which  I 
usually  seal  withal  of  which  sort  they  know  I  have  given  many  to  my 
particular  friends. 

Item  I  give  to  my  god-daughter  Constance  Grymes  ten  pounds  to 
be  bestowed  in  plate  for  her. 

Item  I  give  to  that  maid  who  hath  many  years  attended  my 
daughters  whose  name  is  Elizabeth,  twenty  pounds  if  she  shall  be  in 
my  service  at  the  time  of  my  death  and  to  the  other  maid-servants 
which  shall  be  in  my  service  at  that  time  I  give  a  year's  wages  over 
and  beyond  that  which  shall  at  that  time  be  due  to  them. 


APPENDICES  361 

Item  I  give  to  Vincent  my  coachman  and  to  my  servant  John 
Christmas  to  each  of  them  ten  pounds  if  they  be  at  the  time  of  my 
death  in  my  service. 

Item  I  give  to  Thomas  Moore  a  young  boy  whom  I  took  lately  five 
pounds  if  he  shall  be  in  my  service  then  and  if  any  of  these  servants 
shall  be  departed  from  me  before  I  give  to  every  man-servant  that  shall 
at  that  time  be  in  my  service  a  year's  wages  over  and  above  that  which 
shall  be  then  due  to  them. 

Item  I  give  to  each  of  the  petty  canons  and  vicars  choral  which 
shall  be  in  the  Church  of  St.  Paul  at  the  time  of  my  death  to  each  of 
them  forty  shillings  and  forty  shillings  to  the  master  of  the  choristers 
and  forty  shillings  to  be  equally  distributed  amongst  the  then  choristers. 

Item  I  give  thirty  shillings  to  each  of  the  vergers  and  to  each  of 
the  bell  ringers  twenty  shillings. 

Item  I  will  and  bequeath  to  my  cousin  Jane  Kent  who  hath  hereto 
fore  been  servant  to  my  mother  twelve  pounds  and  to  my  cousin 
Edward  Dawson  being  decayed  twelve  pounds  and  to  his  sister  Grace 
Dawson  six  pounds  which  proportion  they  being  aged  persons  I  make 
account  doth  answer  those  pensions  which  I  have  yearly  heretofore 
given  unto  them  and  meant  to  have  continued  for  their  lives  if  it  had 
pleased  to  God  to  have  continued  mine. 

Item  my  will  is  that  the  four  large  pictures  of  the  four  great  prophets 
which  hang  in  the  Hall  and  that  large  picture  of  ancient  church  work 
which  hang  in  the  lobby  leading  to  my  chamber  and  whatsoever  I  have 
placed  in  the  Chapel  (excepted  that  wheel  of  desks  which  at  this  time 
stands  there)  shall  remain  still  in  those  place.  As  also  the  marble  table 
sun  dial  and  pictures  which  I  have  placed  in  the  garden  of  all  which  I 
desire  an  inventory  may  be  made  by  sure  register  and  the  things  to 
continue  always  in  the  house  as  they  are. 

Item  I  give  to  my  daughter  Harvey  all  the  furniture  which  is  usually 
in  that  chamber  which  we  call  the  flannel  chamber  and  in  the  inner 
chamber  thereof. 

Item  I  give  to  the  poor  of  the  parish  of  St.  Gregory's  where  I  dwell 
five  pounds.  And  to  the  poor  of  each  of  the  parishes  of  St.  Dunstan's 
in  the  West  London  and  of  Sevenoaks  in  Kent  and  of  Blunham  in 
Bedfordshire  to  each  parish  twenty  pounds. 

Item  I  give  to  the  Right  Honourable  the  Earl  of  Kent  patron  of 
that  church  of  Blunham  the  picture  of  laying  Christ  in  the  tomb  which 
hangs  in  my  study. 

Item  my  will  is  that  all  the  former  legacies  given  in  money  be  paid 
within  six  weeks  after  my  death.  All  which  legacies  being  so  paid  and 
all  charge  that  can  in  any  way  fall  upon  my  executors  being  discharged, 
my  will  is  that  my  plate  and  books  (such  books  only  being  excepted  as 
by  a  schedule  signed  with  my  hand  I  shall  give  away)  and  all  my  other 
goods  being  praised  and  sold  all  my  poor  estate  of  money  left  and 
money  so  raised  and  money  lent  may  be  distributed  in  manner  and 
form  following. 

First  I  will  that  for  the  maintenance  of  my  dearly  beloved  mother 


362  APPENDICES 

whom  it  hath  pleased  God  after  a  plentiful  fortune  in  her  former  times 
to  bring  in  decay  in  her  very  old  age,  there  be  employed  five  hundred 
pounds  of  which  my  meaning  is  not  that  the  property  but  only  the 
profit  should  accrue  to  her  during  her  natural  life  and  after  her  death 
the  said  five  hundred  pounds  to  be  divided  amongst  those  my  children 
which  shall  be  then  alive.  And  because  there  may  be  some  time  before 
any  profit  of  that  money  will  come  to  her  hands  my  will  is  that  twenty 
pounds  be  paid  unto  her  order  and  besides  the  benefit  of  the  five 
hundred  pounds  at  the  breaking  up  of  my  family  and  her  removing 
from  thence. 

Item  my  will  is  that  my  children's  portions  should  be  equal  if  they 
be  unmarried  at  my  death.  But  if  they  be  married  before,  they  are  to 
content  themselves  with  that  which  they  shall  have  received  from  me 
at  their  marriage.  Except  I  make  some  other  declaration  of  my  will 
by  a  codicil  hereafter  to  be  annexed  my  will  nevertheless  is  that  my 
eldest  daughter  Constance  Harvey  who  received  from  me  at  her  first 
marriage  but  five  hundred  pounds  for  portion  shall  be  equal  with  the 
rest  who  at  my  death  are  to  receive  portions  though  their  portions 
amount  to  no  more  than  five  hundred  pounds. 

And  therefore  whereas  there  is  at  this  time  in  my  hands  a  convey 
ance  of  a  certain  farm  called  the  Tanhouse  from  her  husband  Mr. 
Samuel  Harvey  in  consideration  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  paid 
by  me  for  his  use  in  which  there  is  a  proviso  for  redemption  for  a 
certain  time.  My  will  is  that  if  that  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  be 
accordingly  paid  it  be  then  added  to  the  whole  stock  which  is  to  be 
divided  amongst  the  children.  If  for  default  of  payment  it  become 
absolutely  mine  my  will  is  that  that  land  be  reassured  unto  him  and 
his  heirs  with  this  condition  and  not  otherwise  that  it  be  added  to  her 
jointure  for  her  life  if  she  survive  him  and  if  it  fall  out  that  this  land 
be  thus  given  back,  whereby  my  daughter  received  two  hundred  and 
fifty  pounds  above  her  former  five  hundred,  my  will  is  that  she  make 
no  claim  to  any  part  of  my  estate  by  anything  formerly  said  in  this  my 
will  till  all  the  rest  of  my  children  have  received  seven  hundred  and 
fifty  pounds  because  upon  the  whole  matter  she  hath  received  so  much, 
if  I  give  back  that  land. 

But  if  by  God's  goodness  their  portions  come  to  more,  then  she  is 
also  to  enter  for  an  equal  part  of  the  surplus  as  well  in  that  which 
returns  to  the  children  after  my  mother's  death  as  any  other  way.  In 
all  which  accrues  which  may  come  to  my  daughter  Harvey  my  will  is 
that  upon  receipt  thereof  her  husband  make  a  proportionable  addition 
to  her  jointure  in  land  or  else  that  that  money  which  shall  so  accrue 
unto  them  may  come  to  the  longer  liver  of  them. 

Item  I  give  to  my  son  George  that  annuity  of  forty  pounds  yearly 
for  the  payment  of  which  my  honourable  friend  Sir  John  Danvers  of 
Chelsea  Knight  hath  some  years  since  accepted  from  me  first  two 
hundred  pounds  and  after  one  hundred  marks  of  which  annuity  though 
there  be  as  yet  no  assurance  made,  yet  there  remain  with  me  bonds 
for  those  several  sums.  And  Sir  John  Danvers  will  upon  request 


APPENDICES  363 

made,  either  make  such  assurance  or  repay  the  money  as  he  hath 
always  promised  me.  And  my  will  is  that  whatsoever  arises  to  my 
other  children  my  son  George  be  made  equal  to  them  that  two 
hundred  pounds  and  one  hundred  marks  being  accounted  as  part  of 
the  sum, 

Item  my  will  is  that  the  portions  which  shall  become  due  to  my 
two  sons  John  and  George  and  to  my  eldest  daughter  Bridget  yet  un 
married  be  paid  to  them  as  soon  after  my  death  as  may  be  because 
they  are  of  years  to  govern  their  portions.  But  for  my  two  younger 
daughters  Margaret  and  Elizabeth  my  will  is  that  their  portions  be  paid 
at  the  days  of  their  several  marriages  or  at  their  age  of  two  and  twenty 
years,  their  portions  to  be  employed  in  the  meantime  for  their  main 
tenance  and  for  the  increase  of  their  portions  if  it  will  bear  it.  And  if 
they  or  either  of  them  die  before  that  time  of  marriage  or  of  two  and 
twenty  years  that  then  the  portions  of  them  or  either  of  them  so  dying 
shall  be  equally  divided  amongst  my  other  children  which  shall  be 
alive  at  their  death.  And  because  there  may  be  some  time  before 
they  receive  anything  for  their  maintenance  out  of  the  employment  of 
their  portions,  my  will  is  that  to  each  of  my  children,  John,  George, 
Bridget,  Margaret,  and  Elizabeth  there  be  twenty  pounds  paid  at  the 
same  time  as  I  have  formerly  appointed  the  like  sum  to  be  paid  to  my 
mother. 

Item  I  give  to  my  honourable  and  faithful  friend  Mr.  Robert  Carr 
of  his  Majesty's  bed-chamber  that  picture  of  mine  which  is  taken  in 
shadows  and  was  made  very  many  years  before  I  was  of  this  profession. 
And  to  my  honourable  friend  Sir  John  Danvers  I  give  what  picture  he 
shall  accept  of  those  that  remain  unbequeathed. 

And  this  my  last  will  and  testament  made  in  the  fear  of  God  whose 
mercy  I  humbly  beg  and  constantly  rely  upon  in  Christ  Jesus  and  in 
perfect  love  and  charity  with  all  the  world  whose  pardon  I  ask  from 
the  lowest  of  my  servants  to  the  highest  of  my  superiors.  I  write  all 
with  mine  own  hand  and  subscribed  my  name  to  every  page  thereof  of 
which  there  are  five  and  sealed  the  same  and  published  and  declared 
it  to  be  my  last  will  the  thirteenth  day  of  December  1630 . 

J.  DONNE in  the  presence  of 

SAMUEL  HARVEY EDWARD  PICKERELL 

JOHN  HARRINGTON JOHN  GIBBS 

ROBERT  CHRISTMAS. 

(This  Will  was  proved  $th  April  1631  by  Dr.  Henry  King,  and 
Dr.  John  Montford,  the  executors.) 


364  APPENDICES 


APPENDIX    C 

THE  WESTMORELAND  TEXT  OF  THE 
HOLY  SONNETS 

THE  series  of  the  "  Holy  Sonnets  "  in  the  Westmoreland  MS.  is  not  only 
fuller  by  three  poems  than  any  of  the  published  texts,  but  also  offers  so 
many  important  differences  of  arrangement  and  new  readings,  that  I 
have  thought  it  best,  for  reasons  given  in  the  body  of  this  book  (vol.  ii. 
p.  1 06),  to  print  this  text  for  the  first  time,  with  a  careful  collation  of 
the  seventeenth  century  editions. 

HOLY  SONNETS. 


THOU  hast  made  me,  and  shall  Thy  work  decay  ? 
Repair  me  now,  for  now  mine  end  doth  haste ; 
I  run  to  death,  and  Death  meets  me  as  fast, 
And  all  my  pleasures  are  like  yesterday. 
I  dare  not  move  my  dim  eyes  any  way ; 
Despair  behind,  and  Death  before  doth  cast 
Such  terror,  and  my  feebled  flesh  doth  waste 
By  sin  in  it,  which  it  towards  hell  doth  weigh. 
Only  Thou  art  above,  and  when  towards  Thee 
By  Thy  leave  I  can  look,  I  rise  again ; 
But  our  old  subtle  foe  so  tempteth  me, 
That  not  one  hour  I  can  myself  sustain. 
Thy  grace  may  wing  me  to  prevent  his  art 
And  Thou  like  adamant  draw  mine  iron  heart. 

Not  published  in  1633  ;  1.  7.  1635,  feeble ;  1.  12.  1635,  myself  I  can. 

II 

As  due  by  many  titles  I  resign 

Myself  to  Thee,  O  God.     First  I  was  made 

By  Thee,  and  for  Thee,  and  when  I  was  decay'd 

Thy  blood  bought  that,  the  which  before  was  Thine. 

I  am  Thy  son,  made  with  Thyself  to  shine, 

Thy  servant,  whose  pains  Thou  hast  still  repaid, 

Thy  sheep,  Thine  image,  and — till  I  betray'd 

Myself — a  temple  of  Thy  Spirit  divine. 


APPENDICES  365 

Why  doth  the  devil  then  usurp  in  me  ? 

Why  doth  he  steal,  nay  ravish,  that's  Thy  right  ? 

Except  Thou  rise  and  for  Thine  own  work  fight, 

O !  I  shall  soon  despair,  when  I  do  see 

That  Thou  lov'st  mankind  well,  yet  will  not  choose  me, 

And  Satan  hates  me,  yet  is  loath  to  lose  me. 

This  is  No.  i.  in  1633  ;  1.  9.  all  editions,  on  me;  1.  12.  1635, 1  shall  see. 


Ill 

O  1  might  those  sighs  and  tears  return  again 

Into  my  breast  and  eyes,  which  I  have  spent, 

That  I  might  in  this  holy  discontent 

Mourn  with  some  fruit,  as  I  have  mourn'd  in  vain. 

In  my  idolatry  what  showers  of  rain 

Mine  eyes  did  waste  ?  what  griefs  my  heart  did  rent  ? 

That  sufferance  was  my  sin,  now  I  repent ; 

Because  I  did  suffer,  I  must  suffer  pain. 

Th'  hydroptic  drunkard,  and  night-scouting  thief, 

The  itchy  lecter,  and  self-tickling  proud, 

Have  the  remembrance  of  past  joys,  for  relief 

Of  coming  ills.     To  poor  me  is  allow'd 

No  ease  ;  for  long,  yet  vehement  grief  hath  been 

Th'  effect  and  cause,  the  punishment  and  sin. 

Not  printed  in  1633 ;  1.  5. 1635,  mine;  1.  8.  163$,  Cause. 


IV 

Father,  part  of  His  double  interest 

Unto  Thy  kingdom  Thy  Son  gives  to  me ; 

His  jointure  in  the  knotty  Trinity 

He  keeps,  and  gives  [to]  me  his  death's  conquest. 

This  Lamb,  whose  death  with  life  the  world  hath  blest, 

Was  from  the  world's  beginning  slain,  and  He 

Hath  made  two  wills,  which  with  the  legacy 

Of  His  and  Thy  kingdom  doth  thy  sons  invest. 

Yet  such  are  Thy  laws,  that  men  argue  yet 

Whether  a  man  those  statutes  can  fulfil 

None  doth  ;  but  [Thy]  all-healing  grace  and  Spirit 

Revive  and  quicken  what  law  and  letter  kill. 

Thy  law's  abridgement,  and  Thy  last  command 

Is  all  but  love ;  O  let  that  last  Will  stand  ! 

This  is  No.  xii.  in  1633,  and  No.  xvi.  from  1635  onwards ;  1.  8.  1635,  omits  do  ; 
1.  9.  these  laws  in  all  editions  ;  1.  1 2.  Revive  again  in  all  editions. 


366  APPENDICES 


O  my  black  soul,  now  thou  art  summoned 

By  sickness,  Death's  herald  and  champion ; 

Thou'rt  like  a  pilgrim,  which  abroad  hath  done 

Treason,  and  durst  not  turn  to  whence  he's  fled ; 

Or  like  a  thief,  which  till  death's  doom  be  read, 

Wisheth  himself  deliver'd  from  prison ; 

But,  damned  and  haled  to  execution, 

Wisheth  that  still  he  might  be  imprisoned. 

Yet  grace,  if  thou  repent,  thou  can'st  not  lack ; 

But  who  shall  give  thee  that  grace  to  begin  ? 

O,  make  thyself  with  holy  mourning  black, 

And  red  with  blushing,  as  thou  art  with  sin ; 

Or  wash  thee  in  Christ's  blood,  which  hath  this  might 

That  being  red,  it  dyes  red  souls  to  white. 

This  in  No.  ii.  in  1633  ;  No.  iv.  in  1635  and  onwards. 


VI 

This  is  my  play's  last  scene ;  here  heavens  appoint 

My  pilgrimage's  last  mile ;  and  my  race 

Idly,  yet  quickly  run,  hath  this  last  pace; 

My  span's  last  mile,  my  minutes'  latest  point ; 

And  gluttonous  Death  will  instantly  unjoint 

My  body  and  soul,  and  I  shall  sleep  a  space ; 

Or  presently  (I  know  not)  see  that  face, 

Whose  fear  already  shakes  my  every  joint. 

Then,  as  my  soul  to  heaven  her  first  seat  takes  flight, 

And  earth-born  body  in  the  earth  shall  dwell, 

So  fall  my  sins,  that  all  may  have  their  right, 

To  where  they're  bred  and  would  press  me  to  hell. 

Impute  me  righteous,  thus  purg'd  of  evil, 

For  thus  I  leave  the  world,  the  flesh,  the  devil. 

This  is  No.  iii.  in  1633  ;  1.  4.  last  inch  in  all  editions  ;  1.  7.  But  my  ever-waking 
part  shall  see,  in  all  editions. 

VII 

I  am  a  little  world  made  cunningly 

Of  elements,  and  an  angelic  sprite ; 

But  black  sin  hath  betray'd  to  endless  night 

My  world's  both  parts,  and,  O,  both  parts  must  die. 

You  which  beyond  that  heaven  which  was  most  high 

Have  found  new  spheres,  and  of  new  lands  can  write, 

Pour  new  seas  in  my  eyes,  that  so  I  might 


APPENDICES  367 

Drown  my  world  with  my  weeping  earnestly, 

Or  wash  it  if  it  must  be  drown'd  no  more. 

But,  O,  it  must  be  burnt ;  alas  !  the  fire 

Of  lust  and  envy  burnt  it  heretofore, 

And  made  it  fouler ;  let  those  flames  retire, 

And  burn  me,  O  God,  with  a  fiery  zeal 

Of  Thee  and  Thy  house,  which  doth  in  eating  heal. 

This  is  not  given  in  1633  ;  in  1635  and  onward  it  is  No.  v. ;  1.  7.  1669,  he  might ; 
I.  12.  1635,  their  flames;  1.  13.  1635,  0  Lord. 


VIII 

At  the  round  earth's  imagined  corners  blow 

Your  trumpets,  angels,  and  arise,  arise 

From  death,  you  numberless  infinities 

Of  souls,  and  to  your  scatter'd  bodies  go  ; 

All  whom  the  flood  did,  and  fire  shall  o'erthrow, 

All  whom  war,  dearth,  age,  agues,  tyrannies, 

Despair,  law,  chance  hath  slain,  and  you,  whose  eyes 

Shall  behold  God,  and  never  taste  death's  woe. 

But  let  them  sleep,  Lord,  and  me  mourn  a  space 

For,  if  above  all  these  my  sins  abound, 

'Tis  late  to  ask  abundance  of  Thy  grace, 

When  we  are  there.     Here  on  this  lowly  ground, 

Teach  me  how  to  repent,  for  that's  as  good 

As  if  Thou  hadst  seal'd  my  pardon  with  Thy  blood. 

This  is  No.  iv.  in  1633,  and  No.  vii.  from  1635  onwards ;  1.  6.  in  all  editions,  death. 


IX 

If  poisonous  minerals,  and  if  that  tree 
Whose  fruit  threw  death  on  else  immortal  us, 
If  lecherous  goats,  if  serpents  envious 
Cannot  be  damn'd,  alas !  why  should  I  be  ? 
Why  should  intent  or  reason,  born  in  me, 
Make  sins,  else  equal,  in  me  more  heinous  ? 
And  mercy  being  easy  and  glorious 
To  God,  in  His  stern  wrath  why  threatens  He  ? 
But  who  am  I,  that  dare  dispute  with  Thee? 

0  God,  O  !  of  Thine  only  worthy  blood, 
And  my  tears,  make  a  heavenly  Lethean  flood, 
And  drown  in  it  my  sin's  black  memory. 

That  Thou  remember  them,  some  claim  as  debt ; 

1  think  it  mercy  if  Thou  wilt  forget. 

This  was  No.  v.  in  1633. 


36S  APPENDICES 


If  faithful  souls  be  alike  glorified 

As  angels,  then  my  father's  soul  doth  see, 

And  adds  this  even  to  foil  felicity, 

That  valiantly  I  hell's  wide  mouth  o'erstride. 

But  if  our  minds  to  these  souls  be  descried 

By  ciTcnflnsfanccs,  and  by  signs  that  be 

Apparent  in  us  not  immediately, 

How  shall  my  mind's  white  truth  to  them  be  tried  ? 

They  see  idolatrous  lovers  weep  and  mourn, 

And  Tile  blasphemous  conjurers  to  call 

On  Jesu's  name,  and  Pharisaical 

Dissemblers  feign  devotion.     Then  turn, 

O  pensive  soul,  to  God,  for  He  knows  best 

Thy  true  griefj  for  He  put  it  in  my  breast. 

Not  printed  in  1633;  from  1635  onwards  this  is  No.  Tin;  L  ia   1635,  stile ; 
L  14.  1635,  Tkygruft  fir  Hepmt  it  ucfe  my  hrmst;  1669,  my  &M. 


Death  be  not  proud,  tho'  some  have  called  thee 

Mighty  and  dreadful,  for  thou  art  not  so ; 

For  those,  whom  thou  think'st  thou  dost  overthrow, 

Die  not,  poor  Death,  nor  yet  can'st  thou  kill  me. 

From  rest  and  sleep,  which  but  thy  pictures  be, 

Much  pleasure,  then  from  thee  much  more  must  flow, 

And  soonest  our  best  men  with  thee  do  go, 

Rest  of  their  bones,  and  soul's  delivery. 

Thou'rt  slave  to  fate,  chance,  kings  and  desperate  men, 

And  dost  with  poison,  war,  and  sickness  dwell, 

And  poppy,  or  charms  can  make  us  sleep  as  well, 

And  easier,  than  thy  stroke ;  why  swell'st  thou  then  ? 

One  short  sleep  past,  we  live  eternally 

And  Death  shall  be  no  more;  Death  thou  shah  die. 

This  was  No.  TV.  in  1633,  No.  x.  in  1635,  and  onwards ;  L  12. 1633.  and  onwards, 
AmUttttr. 

XII 

Wflt  thou  love  God  as  He  thee  ?  then  digest, 
My  soul,  this  wholesome  meditation, 
How  God  the  Spirit,  by  angels  waited  on 
In  heaven,  doth  make  His  temple  in  thy  breast 
The  Father  having  begot  a  Son  most  blest, 
And  srfll  begetting— for  He  ne'er  begun— 
Hath  deign'd  to  choose  thee  by  adoption, 
Co-heir  to  His  glory,  and  Sabbath's  endless  rest 


APPENDICES  369 

ADO  99  a  robbd  fttaBiJ  which  by  search  doth  find 

t  lose  or  bay  it  again, 
down,  and  was  slain, 

JSatati  tfolf^  fO  nn^indr 

ade  like  God  before, 
Bat,  that  God  should  be  made  like  man,  modi  more. 

ras  No.  zL  in  1633,  Xot  XT.  in  1635,  and  ouwjutb  ;  L  12.  1633,  J&&K. 


Spit  in  my  face,  ye  Jews,  and  pierce  my  side, 
Boflet  and  scoff,  scourge,  and  crucify  me, 
For  I  have  smn'd,  and  smn'd,  and  humbly  He 
Who  could  do  no  iniquity,  hath  died. 

But  3J  my  Cr2L~.il  C1HI1  SI   I-r  £.!ll:Ilt2 

My  sins,  which  pass  the  Jews*  impiety. 
They  kuTd  once  an  inglorious  [man],  bat  I 
Crucify  Him  daily,  being  now  giorified. 
O  let  me  then  His  strange  love  stffl  admire ; 

ic, ipiyy  ptfirooffm  out  x*i.  6  DOTC  K^T  r  rHiniy^Tnfnt  • 
And  Jacob  '•""Tj  doth'd  in  Tile  harsh  attire, 
Bat  to  supplant  and  with  painfhl  intent 


God  doth'd  TTinwlf  in  T£C  man's  flesh,  that  so 
He  might  be  weak  enough  to  suffer  woe. 

Tbis B KOL  TD.  in  163^  and  Xo.  zL  in  1635,  and  onwards;  L  3.  all  the  editions, 


XIY 

Why  am  I  by  aH  creatures  waited  on? 

Why  do  the  prodigal  elements  supply 

Life  and  food  to  me,  being  more  pure  than  I, 

Simple  and  further  from  corruption? 

Why  brook's*  thou,  ignorant  horse,  subjection  ? 

Why  dost  thou,  bull  and  boar,  so  seelfly 

Dissemble  weakness,  and  by  one  man's  stroke  die, 

Whose  whole  kind  you  might  swallow  and  feed  upon? 

Alas  I  I  am  weaker,  woe's  me,  and  worse  than  you; 

You  have  not  sinn'd,  nor  need  be  timorous. 

But  wonder  at  a  greater  wonder,  for  to  us 

Created  nature  doth  these  things  subdue; 

But  their  Creator,  whom  sin,  nor  nature  tied, 

For  us,  His  creatures,  and  His  foes,  hath  died. 

Tins  is  Xa  rra.  in  1633,  and  Kou  xn.  front  1635  onwards;  L  I.  all  the  editions, 
Wkyarcvx;  \.  4.  \^  SimfUr  **d ;  L  9.  afl  die  editions,  Weaker  I  am;  LlL  1635, 

iht  st^vni  -r/ni^r  m-ll^i- 

VOL.  II.  2  A 


370  APPENDICES 


XV 

What  if  this  present  were  the  world's  last  night  ? 

Look  in  my  heart,  O  soul,  where  thou  dost  dwell 

The  picture  of  Christ  crucified,  and  tell 

Whether  that  countenance  can  thee  affright. 

Tears  in  His  eyes  quench  the  amazing  light ; 

Blood  fills  His  frowns,  which  from  His  pierced  head  fell ; 

And  can  that  tongue  adjudge  thee  unto  hell, 

Which  pray'd  forgiveness  for  His  foes'  rank  spite  ? 

No,  no ;  but  as  in  mine  idolatry 

I  said  to  all  my  profane  mistresses, 

Beauty  of  pity,  foulness  only  is 

A  sign  of  rigour ;  so  I  say  to  thee, 

To  wicked  spirits  are  horrid  shapes  assign'd ; 

This  beauteous  form  assures  a  piteous  mind. 

This  was  No.  ix.  in  1633,  and  xiii.  in  1635,  and  onwards ;  1.  2.  all  the  editions, 
Look;  I.  4.  all  the  editions,  Whelher  His ;  1.  8.  all  the  editions,  fierce  spile ;  1.  14.  all 
the  editions,  assumes. 


XVI 

Batter  my  heart,  three-person'd  God ;  for  you 

As  yet  but  knock ;  breathe,  shine,  and  seek  to  mend 

That  I  may  rise,  and  stand,  o'erthrow  me,  and  bend 

Your  force,  to  break,  blow,  burn  and  make  me  new. 

I  like  an  usurp'd  town,  to  another  due, 

Labour  to  admit  you,  but  O,  to  no  end. 

Reason,  your  viceroy  in  me,  me  should  defend, 

But  is  captiv'd,  and  proves  weak  or  untrue. 

Yet  dearly  I  love  you,  and  would  be  lov'd  fain, 

But  am  betroth'd  unto  your  enemy ; 

Divorce  me,  untie  or  break  that  knot  again, 

Take  me  to  you,  imprison  me,  for  I, 

Except  you  enthrall  me,  never  shall  be  free 

Nor  ever  chaste,  except  you  ravish  me. 

This  was  No.  x.  in  1633,  and  xiv.  in  1635,  and  onwards. 


XVII 

Since  she  whom  I  loved  hath  paid  her  last  debt 

To  Nature,  and  to  her's,  and  my  good  is  dead, 

And  her  soul  early  into  heaven  vanished, — 

Wholly  on  heavenly  things  my  mind  is  set. 

Here  the  admiring  her  my  mind  did  whet 

To  seek  Thee,  God ;  so  streams  do  show  their  head, 


APPENDICES  371 

But  tho'  I  have  found  Thee,  and  Thou  my  thirst  hast  fed, 

A  holy  thirsty  dropsy  melts  me  yet. 

But  why  should  I  beg  more  love,  whenas  Thou 

Dost  woo  my  soul  for  hers,  off'ring  all  Thine ; 

And  dost  not  only  fear  lest  I  allow 

My  love  to  saints  and  angels,  things  divine, 

But  in  Thy  tender  jealousy  dost  doubt 

Lest  the  World,  Flesh,  yea  Devil,  put  thee  out  ? 

First  printed  in  Gosse  :  Jacobean  Poets  (1894). 


XVIII 

Show  me,  dear  Christ,  Thy  Spouse  so  bright  and  clear. 
What  ?    Is  it  is  She,  who  on  the  other  shore 
Goes  richly  painted  ?     Or,  who,  robb'd  and  lore, 
Laments  and  mourns  in  Germany  and  here  ? 
Sleeps  she  a  thousand,  then  peeps  up  one  year? 
Is  she  self-truth,  and  errs  ?  now  new,  now  outwore  ? 
Doth  she  and  did  she  and  shall  she  evermore 
On  one,  on  seven,  or  on  no  hill  appear  ? 
Dwells  she  with  us,  or  like  adventuring  knights 
First  travail  we  to  seek,  and  then  make  love  ? 
Betray,  kind  Husband,  Thy  Spouse  to  our  sights 
And  let  mine  amorous  soul  court  Thy  mild  Dove, 
Who  is  most  true,  and  pleasing  to  Thee,  then 
When  she  is  embrac'd  and  open  to  most  men. 

Now  first  published. 


XIX 

Oh,  to  vex  me,  contraries  meet  in  one ; 

Inconstancy  unnaturally  hath  begot 

A  constant  habit ;  that,  when  I  would  not, 

I  change  in  vows  and  in  devotion. 

As  humorous  is  my  contrition 

As  my  profane  love,  and  as  soon  forgot, 

As  riddlingly  distemper'd,  cold  and  hot ; 

As  praying  as  mute ;  as  infinite  as  none. 

I  durst  not  view  Heaven  yesterday ;  and,  to-day, 

In  prayers  and  flattering  speeches,  I  court  God ; 

To-morrow  I  quake  with  true  fear  of  His  rod. 

So  my  devout  fits  come  and  go  away, 

Like  a  fantastic  ague,  save  that  here 

Those  are  my  best  days  when  I  shake  with  fear. 

Now  first  printed. 


372  APPENDICES 


APPENDIX    D 

As  to  the  place  of  the  following  letters  in  Donne's  biography,  I  am 
unable  to  offer  the  least  conjecture,  but  I  am  unwilling  to  omit  them 
altogether.  They  all  appeared  in  the  Letters  of  1651 : — 

"  To  the  Honourable  Knight,  Sir  ROBERT  KER. 

"  SIR, — Your  man's  haste  gives  me  the  advantage,  that  I  am  excus 
able  in  a  short  letter,  else  I  should  not  pardon  it  to  myself.  I  shall 
obey  your  commandment  of  coming  so  near  you  upon  Michaelmas  Day, 
as  by  a  message  to  ask  you  whether  that  or  the  next  morning  be  the 
fittest  to  solicit  your  further  favour.  You  understand  all  virtue  so  well, 
as  you  may  be  pleased  to  call  to  mind  what  thankfulness  and  services  are 
due  to  you  from  me,  and  believe  them  all  to  be  expressed  in  this  rag  of 
paper,  which  gives  you  new  assurance,  that  I  am  ever  your  most  humble 
servant,  J.  DONNE." 


"  To  the  Honourable  Knight^  Sir  ROBERT  KER. 

"  SIR, — When  I  was  almost  at  Court,  I  met  the  Prince's  coach  :  I 
think  I  obeyed  your  purposes  best  therefore  in  coming  hither.  I  am 
sure  I  provided  best  for  myself  thereby  ;  since  my  best  degree  of  under 
standing  is  to  be  governed  by  you.  I  beseech  you  give  me  an  assigna 
tion  where  I  may  wait  upon  you  at  your  commodity  this  evening.  Till 
the  performance  of  which  commandment  from  you,  I  rest  here  in  the 
Red  Lion. — Your  very  thankful  and  affectionate  servant, 

"J.  DONNE." 

"  To  Sir  HENRY  GOODYER. 

"  SIR, — I  speak  to  you  before  God,  I  am  so  much  affected  with  yes 
terday's  accident,  that  I  think  I  profane  it  in  that  name.  As  men  which 
judge  nativities  consider  not  single  stars,  but  the  aspects,  the  concurrence 
and  posture  of  them ;  so  in  this,  though  no  particular  past  arrest  me,  or 
divert  me,  yet  all  seems  remarkable  and  enormous.  God,  which  hath 
done  this  immediately,  without  so  much  as  a  sickness,  will  also  imme 
diately  without  supplement  of  friends,  infuse  His  Spirit  of  comfort, 
where  it  is  needed  and  deserved.  I  write  this  to  you  from  the  Spring 
Garden,  whither  I  withdrew  myself  to  think  of  this  ;  and  the  intenseness 
of  my  thinking  ends  in  this,  that  by  my  help  God's  work  should  be 
imperfected,  if  by  any  means  I  resisted  the  amazement. — Your  very 
true  friend,  J.  DONNE." 


APPENDICES  373 


APPENDIX    E 

DR.  NORMAN  MOORE,  F.R.C.P.,  and  Lecturer  on  the  Principles  and 
Practice  of  Medicine  to  St.  Bartholomew's  Hospital,  has  been  so  kind 
as  to  write  for  me  the  following  diagnosis  of  Donne's  state  of  health 
and  cause  of  death,  founded  upon  the  documents  printed  in  the  pre 
sent  volumes  : — 

"  DEAR  MR.  GOSSE, — Dr.  Donne  seems  to  have  been  inclined  to 
dwell  upon  his  own  illnesses  and  their  symptoms,  to  consider  what  they 
indicated  in  the  past  or  promised  for  the  future — 

'  And  where  engendered  and  of  what  humour.' 

He  had  probably  no  great  physical  vigour,  and  was  throughout  life  in 
that  condition  of  mental  and  nervous  instability,  which  we  speak  of  as 
neurotic.  This  led  him  to  dwell  upon  the  ancient  discussion  as  to  the 
nature  of  health — 

'  There  is  no  health,  physicians  say  that  we 
At  best  enjoy  but  a  neutrality  : 
And  can  there  be  worse  sickness  than  to  know 
That  we  are  never  well,  nor  can  be  so. ' l 

"  A  man  of  sound  mind  and  nerves  will  not  be  disturbed  by  such 
discussions,  but  will  eat  his  meals,  take  his  exercise,  and  sleep  soundly, 
careless  of  what  his  state  may  be  called  by  physicians  or  meta 
physicians. 

"  A  man  of  sound  mind,  but  feeble  frame  like  Sir  Anthony  Ashley 
Cooper — 

1 A  fiery  soul,  which,  working  out  its  way, 
Fretted  the  pigmy  body  to  decay, 
And  o'er  informed  the  tenement  of  clay.' 

Or  such  a  person  as  St.  Francis  of  Assisi,  will  suffer  illness  without 
dwelling  on  it,  will  drive  it  from  his  thoughts,  and  say  nothing  of  it  in 
his  writings.  The  neurotic  person  dwells  to  himself  and  to  others  on 
his  own  feelings  and  illnesses,  is  gratified  by  sympathy,  and  enjoys  his 
own  feeling  for  himself.  He  belongs  to  the  second  group  mentioned 
by  Gray — 

'  Condemn'd  alike  to  groan, 
The  tender  for  another's  pain, 
Th'  unfeeling  for  his  own.' 

"  This  condition  is,  however,  in  some  of  its  degrees,  compatible  with 
regard  for  others  and  the  maintenance  of  friendships — as  it  was  in 

1  "  An  Anatomy  of  the  World." 


374  APPENDICES 

Donne.  It  often  gives  a  false  unity  to  the  morbid  conditions  of  a 
patient  throughout  life.  In  his  own  idea  such  a  patient  has  never  been 
well,  and  therefore  the  various  occasional  attacks  of  catarrh,  indiges 
tion,  and  local  pain,  from  which  few  men  are  free,  are  by  him  felt  to  be 
manifestations  of  one  lifelong  diseased  condition,  though  often  they  are 
as  isolated  in  pathological  origin  as  similar  attacks  in  a  man  of  generally 
robust  health. 

"  Donne  had  probably  a  feeble  digestion  and  a  tendency  to  gastric 
disturbance,  increasing  as  he  grew  older,  aggravated,  as  such  a  condi 
tion  usually  is,  by  fatigue  (as  in  his  case  when  he  was  abroad),  and  by 
mental  distress  (as  after  his  wife's  death). 

"  The  account  of  his  last  illness,  at  the  age  of  fifty-nine,  his  emacia 
tion,  pallor,  and  death-like  appearance,  Dr.  Foxe's  prescription  of  an 
exclusively  fluid  diet,  the  patient's  clear  mind  and  power  of  physical 
exertion  as  far  as  malnutrition  and  muscular  weakness  allowed  it, 
together  with  the  absence  of  any  signs  of  lung  disease,  such  as  cough ; 
or  of  heart  disease,  such  as  dropsy  or  angina  pectoris,  or  of  renal 
disease,  such  as  dropsy — all  point,  in  my  opinion,  to  some  abdominal  new 
growth,  of  which  cancer  of  the  stomach  would  be  the  most  probable  form. 

"  Thus  my  conclusion  is,  that  the  wasting  disease  of  which  Donne 
died  at  fifty-nine  was  an  abdominal  new  growth,  which  was  first 
distinctly  developed  in  August  1630,  and  that  he  had  had  several 
gastric  attacks  during  previous  years.  This  is  not  an  uncommon 
history  in  cases  of  cancer  of  the  stomach.  The  actual  growth  is,  in 
a  majority  of  cases,  speaking  of  my  own  observations,  of  not  longer 
duration  than  eighteen  months,  but  I  have  known  a  single  example  in 
which  the  growth  was  plainly  developed  for  sixty  months  before  death 
took  place.  In  one  variety  of  the  disease  the  patient  has  had  various 
gastric  symptoms  for  many  years,  and  then  seems  to  reach  a  date  at 
which  the  new  growth  is  developed.  In  some,  but  not  all,  of  these 
cases,  an  old  non-cancerous  gastric  ulcer  has  lasted  long  and  preceded 
the  new  (cancerous)  growth  which  begins  in  its  walls.  Donne  men 
tions  no  symptoms  (such  as  bringing  up  blood)  pointing  to  such  an 
ulcer,  and  he  is  so  inclined  to  tell  all  he  suffered  that  the  absence  of 
any  mention  of  an  easily  observed  symptom  may  in  his  case  be  taken 
to  mean  that  he  never  had  the  symptom.  If  his  expressions,  "  I  eat 
and  digest  well  enough,"  are  thought  to  exclude  the  stomach,  the 
growth  may  be  located  lower  in  the  alimentary  canal,  and  then  prob 
ably  in  the  large  intestine.  In  many  cases  of  cancer,  both  gastric  and 
intestinal,  the  patients  make  no  complaint  of  pain. 

"Migraine  is  sometimes  accompanied  by  gastric  symptoms  and 
recurs  for  years,  but  the  long  duration  of  the  attack  about  which  he 
wrote  the  *  Devotions '  points  to  a  definite  visceral  lesion  and  not  to  a 
purely  cerebral  one. 

"  Izaak  Walton  speaks  of  the  disease  '  which  inclined  him  to  a  con 
sumption,'  but  at  that  time  the  words  consumption,  tabes,  and  phthisis 
(which  are  of  course  convertible  terms)  are  used  of  any  continued 
wasting  without  precise  reference  to  tuberculosis  or  to  disease  of  the 


APPENDICES  375 

lungs.  Even  Dr.  Christopher  Bennet,  whose  Theatri  Tabidorum 
Vestibulum,  1654,  and  Tabidorum  Theatrum,  sive  pthisios,  atrophies  et 
hecticcz  xenodochium,  1656,  may  be  regarded  as  the  first  books  by  an 
English  physician  on  tuberculosis,  uses  the  word  tabes  in  its  widest 
sense,  just  as  we  still  do  in  the  terms  'tabes  dorsalis'  and  'tabes 
mesenterica ' ;  and  the  same  is  true  of  Dr.  Richard  Morton's  admirable 
treatise  on  wasting  diseases  Phthisiologia  seu  Exerdtationes  de  Phthisi, 
1689. 

"The  fact  that  he  makes  little  mention  of  cough  is  probably 
sufficient  proof  that  Donne  had  not  tubercular  phthisis.  The  negative 
evidence  excludes  also  heart  disease,  and  disease  of  the  nervous  system, 
whether  structural  or  functional.  All  the  positive  evidence  points  to  an 
ultimate  abdominal  new  growth  as  the  cause  of  death,  and  to  attacks  of 
acute  gastritis  as  the  previous  illnesses,  while  behind  all  is  the  neurotic 
constitution  which  makes  the  man  himself  his  own  life-long  pathological 
study,  and  so,  in  his  descriptions,  gives  a  unity  of  origin  to  all  his 
illnesses,  apparent  to  him,  but  not  present  so  far  as  morbid  anatomy  is 
concerned. 

"The  opinion  I  have  expressed  rests  upon  the  interesting  passages 
you  have  sent  me,  with  some  consideration  of  his  poems  and  of  Walton's 
rather  indefinite  remarks.  The  evidence  is  not  sufficient  to  decide  the 
question  absolutely,  but  as  far  as  it  makes  him  capable  of  a  pathological 
explanation  (to  quote  one  of  his  own  verses) — 

'  I  have,  and  you  have  DONNE.' 

With  many  thanks  for  so  interesting  a  problem, 

"  Believe  me,  dear  Mr.  Gosse,  yours  sincerely, 

"  NORMAN  MOORE. 

"  94  Gloucester  Place,  Portman  Square,  W., 
2^th  May  1899." 


APPENDIX    F 

MR.  GEORGE  W.  MILLER,  one  of  the  authors  of  a  history  of  Chisle- 
hurst,  now  in  the  press,  has  had  the  courtesy  to  supply  me  with  the 
following  particulars  with  regard  to  the  person  and  descendants  of 
Donne's  tenth  child  and  fifth  daughter,  Margaret,  Lady  Bowles,  who 
was  baptized  on  the  2oth  of  April  1615,  and  died  October  3,  1679  : — 

Sir  William  Bowles,  Knt,  the  husband  of  Margaret  Donne,  was  the 
second  son  of  Robert  Bowles,  Esq.  of  Chislehurst,  "  Groom  and  Yeoman 
of  the  Toiles,  Tents,  Hayes,  and  Pavilions"  to  Queen  Elizabeth, 
James  I.,  Charles  L,  and  Charles  II.,  by  Frances,  daughter  of  George 
Baker,  surgeon  to  Queen  Elizabeth. 


376  APPENDICES 

In  the  early  part  of  the  seventeenth  century  a  good  many  families, 
including  that  of  Bowles,  who  were  connected  with  the  Court,  settled 
at  Chislehurst.  They  were  attracted,  no  doubt,  by  the  society  of  the 
Walsinghams,  and  the  convenient  distance  of  this  parish  from  London 
and  Greenwich.  When  the  Civil  War  broke  out  they  all  left  the  neigh 
bourhood. 

The  early  life  of  Lady  Bowles  was  no  doubt  spent  here,  as  her 
eldest  daughter  was  baptized  at  the  parish  church. 

The  Bowles  family  for  several  generations  held  appointments  in  a 
department  of  the  Royal  Wardrobe,  known  as  the  "  Tents,  Toiles, 
Hayes,  and  Pavilions,"  or,  more  briefly,  that  of  the  "Tents."  They 
were,  moreover,  the  sole  firm  of  tent-makers  in  England,  as  may  be  seen 
by  a  petition  of  Robert  Bowles,  in  which  he  speaks  of  "  the  ancient  art 
of  making  tents  and  pavilions,  which  is  known  to  no  other  persons  in 
H.M.  dominions"  (State  Papers).  Sir  William  Bowles,  after  the  Restora 
tion,  lived  at  Clewer,  near  Windsor,  and  had  a  town  house  on  Clerken- 
well  Green.  He  was  a  "  Gentleman  of  the  Privy  Chamber  in  Ordinary  " 
in  1661,  J.P.  in  1662,  "Master  of  the  Tents"  1663.  In  1666  he 
applied  to  be  made  a  baronet,  and  Royal  assent  was  given ;  but  the 
honour  was  changed  for  that  of  knighthood  at  his  desire,  his  reason 
being  the  extravagance  of  his  eldest  son  (see  his  will  in  which  he  leaves 
the  bulk  of  his  property  to  his  second  son,  "  in  order  to  prevent  the 
estates  from  being  wasted  "). 

Lady  Bowles  died  in  London,  and  was  buried  at  Chislehurst  in 
Sept.  1679  beside  her  husband's  brother,  Dr.  George  Bowles.  He  was 
an  eminent  physician  and  botanist,  and  is  mentioned  with  respect  in 
Merritt's  "  Pinax  "  and  the  second  edition  of  Gerarde's  "  Herbal."  He 
desired  in  his  will  to  be  buried  at  Chislehurst ;  and  being,  as  a  non 
resident,  debarred  from  sepulture  within  the  church,  he  requested  to  be 
laid  "  as  nigh  the  church  wall  as  may  be  permitted."  The  Rector, 
therefore,  buried  him  in  the  porch.  Here  Lady  Bowles  was  laid,  and 
two  years  later  Sir  William.  The  present  south  aisle  covers  the  old 
site  of  the  porch,  and  there  are  no  monuments  of  them  extant.  Sir 
William  died  in  January  1681.  A  month  before  his  death  he  married, 
secondly,  Mrs.  Margaret  Brace,  widow  (London  Mar.  Lie.). 

The  surviving  children  of  Sir  William  and  Margaret  his  wife  were — 

1.  William,  succeeded  his  father  as  Master  of  the  Tents  on  the 
latter  being  appointed  Keeper  of  H.M.  Wardrobe  at  Greenwich  Palace. 
Resigned  it  in  1683.     Died  without  issue  in  1697,  and  was  buried  at 
Clewer,  Berks. 

2.  Charles,  born  23rd  July  1652;  died  1700,  buried  at  Clewer; 
Master  of  the  Tents  (at  first  jointly  with  his  father,  afterwards  with  his 
brother)  to  Car.  II.  and  Jac.  II.     In  1685  he  was  appointed  a  Com 
missioner  of  Musters,  and  in  that  position  offended   the  king  by  re 
fusing  to  dispense  with  the  Test  and  Oath  to  certain  Roman  Catholic 
candidates  for  the  army.     At  the  instigation  of  the  King  the  Lords  of 
the  Treasury  refused  to  pass  the  accounts  of  his  office,  and  made  no 
reply  to  a  petition  in  which  he  prayed  them  to  do  so.     From  that  time 


PORTRAIT   OF   MARGARET,   LADY    BOWLES 

Photographed  from  a  Contemporary  Painting 


APPENDICES  377 

the  "  Tents,  Toiles,  &c.,"  ceased  to  be  a  department  of  the  Royal  Ward 
robe.  Charles  Bowles  was  the  ancestor  of  the  family  of  Bowles  of 
North  Aston,  Oxfordshire.  His  grandson,  Charles  Bowles,  was  Ver- 
derer  of  Windsor  Forest  in  1738.  His  great-grandson,  Oldfield  Bowles, 
"  one  of  the  most  accomplished  painters,  amateur  musicians,  botanists, 
and  farmers  that  Oxfordshire  ever  produced "  (Notes  and  Queries,  5th 
Oct.,  vol.  vii.,  p.  375)  was  a  member  of  the  Dilletanti  Club,  and 
popular  in  the  cultured  society  of  his  time.  The  family  is  still  ex 
tant,  but  they  sold  their  estate  in  1862. 

3.  Duoderimus,  living  in  1661,  dead  before  1681. 

DAUGHTERS. 

1.  Margaret,  wife  of  Peter  Scott,  Rector  of  Sunning-hill  and  Canon 
of  Windsor. 

2.  Emma,  wife  of  James  Spelman. 

3.  Elizabeth,  wife  of  James  Tempest. 

4.  Cornelia,  wife  of  John  Wight,  of  Katharine  Hall,  Guildford. 

5.  Frances,  wife  of  Thomas  Bispham,  of  Co.  Lancashire. 


INDEX 


INDEX 


240, 


ABBOT,  George,  Archbishop  of  Can 
terbury,  ii.  62,  69,  115,  141,  143, 
148,  149,  150,  151,242,243 

Aix-la-Chapelle,  ii.  112 

Aldborough  or  Abrey,  Hatch,  ii.  264, 

295 
Alleyn,  Edward,  ii.  192, 193, 194,  217, 

232 

Anatomy  of  'Melancholy ',  ii.  186 
Anatomy  of  the  World,  Donne's,  i. 

78,  274-7  ;  ii.  332 

Ancrum,  Earl  of.  See  Ker,  Sir  Robert 
Andre wes,  Bishop  Lancelot,  i.   187  ; 

ii.  27,  28,  234,  242  ;  Responsio,  i.  25 
Anniversaries,  Donne's,  i.  276,  277, 

302,  303  ;  ii.  350 
Apologia  Catholica,  i.  150 
Apology  for  Smectymnus,  i.  35 
Appello  Casarem,  Montagu's,  i. 

242,  243 
Ariosto,  i.  32 
Arnauld,  Antoine,  ii.  112 
Askew,  Egeon,  i.  148 
Aubigne,  Agrippa  d',  ii.  247 
Autumnal,  The,  Donne's,  ii.  228-30 
Averroes,  ii.  8 

BACON,  Francis,  Lord  Verulam,   ii. 

94,  210  ;  Discourse,  i.  126 
Baldwinus,  Franciscus,  i.  224 
Bancroft,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury, 

i.  147 

Barlow,  Bishop  William,  i.  221 
Bartlet,  Sir  Thomas,  i.  215 

Lady?  »•  4,  25 

Barwick,  ii.  60 

Basse,  William,  ii.  305 

Bath,  Marquis  of,  ii.  6 

Beaumont,  Francis,  i.  229 

Bedford,  Ed.  Russell,  third  Earl  of, 

i.  209,  210,  241  ;  ii.  1 6,  248 
Lucy,  Countess  of,  i.  no,  188, 

189,  194,  198,  199,  209,  210,  211, 

212,  216,  218,  229,  284,  293,  306, 

381 


314  ;  ii.  4,  16,  43,  53,  69,  70,  73,  76, 

79,  126,  142,  157,248,305,330 
Bellarmine,  Cardinal,  Disputationes, 

1.25,26,27,251,252 
Bemerton,  ii.  278 
Bennet,  Dr.  Chris.,  ii.  375 
Bergen-op-Zoom,  i.  217 
Beza,  Theodore,  i.  41,  198,  224,  260 
Biathanatos,  Donne's,  i.  207, 245,258- 

263  ;  ii.  124,  318,  319 
Blunham  or  Blonham,  ii.  157,  204, 

361 
Bohemia,  Elizabeth,  Queen  of,  ii.  161, 

205,   296  (letters  to  Donne,  206, 

233)'     See  also  Donne's  letters 
Boulstrod  or  Bulstrode,  Mistress,  i. 

231,  232 
Bowie,  John,  Bishop  of  Rochester, 

ii.  139 
Bowles,  Charles,  ii.  376-7 

Duodecimus,  ii.  377 

Dr.  George,  ii.  376 

Sir  William,  ii.  297,  375 

Margaret,  Lady  (ne'e  Donne),  ii. 

375 

their  family,  ii.  376-7 

Bradford   (Lord  Newport  of  High 

Ercal),  Francis,  Earl  of,  ii.  323 
Brathwayte,  Richard,  ii.  234,  304 
Bridges,  Mr.  Robert,  ii.  334 
Bridgewater,  Earl  of,  i.  112 

Frances,  Countess  of,  i.  112 

Brook,  Sir  Basil,  i.  81 

Sir  John,  ii.  256 

Mary,  i.  153 

Brooke,  Christopher,  i.  19,  24,  48,  50, 

59,  76,  81,  97,  103,  1 10,  116,  126, 

278  ;  ii.  86,  249 

Fulke  Greville,  Lord,  ii.  149 

Samuel,  i.  19,  81,  97,  103,  116; 

ii.  249,  360 

Broughton,  Mr.  Hugh,  i.  196,  198 
Brown,  Mr.  Horatio,  ii.  315 
Browne,  Sir  Thomas,  ii.  301,  304 


INDEX 


Buckhurst,  Sackville,  Lord,  ii.  201 
Buckingham,  George  Villiers,  Duke 

of,  ii.  160,  161,  195,  204,  219,  246 
Burton,  William,  i.  30 

CESAR,  Sir  Julius,  i.   146,  210;   ii. 

115,  141,279 

Calfuber,  Dr.  Rodolfus,  i.  279 
Calm,  The,  i.  47,  48,  49 
Calvert,  Sir  George,  ii.  135 
Camberwell,  i.  145  ;  ii.  81,  193,  221, 

241,  297 

Cambridge  University,  i.  252  ;  ii.  83, 

230 

Campanella,  i.  269 
Canonization,  The,  Donne's,  i.  117 
Canterbury,  Archbishop.    See  Abbot 

and  Laud 

Carew,  George,  Lord,  i.  210 
Sir  Nicholas  Throckmorton,  i. 

146,  210  ;  ii.  141,  209 

Thomas,  ii.  285,  304,  336-8 

Carey,  Sir  Lucius,  ii.  285.  See  Falk 
land 

Lettice,  Lady,  i.  317  ;  ii.  50 

Valentine,  Bishop  of  Exeter,  ii. 

147,  149,  153 
Carillo,  ii.  343 

Carleton,  Sir  Dudley,  i.  193,  232,  237, 
279,  290,  308  ;  ii.  39,  40,  83,  84, 
127,  129,  133,  194,  224 

Carlisle,  Earl  of,  ii.  173,  179, 190, 195, 
246,  265,  272,  295,  360.  See  also 
Hay,  Lord,  and  Doncaster,  Vis 
count 

Caron,  Noel  de,  of  Schonewal,  i.  199; 
ii.  121 

Carr,  Robert,  ii.  363 

Cases  of  Conscience,  Donne's,  ii.  151, 
152,298 

Casaubon,  Isaac,  i.  29,  30,  34,  35,  37 

Catullus,  i.  72 

Cavendish,  Thomas,  i.  42 

Chamberlain,  John,  i.  237,  279  ;  ii. 
83,  84,  194,  214 

Chambers,  Mr.  E.  K.,  i.  41,  43,  80, 
278  ;  ii.  105,  106 

Chandos,  Grey  Brydges,  5th  Lord, 
1.308,309,  315 

Charles,  Prince  of  Wales,  ii.  60,  87, 
179,  207 

I.,  King,  ii.  219,  221,  240,  241, 

242,  243,  246,  263,  319,  320 

II.,  King,  ii.  325 

Cheke,  Essex,  Lady,  i.  317 
Chelsea,  ii.  141,  190, 222, 223, 226, 346 


Chislehurst,  ii.  375,  376 
Chiswick,  ii.  221 
Christianity,  ii.  169 
Christmas,  Robert,  ii.  265,  360 
Chudleigh  of  Alston,  John,  ii.  236 
Church  music,  ii.  197 
Clement,  Dr.  William,  ii.  271 
Clements,  Dr.  John,  i.  6,  8 

Winifred.     See  Rastell 

Clifford,  Henry,  4th  Earl  of  Cumber 
land,  ii.  30 
Cokain,  Sir  Aston,  ii.  255 

Thomas,  of  Ashbourne,  ii.  255 

Mrs.  (nee  Ann  Stanhope),  ii.  255, 

296 

Cokayne,  Sir  William,  ii.  237, 238, 287 
Coke,  Sir  Edward,  i.  247 

Sir  John,  ii.  222 

Coleridge,  S.  T.,  i.  35,  282  ;  ii.  334 
Convocation,  Donne  as   Prolocutor, 

ii.  196 

Conversion,  ii.  99 

Conway,  Sir  Edward,  i.  1 96  ;  ii.  249 
Cooper,  Sir  A.  A.,  ii.  373 
Copley,  Mrs.  Avery,  i.  12,  24 
Corbet,  Bishop  Richard,  ii.  304,  346 
Cornwallis,  Sir  William,  of  Brome,  i. 
91,216 

Sir  William,  i.  90,  91,  127 

Lady,  i.  90  \  ii.  70 

Coryat,  Thomas,  i.  278,  279 ;  ii.  56, 

57,  85,  86,  319 
Cotton,  Sir  Robert,  i.  108-9, 240, 242, 

286  ;  ii.  86 
Cotton,  the  Jesuit  Father,  ii.  288-9, 

292 

Covell,  William,  i.  148,  150,  270 
Covent  Garden,  ii.  47,  318,  324 
Cowley,  ii.  45,  216,  343,  347,  348,  351 
Cranfield,  Lionel,  ist  Earl  of  Middle 
sex,  ii.  149,  194 
Crashaw,  Richard,  ii.  45,  216,  320, 

343,  347,  348 

Craven,  Wm.,  ist  Lord,  i.  60  ;  ii.  320 
Crofts,  Sir  W.,  ii.  179 
Cross,  The,  Donne's,  i.  267 
Crudities,  Coryat's,  i.  278,  279 
Cullam,  Mr.  G.  Milner-Gibson-,  i.  273 

DANIEL,  Samuel,  i.  139,  212  ;  ii.  330 
Danvers,  Sir  John,  ii.  222,  228,  248, 

362,  363 

Davenant,  William,  ii.  347 
Davies  of  Hereford,  John,  i.  48,  277 
Davies  (or  Davys),  Sir  John,  i.  38, 139 
Dawson,  Edward,  i.  4 ;  ii.  361 


INDEX 


383 


Dawson,  John,  ii.  358 

Grace,  ii.  361 

Death's  Duel,  Donne's,  ii.  277,  288, 

299,  300 

Denbigh,  Basil,  2nd  Earl  of,  ii.  320 
De  Quincey,  Thomas,  i.  138,  139 
Derby,  Alice,  widow  of  5th  Earl  of. 

See  Egerton 
Devotions  upon  Emergent  Occasions, 

Donne's,  ii.  60,  189,  204,  206,  207, 

297,321 
Divinity,     Donne's    Essays    in,    ii. 

62-4,  321 
Digby,  John,  Earl  of  Bristol,  i.  17; 

ii.  149,  1 80,  194 
Digges,  Leonard,  i.  17 
Divine  Poems,  Donne's,  i.  263 
Divinity,  ii.  176 
Dohna,    Baron  Christopher,  ii.  119, 

133,  134 

Doncaster,  Viscount,  i.  133  (letter  to 
Donne,  160-1) ;  ii.  no,  119,  120, 
128,  130,  131,  132,  133,  134,  137, 
139,  142,  151,  158,  160,  164.  See 
also  Carlisle  and  Hay  (Lord) 

Donne,  Francis,  i.  154,  155  ;  ii.  5,  53 

George,  i.  145;  ii.  93,  '94,  217, 

218,  232,  246,  260,  261,  265,  267, 
269,  297,  362,  363 

Henry,  i.  12,  14,  24,  38 

Donne,  John  (the  Dean's  father), 
i.  4,  9,  ii,  12,  24;  ii.  357-9 

John  (the    Dean's    son),   i.   16, 

60,  127,  128,  233,  258,  259  ;  ii.  63, 
194,  232,  260,  261,  297,  298,  301, 
302,  303,  308-9,  310,  311,  320,  325 

Donne,  Dr.  John,  Dean  of  St.  Paul's, 
i.  ancestry,  i-io ;  birth,  n  ;  in 
fancy  and  childhood,  12-14  ;  en 
tered  at  Hart  Hall,  Oxford,  14  ; 
transfer  to  Trinity,  Cambridge, 
15  ;  epigrams,  16  ;  Juvenilia,  16  ; 
Spanish  studies,  17,  ii.  176,  177  ; 
friends,  i.  18,  81,  112,  146,  ii.  143, 
248-9  ;  law  student,  i.  23,  24,  58, 
302,  304  ;  Marshall's  portrait,  23, 
ii.  307  ;  inheritance,  i.  24-5  ;  dis 
cards  Romanism,  25-7 ;  satires, 
36-45  ;  youth,  37,  57,  63,  78  ;  joins 
Essex  expedition,  45,  50,  51,  89; 
travels,  55-6,  70,  151,  280,  283, 
287,  289,  290,  295,  300,  307,  317, 
ii.  3,  128-138  ;  practically  a  pos 
thumous  poet,  i.  59-60  ;  lyrics  and 
epistles,  59-77  ;  sincerity,  62  ;  lia 
ison  revealed  in  amatory  poems, 


67-75  ;  poems  circulated  in  MS., 
79,  80  ;  praise  and  esteem  of  Ben 
Jonson,  83-4,  ii.  332  ;  secretary 
to  Sir  T.  Egerton,  i.  89, 90, 1 16  ;  his 
part  at  fall  of  Essex,  92  ;  courtship 
and  clandestine  marriage  of  Anne 
More,  96-8  ;  plea  to  father-in-law, 
100-2  ;  committed  to  the  Fleet, 
103  ;  release,  105-6  ;  reduced  cir 
cumstances,  108,  1 20,  186-7  J  in 
discretions,  in  ;  influence  on  femi 
nine  minds,  in  ;  marriage  con 
firmed,  117;  invited  to  Pyrford, 
120;  children,  127,  154,  ii.  5; 
Progress  of  the  Soul,  i.  131-41  ; 
leaves  Pyrford,  145  ;  at  Camber- 
well,  145  ;  house  at  Mitcham,  145  ; 
Strand  lodging,  146  ;  health,  146, 
194,  195,  !97,  "•  181,  182,  183- 
186,  189,  190,  196,  208;  studies 
the  Civil  and  Canon  Laws,  i.  147  ; 
assists  Bishop  Morton  in  theolo 
gical  disputes,  149-51,  155,  182; 
seeks  place  at  Court,  155-6,  239, 
ii.  46,  59,  158  ;  urged  to  take  holy 
orders,  i.  157;  refuses,  158-60; 
conversion,  162,  250,  ii.  20,  22,  41, 
58 ;  corresponds  with  Mrs.  M. 
Herbert,  i.  162-8  ;  temperament, 
184;  family  sickness,  189,  ii.  36, 
37  ;  library,  i.  195  ;  Biathanatos, 
196,  198  ;  seeks  state  employment 
in  Ireland,  199,  203  ;  wife's  dower, 
208,  ii.  154;  candidate  for  secre 
tary  in  Virginia,  i.  209  ;  patronage 
of  Lady  Bedford,  211;  lines  to 
Lady  Bedford,  218;  theological 
studies,  226  ;  Pseudo-Martyr  due 
to  King  James  I.,  246-7,  249 ; 
honorary  degrees  of  Oxford  and 
Cambridge,  252,  ii.  83,  84 ;  astro 
nomical  knowledge,  i.  257  ;  suicidal 
ideas,  260-1  ;  his  poetry,  268-9  ; 
ii.  329-53 ;  patronage  of  Sir  R. 
Drury,  i.  274 ;  settles  at  Drury 
House,  274 ;  elegies  on  Elizabeth 
Drury,  278  ;  in  France,  280-317  ; 
Mrs.  Donne  and  coincidence  of 
feeling,  280-2. 

Vol.  II.  —  Circumstances  and 
children,  4-5,  18,  75,  92-3,  187, 
1 88  ;  elegy  on  Prince  Henry,  6  ; 
Princess  Elizabeth's  marriage  song 
by  Court  command,  12-13  '•>  Orien 
tal  studies,  15,  1 6  ;  employed  by 
Ker,  Earl  of  Rochester,  23-4,  41  ; 


384 


INDEX 


brief  for  Lady  F.  Howard's  nullity 
suit,  27,  87  ;  indifferent  vision,  30  ; 
epithalamium  for  Robert  Ker,  31-2; 
false  hopes,  33  ;  death  of  children, 
45,  53  ;  encouraged  by  King  James 
to  enter  Church  of  England,  60- 1, 
190,  195  ;  seeks  Archbishop  Ab 
bot's  interest,  62  ;  transition  pray 
ers,  63-4,  102-3  ;  thoughts  of  print 
ing  [poems,  68;  enters  holy  orders, 
70-1,  276;  first  sermon,  72; 
preaches  before  the  king,  82  ;  his 
mother  and  sister,  88  ;  livings  of 
Keyston  and  Sevenoaks,  90  ; 
other  preferment,  91,  157, 159,204; 
wife's  death,  92,  101  ;  progress 
towards  a  holy  life,  99-101  ;  re 
covery  from  depression,  104  ;  fav 
ourite  at  Lincoln's  Inn,  101-11  ; 
specimen  sermons,  112-13;  first 
sermons  at  Paul's  Cross,  116,  160, 
167  ;  chaplain  to  Special  Bohemian 
Embassy,  119-21, 128-38  ;  receives 
gold  medal  of  Dort,  138  ;  seeks 
preferment,  139-40;  King  James 
confers  Deanery  of  St.  Paul's,  148- 
149  ;  its  terms,  152  ;  loses  Keyston 
living,  1 56  ;  Earl  of  Carlisle's  re 
gard,  158;  sermons  in  St.  Paul's, 
1 59-60  ;  sermon  to  Virginia  Com 
pany,  162  ;  American  interest,  163; 
Tisdale's  Dedication  to  Donne, 
163 ;  disappointed  in  suitor  for 
daughter,  171  ;  sermons  preached 
from  notes,  172,  175,  191,  235  ; 
Constance  Donne,  194  ;  his  sons, 
194,  232  ;  dispels  King  James's 
suspicions,  194-5;  "Hymn  to 
God,"  196 ;  presentation  to  St. 
Dunstan's-in-the-West,  first  ser 
mon  there,  202-4  \  Queen  of  Bo 
hemia  and  Devotions,  206  ;  yields 
presentation  to  St.  Faith's  to  King 
James,  213  ;  elegy  for  Marquis  of 
Hamilton,  216-17  ;  dispute  with 
Edward  Alleyn,  217-19,  232; 
preached  before  Charles  I.,  219, 
221  ;  false  report  of  death,  226, 
259 ;  influences  George  Herbert, 
231  ;  revising  sermons,  232,  310 ; 
great  fame  as  preacher,  234-7 ; 
his  devotions,  238-9;  prebend 
sermons,  237-9  ;  King  Charles  dis 
pleased,  243-5  ;  as  a  Churchman, 
247,  322 ;  befriends  Sir  J.  Danvers, 
248  ;  Walton's  intimacy,  254  ;  his 


Saturdays,  256 ;  affection  of 
throat,  257,  258  ;  duties  resumed, 
260 ;  on  a  Lambeth  commission, 
263  ;  last  sermons,  ibid. ;  near  a 
prelacy,  263-4  ;  health  fails,  262, 
265  ;  confined  to  son-in-law's,  266  ; 
draws  will,  268  ;  details  of  illness, 
269-70,  271,  275  ;  back  to  London, 
274  ;  final  sermon,  275  ;  distributes 
memorial  seals,  278  ;  final  poems, 
278-9 ;  strange  funeral  painting 
and  deathbed,  283-4 ;  character 
istics  of  his  death,  286  ;  monument, 
281-2,  285,  286-8  ;  personal  ap 
pearance,  288  -  90  ;  posthumous 
works,  297  ;  portraits,  310,  324; 
will,  359-63  ;  diagnosis  of  illness, 
373-5  ;  influence  upon  poetry,  329- 
353  ;  his  disciples,  344 
Donne's  letters  to  the  following  : — 
Abbot,  George,  Archbishop  of 

Canterbury,  ii.  178 
Bedford,    Countess   of,  i.    217  ; 

ii.  43  -  ** 

Bohemia,  Queen  of,  ii.  161,  205 
B[rydgesJ,  Sir  G.,  ii.  30,  33,  35 
Buckingham,  Marquis  of,  ii.  140, 

147,  176,  207 

Carew,  Sir  N.,  ii.  209,  232 
Carleton,  Sir  Dudley,  ii.  133 
Cokain,  Mrs.  Ann,  ii.  256,  257, 

259,  260,  269,  271 
Con  way,  Mr.  Secretary,  ii.  213 
Cotton,  Sir  Robert,  i.  109,  123-5 
Dorset,  Lord,  ii.  222 
Drury,  Sir  R.,  ii.  36 
Egerton,  Lord-Keeper,  i.  105-6, 

107,  114-15 

F.  H.,  ii.  255 

G.  F.,  Sir,  i.  305 
G.  H.,  i.  93,  283 
G.  K.,  ii.  24 

Gerrard,  George,  i.  189,  232, 285, 
286,300,303,310,312;  ii.  10, 
12,14,  29,48,50,172,265,266, 
267,  268 

Mrs.  Martha,  ii.  17 

Goodyer,  Sir  Henry,  i.  109,  128, 
154,  156,  1 68,  169,  177,  182, 
185,  189,  190,  193,  195,  198, 
213,  214,  216,  218,  221,  223, 
224,  225,  227,  230,  295,  301  ; 
ii.  7,  1 8,  37,  49,  64,  66,  67,  72, 
117,  121,  138,  141,  152,  157, 
1 66,  1 68,  169,  179,  226,  372 

G[rymes],  Lady,  i.  289 


INDEX 


385 


Harrington,  Sir  J.,  i.  188 

Hay,  Lord,  i.  201,  202  ;  ii.  21,  85 

Herbert,  Sir  Edward,  ii.  125 

Mrs.  Magdalen,  i.  164 

Ker,  Sir  R.,  i.  238,  239;  ii.  15, 
26,  39,  45,  60,  71,  75f-87,  124, 
164,  165,  189,  190,  191,  215, 

2l6,  219,  220,  241,  243,  244,  372 

Kingsmell,  Lady,  ii.  210 

Lucy,  Sir  T.,  i.  314  ;  ii.  126,  149, 

IS°  \0l 

Marten,  Sir  H.,  ii.  156 
Matthew,  Sir  T.,  ii.  136 
Montgomery,  Countess  of,  ii.  123 
More,  Sir  G.,  i.  100, 104, 106, 1 12, 

122 ;  ii.  60 

—  Sir  Robert,  ii.  46,  47 
Rainsforth,  Mrs.,  ii.  88 
Rochester   (Earl  of  Somerset), 

Lord,  ii.  20,  22,  28,  40,  41,  51 
Roe,  Sir  Thomas,  i.  182  ;  ii.  ii, 

173 
White,  Mrs.  Bridget,  i.  234,  235, 

236 

Wotton,  Sir  H.,  i.  179,  290 
Donne,  Alice  (cousin),  i.  4,  1 1 
Anne  (sister),  i.  12  ;  ii.  88 

Mrs.   Anne   (wife),   ne'e   More, 

1.98,  187;  ii.  4,  5*93,94,95 

Bridget  (daughter),  ii.  241,  297, 

363 
Constance  (daughter),  n.  4,  no, 

144,  168,  170,  171,  192,  194,  2I7, 

218,  232.     See  also  Harvey 
Elizabeth  (mother),  afterwards 

Rainsforth,  i.  7,  8,  u,  14,  24;  ii. 

4,  5,  88,  188,  194,  247,  277,  295 
Elizabeth  (daughter),  afterwards 

Laurence,  ii.  93,  297,  363 

Lucy,  ii.  93,  194,  219,  232,  241 

Margaret,      afterwards     Lady 

Bowles,  ii.  75,  297,  3^3 

Mary,  ii.  5,  45 

Dorney,  Bucks,  ii.  17,  1 8 

Dorset,  Richard  Sackville,  3rd  Earl 

of,  i.  315,  316  ;  ii.  65,  68,  201,  270 
Edward  Sackville,  4th  Earl  of, 

i.  316  ;  ii.  142,  202,  209,  226,  253, 

296,  360 

Charles,  6th  Earl  of,   ii.   35°, 

351 

Dort  gold  medal,  ii.  138,  360 
Drant,     Thomas,     A     Medicinable 

Moral,  i.  30 
Dray  ton,  Michael,  i.  48,  61,  80,  212  ; 

".  330,  352 
VOL.  II. 


Dress,  social  effect  in   seventeenth 

century,  i.  208-9 
Drummond  of  Hawthornden,  i.  50, 

59,78,82,83,  132,  242,  277;  ii.  6, 

332,  333 
Drury,  Sir  Robert,  i.  273,  274,  275, 

278,  279,  305,  306,  307  ;  ii.  5,  36, 

53,  92,  209 
Miss  Elizabeth,  i.  273,  278,  302, 

317,  318;  ii.  350 
House,  i.  274,  281  ;  n.  3,  4,  92, 

116,  210 

Dryden,  John,  ii.  349,  350,  351 
Dulwich  College,  ii.  192,  217 
Dunch,  Bridget,  i.  233 

Hungerford,  i.  233 

Duppa,  Bishop  Bryan,  ii.  253,  278, 

296 

Ecclesiastical  Polity,  Hooker's,  i.  269 
Egerton,  John,  i.  97,  112.  See  Bridge- 
water,  Earl  of 
Sir  Thomas,  Lord-Keeper,  i.  43, 

55,  56,  87-90,  91,  92,  94-5,  96,  98, 

99,   103,   105,   io7,  no,    in,  114, 

116,308;  ii.  71,  139 
Sir  Thomas,  the  younger,  i.  89, 

90 
Lady  Alice,  widow  of  5th  Earl 

Derby,  i.  in,  112  ;  ii.  25 
Elector    Palatine   Frederick  V.,    ii. 

119,  130,  131,  132,  166,205 
Elegies,  ii.  334 
Elizabeth,  Queen,  i.  162 

—  Princess,  daughter  of  James  I., 

i.   210,   317.     See    also   Bohemia, 

Queen  of,  &c. 
Epigram's    Miscellany,   Donne's,   i. 

16,  17 

Epps,  William,  i.  44 
Essay  sin  Divinity,  Donne's,  ii.  62-4, 

321 
Essex,  Robert  Devereux,  2nd  Earl  of, 

i.  45,  46,  47,  89,  90,  91,  92 

Robert,  3rd  Earl,  ii.  27,  62 

his  first  Countess,  Frances 

Howard,  ii.  23,  31,  86 
Eston,  Sir  Edward,  ii.  67 
Exeter,  William  Cecil,   ist  Earl,  ii. 

209 

FALKLAND,  Lord,  i.  288,  304 
Fenton,  Sir  Geoffrey,  i.  198,  199 
Ferdinand  of  Bohemia,  Emperor  of 

Germany,  ii.  132,  136,  137,  205 
Ferrar,  Nicholas,  ii.  162 

2  B 


INDEX 


Fig  for  Momus,  A,  i.  31,  35 
FitzGerald,  Edward,  ii.  289 
Fitzmaurice- Kelly,  Mr.  J.,  i.  17  ;  ii. 

177,  343 

Five  Sermons,  Donne,  ii.  161 
Flatman,  Thomas,  ii.  348-9 
Fletcher,  Phineas,  Purple  Island,  ii. 

182 

Four  Sermons  upon   Special  Occa 
sions,  Donne's,  ii.  161,  163,  221 
Fowler,  William,  i.  155,  240,  242 
Fox,  The,   Ben  Jonson's,  i.  155  ;  ii. 

331 
Foxe,  Dr.  Simeon,  ii.  257,  271,  275, 

280,  285,  296,  374 
Fraunce,  Abraham,  i.  44 
Freeman,  Thomas,  i.  80 
Fresnaye,  Vauguelin  de  la,  i.  32 

GAGE,  Thomas,  i.  308 

Galileo,  i.  220,  257,  258 

Gardiner,  Prof.  S.  R.,  ii.  62,  119,  133, 

240 

Thomas,  of  Burstowe,  ii.  297 

Sir  Thomas,  ii.  297 

Gataker,  Dr.  Thomas,  ii.  91 
Gazaeus,  Angelinas,  Pia  Hilaria 

Variaque  Carmina,  ii.  118 
Gerrard,  George,  i.  78,  240,  277,  285  ; 

ii.   i,  34,  35,   86,    121,   360.      See 

Donne's  letters 

Mrs.  Martha,  ii.  17 

Giggs,  Margaret,  i.  6 
Giustiniani  of  Venice,  i.  200 
Gdngora,  Luis  de  Argote  y,  ii.  178, 


343,  344 
oody< 


Goodyer,  Sir  Henry,  i.  80,  109,  126, 
128,  153-4,  171,  172,  188,  210,  212, 
218,  265,  279,  285,  295  ;  ii.  6,  25, 
69,  70,  76,  131,  141,  248,  305,  313, 
330.  See  also  Donne's  letters 

Lucy,  ii.  116,  131 

Granada,  Luis  de,  Guia  de  Pecadores, 
i.  18 

Grey  of  Ruthyn,  Earl  of  Kent,  ii.  157, 
296,  361 

Lady  Elizabeth,  ii.  157 

Griffiths,  Matthew,  ii.  102 

Grosart,  Dr.,  i.  16,  81 

Grymes,  Sir  Thomas,  i.  145,  212,  289; 
ii.  81,  82,  192,  193,  232,  360 

Lady,  i.  145,  289 

Constance,  ii.  192,  360 

Guilpin,  Edward,  i.  33,  34,  36,  45,  82 

HABINGTON,  William,  ii.  347 


Hakewill,  William,  i.  240, 

ii.  86 
Hall,  Bishop  Joseph,  i.  31,  32,  33,  34, 

35,  36,  37,  45,  277  J  ii-  6,  120,  278, 

296 
Hamilton,    James,    Marquis    of,    ii. 

214-15,  231 
Harington  of  Exton,  John,  ist  Lord, 

i.  193,  210,212,  229;  ii.  42 
John,  2nd  Lord,  ii.  42,  43,  44, 

69,  248 
Sir  John,  of  Kelston,  i,  212,  213; 

ii.  70 

Mr.,  ii.  152 

Harley,  Robert,  Earl  of  Oxford,  ii.  326 
Harrington,  John,  ii.  363 

William,  i.  24 

Harsnett,  Archbishop,  ii.  83 
Harvey,  Alderman  Sir  James,  i.  9 ; 

ii.  264 

Samuel,  ii.  264,  295,  362 

Constance  (ne'e  Donne),  ii.  264, 

361 

Hawthornden  papers,  i.  41  ;  ii.  332 
Hay,  James,  Lord,  i.  199,  200,  201  ; 

ii.  19,  20,  85,  105,  115.     See  also 

Doncaster  and  Carlisle 

Lady,  ii.  49 

Hazard,  Mr.,  ii.  272,  273,  274 
Henry,  Prince  of  Wales,  i.  273  ;  ii. 

6,  12,  20,  53,  344 
Herbert  of  Cherbury,  Edward,  Lord, 

i.  163,  173,  234,  235,  258,  267  ;  ii. 

6,  25,  38,  50,  125,  142,  346 
George,  i.  162,  163,  164 ;  11.  26, 

227,  230-1,  247,  278,  296,  345 

Sir  Gerald,  ii.  168 

Sir  Henry,  i.  16 ;  ii.  300 

Sir  Philip,  4th  Earl  of  Mont 
gomery,  ii.  123,  259,  318 
Mrs.  Magdalen,  i.  162,  164,215, 

267 ;    ii.   25,   26,    106.      See    also 

Danvers,  Lady 
Herrick,  ii.  338,  344 
Hertford  College.    See  Oxford,  Hart 

Hall 

Lord,  i.  230,  231,  232 

Hey  wood,  Elizaeus  (Ellis),  i.  7,  9,  12 

Jasper,  i.  7,  9,  13,  14,  15 

John,  i.  5,  6,  7,  8,  12 

Mrs.  Elizabeth  («/?  Rastell),  i. 

6,7 

their  children,  i.  7 

Elizabeth.     See  Mrs.  Donne 

Hobart,  Sir  Henry,  ii.  141,  143,  150 
Holbein,  Hans,  i.  5 


INDEX 


387 


Holiday,  Barten,  his  Persius,  i.  30 
Holland,  Henry,  i.  193  ;  ii.  6,  16 

Philemon,  i.  193 

Holloway,  Dr.  Thomas,  ii.  91 

Holy  Sonnets,  Donne's,  ii.  106,  118, 

364-71 

Hooker,  Richard,  i.  150,  269,  270 
Horace,  i.  34 
Hoskins,  Sir  John,  ii.  86 
Howard,  Lady  Frances,  ii.  27,  28,  62 
Hue  and  Cry  after  Cupid,  Jonson's, 

i.  182 

Hungerford,  Sir  Anthony,  i.  233 
Hunt,  Sir  Thomas,  ii.  81,  82 

-  Rev.  William,  i.  65  ;  ii.  33 
Huntingdon,    Henry   Hastings,   3rd 

Earl  of,  i.  147 

George,  4th  Earl  of,  i.  149,  283 

Henry,  5th  Earl  of,  i.  no,  112, 

147,  149;  ii.  126 
Lady,  i.  225  ;  ii.  38,  74,  75,  76, 

79,  151,  170,  227 
Hyde,  Dr.  Edward,  ii.  300,  304 
Hymn  to  Christ,  Donne's,  ii.  128 
Hymn  "to  God  the  Father?  ii.  196 
Hymn  to  the  Saints  and  to  Marquis 

Hamilton,  ii.  216 
Hymn  to  God,my  God,in  my  Sickness, 

ii.  229 

Idea  of  Dray  ton,  i.  61 

Ignatius  Loyola,  i.  253-7 

Ignatius   his   Conclave,  Donne's,  i. 

220,  245  ;  ii.  303,  309 
Ingram,  Sir  Arthur,  ii.  24 
Instructions     to     Preachers,     King 

James's,  ii.  160,  167 
Ironmongers'  Company  of  London, 

i.  10,  ii  j  ii.  254,  358 

Jacobean  Poets,  Gosse's,  ii.  371 
James  I.,  ii.  58,  60,  75,  83,  84,  101, 

115,  119,  131,  133,  148,  158,  194, 

213,  219,  231,  238,  245 
Jessopp,  Rev.  Dr.,  i.  10,  14,  99,  145, 

177,  216,  242,  245  ;  ii.  70,  91,  159, 

203,263,313 
Johnson,  Dr.  Samuel,  i.  63;  n.  341, 

342,  349 
Jones,  Inigo,  i.  240,  279  ;  n.  86 

Thomas,  bookseller,  ii.  306 

Jonson,  Ben,  i.  48,  49,  50,  59,  78,  81, 

82-3,  121,  132,  134,  I55>  l82>  *98, 

242,  265,  277  ;  ii.  6,  32,  66,  80,  86, 

296,  304,  320,  331-2,  333,  335,  348 

Justinian  the  Venetian,  i.  199,  200 


Juvenal,  i.  33,  34,  35,  36 
Juvenilia,  Donne's,  i.  16,  17  ;  ii.  300, 
301,  302,  303 

KARRE  or  Ker,  Mr.,  ii.  64,  65 

Kelly.     See  Fitzmaurice-Kelly 

Kent,  Jane,  i.  4  ;  ii.  361 

Earl  of.     See  Grey  of  Ruthyn 

Kepler,  i.  257,  258 

Ker,  Sir  Robert  (Earl  of  Ancrum), 
i.  62,  79,  237,  258  ;  ii.  60,  282,  296, 
306.  See  also  Donne's  letters 

Robert,  Viscount  Rochester, 

Earl  of  Somerset,  ii.  19,  20,  22,  23, 
24,28,31,32,37,40,41,  51,  53,58, 
61,  67,  81,  86 

Keyston,  ii.  90,  138,  154,  155,  156 

Killigrew,  Sir  Robert,  ii.  224 

Sir  William,  ii.  175 

King,  Bishop  Henry,  ii.  138,  139,  187, 
188,  193,  264,  278,  281,  285,  288, 
296,  298,  299,  304,  308,  344,  346,  360 

Bishop  John,  ii.  70,  139,  344 

Kingsmell  or  Kingsmill,  Sir  Henry, 
i.  234 

Lady,  ii.  210.  See  also  White, 

Bridget 

Kingsmill,  Constantia,  i.  173 

Kipling,  Mr.  Rudyard,  ii.  342 

La  Corona,  ii.  104,  105 

Lamb's  (Charles)  copy  of  Donne,  ii. 

335 
Laud,  Archbishop,  ii.  147,  240,  242, 

243,  246,  285,  303,  304,  308,  309 
Laurence,  Dr.  Cornelius,  ii.  297 
Lawyer's  Philosophy ,RogerTisdale's, 

ii.  163 

L'Estrange,  Sir  Nicholas,  ii.  80 
Letters  to  Several  Persons  of  Honour, 

Donne's,  ii.  324 
Lewin,  Alderman  Thomas,  i.  10 

Mrs.,  i.  n 

Lincoln's  Inn,  i.  23,  24,  87  ;  divinity 

reader,  ii.  91,   no,  in,  117,  135, 

154,  214;  chapel,  ii.  92,  114,  181  ; 

library,  ii.  154,  181 
Litanies,  i.  195-6 
u  Litany,  A,"  Donne's,  i.  265 
Lodge,  Thomas,  i.  31,  32,  35,  42 
London  pulpits,  ii.  274 
Londonderry,   the    Marchioness    of, 

i.  50 

Loseley  MSS.,  i.  100  ;  ii.  93,  &c. 
Lover,  Sir  William,  ii.  67 
Lovers  Growth,  i.  1 19 


388 


INDEX 


Lucy,  Sir  Thomas,  i.  172-3,  301,  3M; 

ii.  66,  116,  125,  126,  149,  150 
Lyly,  Mrs.  (ne'e  Donne,  Elizabeth),  ii. 

88 
Lyra,  Nicholas  de,  ii.  113 


MABBE,  James,  i.  17 

Mackail,  W.,  i.  34 

Magdalen  Hall.     See  Oxford,  Hart 

Hall 
Mansfield,  Count,  ii.   142,  143,  150, 

167,  179,  1 80 
Marini,  ii.  343,  344,  347 
Markham,  Dame   Bridget,  Donne's 

Elegy,  i.  229,  230 
Marriage   Song  for  St.   Valentine's 

Day,  ii.  13 

Marlowe,  Chris.,  i.  72,  140 
Marriot,  John,  and  Donne's  Poems, 

ii.  302,  304,  306,  307,  310,  321,  345 
Marshall,  William,  i.  23 
Marston,  John,  i.  33,  34,  36,  45 
Marten,  Sir  Henry,  ii.  150,  155,  156 
Martin,  Sir  Richard,  i.  146,  147,  242  ; 

ii.  86 
Richard,  junr.,  i.  240,  242,  293  ; 

ii.  66,  121,  122 

Masque  of  Queens,  Jonson's,  i.  198 
Matthew,  Sir  Tobie,  i.  179,  181,  201, 

298,  307,  308,  309  ;  ii-  1 8,  67,  136 
Matthias,  Emperor,  ii.  118,  119,  122, 

125,  126 
Mayne,  Jasper,  i.  16,  17  ;  ii.  289,  304, 

323j  346 

Mayor,  Humphrey,  ii.  288 
Meautys,  Thomas,  ii.  248 

Hercules,  i.  91 

Jane   (Lady  N.  Bacon),  i.  91, 

215,  216 
Frances     (Mrs.     Shute,    Lady 

Sussex),  i.  193 

Memorial  Death's  Head  Rings,  ii.  358 
Mercury  Vindicated,  Jonson's,  ii.  66 
Mermaid  Tavern,  Bread   Street,  ii. 

?6,  330 

Miller,  Mr.  George  W.,  ii.  375 
Milton,  John,  i.  35,  258,  268  ;  ii.  334, 

338 
Mitcham,  i.  119,  145,  i$4,  167,  177, 

1 86,  189,  195,  210,  245 
Mold,  Mathieu,  i.  199,  200 
Montagu,  Bishop  Richard,  ii.  242  ; 

Appello  CcBsarem,  ii.  240 
Montaigne,      George,      Bishop      of 

London,  ii.  240,  242 


Montaigne,  Michel,  i.  122 
Montemor,   Jorge   de,   ii.    15,    178  ; 

Diana  Enamorada,  i.  299 
Montford,  Dr.,  ii.  285,  288,  298,  360 
Montgomery,  Philip  Herbert,  Earl  of, 
ii.  26 

Countess  of,  ii.  122 

Castle,  ii.  25-6,  228,  230 

Moore,    Dr.   Norman,    F.R.C.P.,   ii. 

270,  373-5 

More,  Sir  George,  of  Loseley,  i.  88, 
89,  95,  96,  97,  98,  99>  102,  103,  115, 
116,  121,  187,202  ;  ii.  3,87,93,  154, 
277.     See  also  Donne's  letters 
—  Sir  Robert,  ii.  46,  47 

—  Sir  Thomas,  i.  5,  6,  8 
—  Sir  William,  i.  96 

—  Anne,  i.  88,  89,  95,  96,  118,  119, 
152,   208,   283,   289.     See  Donne, 
Anne 

Elizabeth,  i.  5,  6 

Mary  (Lady  Carew),  i.  210 

Morris,  Richard,  ii.  237 

Morton,  Sir  Albert,  ii.  131 

Dr.  Richard,  ii.  375 

Thomas,  Bishop  of  Durham,  i. 

147,  148-9,  150,  155,  157,  i59-6o, 
161,  182,  187,221,222,245,268,304 

Moulin,  Pierre  du,  ii.  81 


NATURALISM  in  English  poetry,  ii. 

340 
Nethersole,  Sir  Francis,  ii.  116,  131, 

134,  138,  141,  166,  170,  171,  230, 

248 

—  Lady,  ii.  144 
Nicholson,  Dr.  Brinsley,  i.  16 
Northampton,  Lord,  ii.  24,  34 
Northumberland,  Henry  Percy,  9th 

Earl,  i.  97,  99-100  ;  ii.  160 


Obsequies,  Donne's,  ii.  44 
Olivarez,  ii.  179 
Ormerod,  Oliver,  i.  150 
Overbury,  Sir  Thomas,  ii.  31,  32,  33, 

86 
Oxford,  Hart  Hall,  i.  15,  18 


PADDINGTON,  ii.  72 

Paradoxes  and  Problems,  Donne's, 

ii.  52,  152,  323 
Parsons,    Robert,    i.    150,    151,   182, 

22J 


INDEX 


389 


Parson's  Green,  i.  182 

Paul's  Cross,  ii.  114,  116 

Peckham,  i.  212,  213,  277  ;  ii.  80, 141, 

143,  192,  193 

Percy,  Lord  Algernon,  ii.  265,  272 
Pererius's  Commentary  on  Genesis,  i. 

177 
Perkins's  Reformation  of  a  Catholic, 

i.  150 
Persius,     i.     29,     30,    32,     33,    34, 

Phelips,  Sir  Edward,  i.  239 
Pindar,  Mr.  Paul,  i.  290,  293 
Plague  in  London,  ii.  221-2,  223 
Plurality,  ii.  91 
Poems,  Donne's,  MS.  copies,  i.  79 ; 

ii.  246,303 
projected  edition  of,   1614,    11. 

68,  69,  70 

"  Poesy,  Art  of  English,"  ii.  333 
Polesworth,  ii.  117 
Poly-Olbion,  Drayton's,  ii.  330 
Pool,  Sir  Germander,  ii.  14 
Pope,  Alexander,  ii.  326,   345,  351, 

352 

Porter,  Endymion,  ii.  304 
Pory,   John,   i.    241,   242,   252,   286, 

293 

Prayers,  Donne's,  ii.  63 

Preston,  Rev.  John,  ii.  155 

"Primrose,  The,"  Donne's,  ii.  26, 
228 

Princess  Elizabeth,  Electress  Pala 
tine,  ii.  5-12,  130,  131,  161,  215. 
See  also  Elizabeth  and  Bohemia 

Prince  Henry.     See  Henry 

Problems.  See  Juvenilia,  also  Para 
doxes 

Progress  of  the  Soul,  Donne's,  i.  131- 
141,  276 

Propertius,  i.  61 

Pseudo- Martyr,  Donne's,  i.  25,  58, 
161,  162,  221,  245,  246-54,  318; 
ii.  6,  58,  83,  297 

Pulpit,    democratisation   of   the,    ii. 

237 

Pyrford,  Surrey,  i.  120,  121,  126,  128, 
145,  208 


RAINSFORTH,   ii.  88.      See  Donne, 

Elizabeth 
Raleigh,  Sir  Walter,  i.  41,  45,  46  ;  ii. 

19,  S2 

Rastell,  John,  the  elder,  i.  5,  6 
John,  the  younger,  i.  8,  12 


Rastell,  William  and  Mrs.,  i.  6,  8 
Elizabeth,  afterwards  Hey  wood, 

i.  6,  7 

family,  i.  I,  8 

Regnier,  Mathurin,  i.  32,  33  ;  ii.  10 
Rich,  Sir  Nathaniel,  i.  305 

-  Sir  Robert  (Earl  of  Warwick), 

i.  298,  300,  306,  314,  317;  ii.  65,  66 
Rochester,  Lord.     See  Ker,  R.,  and 

Donne's  letters 
Roe,  Sir  Thomas,  i.   121,  182,  232, 

301  ;  ii.  n,  34,  66-7,  73,  150,  172, 

173 
Rudde,  Anthony,  Dean  of  Gloucester, 

i.  26,  27 


SACKVILLE,  Sir  Edward.    See  Dorset 
St.  Clement  Danes,  i.  127  ;  ii.  45,  53, 

93,94 
St.  Dunstan's-in-the-West,  ii.  94,  196, 

201,    202,    222,    232,    234,   254,  270, 

361 

St.  Faith's  Church  (under  St.  Paul's), 

ii.  212,  213 

St.  Francis  of  Assisi,  ii.  373 
St.  Francois  de  Sales,  i.  299 ;  ii.  15 
St.  John  of  the  Cross,  i.  18 
St.  Olave's,  Bread  Street,  ii.  357 
St.  Paul's,  ii.  238,  287,  288,  360 
Deanery,  ii.  147,  148,  149,  152, 

153,  159,294 
St.  Teresa,  i.  18 
Salisbury,  Earl  of,  i.  230,  231,  312  ; 

ii.  5,  19 
Satire  as  a  poetic  form,  i.  29-31,  35, 

36,45 
Satires,  Donne's,  i.  28,  29,  32,  33, 

36-45,  59  J  »•  329,  334 
Satire  Mtnippee,  i.  32 
Scott,  Sir  Walter,  ii.  349 
Selden,    John,    i.   48;    ii.    157,    166, 

167 
Self -homicide,  ii.    124.       See  Bia- 

thanatos 
Septuagint,  Ancient  History  of  the, 

ii.  306 

Serjeants-at-law,  ii.  181 
Sermon,  The  First,  preached  to  King 

Charles,  ii.  221 
Sermons,  Donne's  (University  Press), 

ii.  306-7 
LXXX.,  ii.  310,  312,  313,  316, 


317 


Fifty,  ii.  321 
XXVI.,  ii.  325 


390 


INDEX 


Sermons,  Four,  upon  Special  Occa 
sions^  ii.  221 

Sevenoaks,  ii.  90,  156,  204,  361 
Seyle,  H.,  &&&  Juvenilia,  ii.  301 
Shakespeare,  ii.  80,  330,  331,  334 
Sidereus  Nuncius,  Galileo's,  i.  257 
Silliard,  Rev.  Mr.,  ii.  155,  156 
Simeon,  Sir  John,  i.  80 
Simpson,  Mr.  Richard,  i.  145 
Skialetheia,  E.  Guilpin's,  i.  33,  82 
Smith,  Sir  Nicholas,  i.  43,  44 
Smithfield,  The  Rose,  i.  216 
Soul,   Donne   on  the,  i.   175-7  ;   ii. 

8,9 

Spain,  ii.  176,  191,  267,  343 
Spencer,  Sir  John,  of  Althorp,  i.  1 1 1, 

i?3 

Alice.     See  Egerton 

Spenser,  Edmund,  i.  61,  76,  139  ;  ii. 

304,  330,  33i,  333,  352 
Stone,    Nicholas,    ii.   93,    286,    287, 

288 

"  Storm,  The,"  i.  47,  48,  49 
Strabo,  Walafridus,  ii.  113 
Strong,  Mr.  S.  Arthur,  ii.  319 
Suckling,  Sir  John,  ii.  347 
Sudeley,     Lady     Chandos     of,     i. 

112 
Suffolk,  Earl  of,  Vice-Chancellor  of 

Cambridge  University,  ii.  83 
Sussex,   Robert    Ratcliffe,   Earl    of, 

i.  192,  193 

Sutclm,  Sir  John,  ii.  149,  150 
Swinburne,  Mr.  A.  C.,  ii.  336 
Sylvester's  Lachrymce  Lachrymarum, 

Joshua,  ii.  6,  7 


TANNER  MSS.,  ii.  53,  176 

Temple,  Steps  to  the,  Herbert's,  ii. 
26,  346 

Teneriffe  or  Tenarus,  i.  50,  276 

Thavies  Inn,  i.  24 

Theophrastus,  i.  37 

Thornycroft,  R.A.,  Mr.  Hamo,  ii. 
288 

Tickell,  Thomas,  ii.  216 

Tisdale,  Roger,  ii.  163,  164 

Tourneur,  Cyril,  i.  139,  140 

Towers,  John,  Bishop  of  Peter 
borough,  ii.  312 

Treatise  tending  towards  Mitigation, 
Parsons's,  i.  182 

Tremellius,  Emanuel,  ii.  no 

Turner,  William,  ii.  1 56 

Twickenham,     i.     210,     212,     229, 


277  ;   ii.  4,  43,  70,  330,  334,  339, 
340 


VALDESIUS,  Jacobus,  i.  123,  124,  125 
Vere,  Sir  Horatio,  ii.  150,  168 
Verlaine,  i.  65 
Villiers,  George,  ii.  59,  64,  65,  66,  69, 

81.     See  also  Buckingham 
Virgidemiarum,  Hall's,  i.  31,  36 
Virginia,    i.    209,     237,     238,    240  ; 

Donne's  verse  in  Smith's  History 

of  Virginia,  ii.  163 

Company,  ii.  162 

Virtue,  i.  178-9 

Vives,  Luis,  i.  18 

Volpone,  Jonson's,  i.  155  ;  ii.  331 

Vondel,  i.  217 


WAKE,  Sir  Isaac,  ii.  127 

Walton,  Izaak,  i.  5,  7,  13,  18,  23,  24, 
26,  46,  51,  55,  63,  78,  79,  96,  97, 
1 08,  117,  140,  145,  157,  159,  1 86, 
246,  252,  279  ;  ii.  57,  71,  75,  82,  83, 
94,  101,  106, 148,  187, 188, 194,  196, 
228,  235,  249,  253-4,  263,  275,  278, 
284,  290,  297,  298,  299,  304,  307, 

314,  317,  374 

Ward,  Dr.  Samuel,  ii.  120 
Warwick,  Lord,  ii.  152 

Sir  Philip,  ii.  265 

Weldon,  Sir  Anthony,  ii.  158 
Westmoreland      MS.     of     Donne's 

Poems,  i.  46,  51,76,  79,  81,  318; 

ii.  1 06,  124 

Weston,  Sir  Richard,  ii.  149 
White,  Dr.,  Dean  of  Carlisle,  ii.  242 

Canon,  Thomas,  ii.  201,  202 

Mistress   Bridget,  i.   233,  234, 

235>  236 
W7hitelocke,  Capt.  Edmund,  i.  192, 

193 

Whitgift,  Archbishop,  i.  45 
Wilkes,  Dr.  William,  i.  1 50 
Williams,  John,  Bishop  of  Lincoln,  ii. 

139,  147,  148,  149 
Wilson,  Arthur,  ii.  290,  304 
Wingfield,  Sir  John,  i.  51 
WinnifF,  Dean  Thomas,  ii.  295,  298, 

360 

Winstanley,  i.  15 
Wither,  George,  i.  48  ;  Abuses  Stript 

and  Whipt,  i.  45 
Woodford,  Rev.  William,  ii.  212 
Woodward,  Edward,  i.  210 


INDEX 


391 


Woodward,  Rowland,  i.  75,  80,  248, 

318  ;  ii.  124,  192 

Joan,  ii.  192 

Wooley,  Sir  Francis,  i.  88,  89,  97,  98, 

120,  126,  145,208,273;  ii.  3 

Sir  John,  i.  120 

Worcester,  Edward, Earl  of,  i.  92,  no 

Countess  of,  i.  no,  147,  314 

Wordsworth,  William,  Ecclesiastical 

Sketches •,  ii.  318 

World,  History  of  the;  Raleigh's,  ii.  52 
Wotton,  Sir  Henry,  i.  18,  19,  76,  153, 


170,  179,  199,  290,  301,  305,  306; 
ii.  39,  119,  130,  132,  278,  285,  314, 

3i5i  3i6 
Wrangham,  Archdeacon  Francis,  ii. 

282 

Wrest,  ii.  157 
Wright,  Dr.  Laurence,  ii.  271 


YORK  House,  i.  92,96,  98,  108,  112, 

116 
Young's  Night  Thoughts ',  ii.  353 


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