The Damp

by John Donne

　　 And my friends' curiosity

　　Will have me cut up to survey each part,

　　When they shall find your picture in my heart,

　　 You think a sudden damp of love

　　 Will thorough all their senses move,

　　And work on them as me, and so prefer

　　Your murder to the name of massacre,

　　Poor victories; but if you dare be brave,

　　 And pleasure in your conquest have,

　　First kill th' enormous giant, your Disdain;

　　And let th' enchantress Honour, next be slain;

　　 And like a Goth and Vandal rise,

　　 Deface records and histories

　　Of your own arts and triumphs over men,

　　And without such advantage kill me then,

　　For I could muster up, as well as you,

　　 My giants, and my witches too,

　　Which are vast Constancy and Secretness;

　　But these I neither look for nor profess;

　　 Kill me as woman, let me die

　　 As a mere man; do you but try

　　Your passive valour, and you shall find then,

　　Naked you have odds enough of any man.