Love's Exchange

by John Donne

　　Would for a given soul give something too.

　　At court your fellows every day

　　Give th' art of rhyming, huntsmanship, or play,

　　For them which were their own before;

　　Only I have nothing, which gave more,

　　But am, alas ! by being lowly, lower.

　　I ask no dispensation now,

　　To falsify a tear, or sigh, or vow;

　　I do not sue from thee to draw

　　A non obstante on nature's law;

　　These are prerogatives, they inhere

　　In thee and thine; none should forswear

　　Except that he Love's minion were.

　　Give me thy weakness, make me blind,

　　Both ways, as thou and thine, in eyes and mind;

　　Love, let me never know that this

　　Is love, or, that love childish is;

　　Let me not know that others know

　　That she knows my paines, lest that so

　　A tender shame make me mine own new woe.

　　If thou give nothing, yet thou 'rt just,

　　Because I would not thy first motions trust;

　　Small towns which stand stiff, till great shot

　　Enforce them, by war's law condition not;

　　Such in Love's warfare is my case;

　　I may not article for grace,

　　Having put Love at last to show this face.

　　This face, by which he could command

　　And change th' idolatry of any land,

　　This face, which, wheresoe'er it comes,

　　Can call vow'd men from cloisters, dead from tombs,

　　And melt both poles at once, and store

　　Deserts with cities, and make more

　　Mines in the earth, than quarries were before.

　　For this Love is enraged with me,

　　Yet kills not; if I must example be

　　To future rebels, if th' unborn

　　Must learn by my being cut up and torn,

　　Kill, and dissect me, Love; for this

　　Torture against thine own end is;

　　Rack'd carcasses make ill anatomies.