"Goodfriday, 1613. Riding Westward."
By
John Donne
Transcription, correction, editorial commentary, and markup by Students and Staff of the University of
Virginia
[TP]
POEMS,
By J. D[onne].
WITH
ELEGIES
ON THE AUTHOR'S
Death.
LONDON.
Printed by M. F. for [J]OHN MARRIOT,
and are to be sold at his shop in St Dunstans
Church-yard in Fleet-street. 1633. Goodfriday, 1613. Riding Westward. 1LEt mans Soule be a Spheare, and then, in this, 2The intelligence that moves, devotion is, 3And as the other Spheares, by being growne 4Subject to forraigne motion, lose their owne, 5And being by others hurried every day, 6Scarce in a yeare their naturall forme obey: 7Pleasure or businesse, so, our Soules admit 8For their first mover, and are whirld by it. 9Hence is't, that I am carryed towards the West 10This day, when my Soules forme bends toward the East. 11There I should see a Sunne, by rising set, 12And by that setting endlesse day beget; 13But that Christ on this Crosse, did rise and fall, 14Sinne had eternally benighted all. 15Yet dare I'almost be glad, I do not see 16That spectacle of too much weight for mee. 17Who sees Gods face, that is selfe life, must dye; 18What a death were it then to see God dye? 19It made his owne Lieutenant Nature shrinke, 20It made his footstoole crack, and the Sunne winke. 21Could I behold those hands which span the Poles, 22And tune all spheares at once peirc'd with those holes? 23Could I behold that endlesse height which is 24Zenith to us, and our Antipodes, 25Humbled below us? or that blood which is 26The seat of all our Soules, if not of his, 27Made durt of dust, or that flesh which was worne 28By God, for his apparell, rag'd, and torne? 29If on these things I durst not looke, durst I 30Upon his miserable mother cast mine eye, 31Who was Gods partner here, and furnish'd thus 32Halfe of that Sacrifice, which ransom'd us? 33Though these things, as I ride, be from mine eye, 34They'are present yet unto my memory, 35For that looks towards them; & thou look'st towards mee, 36O Saviour, as thou hang'st upon the tree; 37I turne my backe to thee, but to receive 38Corrections, till thy mercies bid thee leave. 39O thinke mee worth thine anger, punish mee, 40Burne off my rusts, and my deformity, 41Restore thine Image, so much, by thy grace, 42That thou may'st know mee, and I'll turne my face.
By J. D[onne].
WITH
ELEGIES
ON THE AUTHOR'S
Death.
LONDON.
Printed by M. F. for [J]OHN MARRIOT,
and are to be sold at his shop in St Dunstans
Church-yard in Fleet-street. 1633. Goodfriday, 1613. Riding Westward. 1LEt mans Soule be a Spheare, and then, in this, 2The intelligence that moves, devotion is, 3And as the other Spheares, by being growne 4Subject to forraigne motion, lose their owne, 5And being by others hurried every day, 6Scarce in a yeare their naturall forme obey: 7Pleasure or businesse, so, our Soules admit 8For their first mover, and are whirld by it. 9Hence is't, that I am carryed towards the West 10This day, when my Soules forme bends toward the East. 11There I should see a Sunne, by rising set, 12And by that setting endlesse day beget; 13But that Christ on this Crosse, did rise and fall, 14Sinne had eternally benighted all. 15Yet dare I'almost be glad, I do not see 16That spectacle of too much weight for mee. 17Who sees Gods face, that is selfe life, must dye; 18What a death were it then to see God dye? 19It made his owne Lieutenant Nature shrinke, 20It made his footstoole crack, and the Sunne winke. 21Could I behold those hands which span the Poles, 22And tune all spheares at once peirc'd with those holes? 23Could I behold that endlesse height which is 24Zenith to us, and our Antipodes, 25Humbled below us? or that blood which is 26The seat of all our Soules, if not of his, 27Made durt of dust, or that flesh which was worne 28By God, for his apparell, rag'd, and torne? 29If on these things I durst not looke, durst I 30Upon his miserable mother cast mine eye, 31Who was Gods partner here, and furnish'd thus 32Halfe of that Sacrifice, which ransom'd us? 33Though these things, as I ride, be from mine eye, 34They'are present yet unto my memory, 35For that looks towards them; & thou look'st towards mee, 36O Saviour, as thou hang'st upon the tree; 37I turne my backe to thee, but to receive 38Corrections, till thy mercies bid thee leave. 39O thinke mee worth thine anger, punish mee, 40Burne off my rusts, and my deformity, 41Restore thine Image, so much, by thy grace, 42That thou may'st know mee, and I'll turne my face.