The Expostulation by John Donne

Name: The Expostulation
Author: John Donne

"The Expostulation" opens with the speaker questioning whether any woman can be true, since he has found the one he trusted proven false. He asks whether her beauty, youth, or supposed perfection excuse her from valuing truth, whether heaven is deaf or blind to broken vows, and whether women's oaths are as insubstantial as words written in water and scattered by wind. He recalls the sweet accents, sighs, oaths, and tears the two of them once exchanged, sealed by stolen kisses, and wonders how such tokens could now prove empty. He asks whether she drew up promises only to forfeit them, and whether her words must be read backward to find the truth in them. Catching himself, the speaker exclaims that he has spoken profanely, and declares that though most women may be of this faithless kind, he will except his "dearest love" from the charge. Despite jealousy urging him to suspect her inconstancy, he insists he would sooner believe the sun will cease to warm the earth, that rivers will reverse their course, that the Thames will freeze over in June, or that nature itself will change, than that she would alter. He then redirects his anger toward a "treacherous breast" — a confidant to whom she, in weakness, disclosed the secrets of their love. This third party's betrayal, he says, is what caused each of the two lovers to suspect the other, since the confidant treacherously carried their private words to someone else. The speaker curses this betrayer at length, wishing him to wander the earth as wretched as Cain, shunned by every eye until he is as loathsome as his own infamy, and to deny God three times without remorse. He wishes that after a lifetime of self-torment, the betrayer's heart be torn out by wolves, his eyes by vultures, his bowels eaten by swine, his lying tongue thrown to a raven, and his corpse left as a longer feast for the king's dogs than that of any other creature. Having spent his curse, the speaker turns back to his own love and declares it revived, his passion undimmed. He says he could begin again to court and praise her, drawing out the pleasure of courtship the way painters delight not in the finished work but in the act of making it. He recalls the early days of their courtship: seeing love first in her eyes, which taught his tongue to like whatever she liked; sharing the same opinions at masks and plays about the same actors; asking after her health so often, out of a wish to be attentive, that he became merely tiresome. These small, soft pastimes, he reflects, were how love was subtly caught between them, like a disease. But he notes that once love is won it becomes a sweet treasure, harder to defend than to obtain, and warns that it ought not be profaned by either party — for though it is got by chance, it is kept only by art.

By John Donne · First published 1633 · Genre: Love Poetry, Dramatic Monologue, Metaphysical Poetry · 922 words

First lines

To make the doubt clear, that no woman's true, / Was it my fate to prove it strong in you? / Thought I, but one had breathèd purest air; / And must she needs be false, because she's fair? / Is it your beauty's mark, or of your youth, / Or your perfection, not to study truth? / Or think you heaven is deaf, or hath no eyes, / Or those it hath smile at your perjuries? / Are vows so cheap with women, or the matter / Whereof they're made, that they are writ in water, / And blown away with wind? Or doth their breath, / Both hot and cold, at once make life and death? / Who could have thought so many accents sweet / Form'd into words, so many sighs should meet / As from our hearts, so many oaths, and tears / Sprinkled among, all sweeten'd by our fears, / And the divine impression of stolen kisses, / That seal'd the rest, should now prove empty blisses? / Did you draw bonds to forfeit? sign to break? / Or must we read you quite from what you speak, / And find the truth out the wrong way? or must / He first desire you false, would wish you just? / O! I profane! though most of women be / This kind of beast, my thoughts shall except thee, / My dearest love; though froward jealousy / With circumstance might urge thy inconstancy, / Sooner I'll think the sun will cease to cheer / The teeming earth, and that forget to bear; / Sooner that rivers will run back, or Thames / With ribs of ice in June will bind his streams; / Or nature, by whose strength the world endures, / Would change her course, before you alter yours. / But O! that treacherous breast, to whom weak you / Did drift our counsels, and we both may rue, / Having his falsehood found too late; 'twas he / That made me cast you guilty, and you me; / Whilst he, black wretch, betray'd each simple word / We spake, unto the cunning of a third. / Cursed may he be, that so our love hath slain, / And wander on the earth, wretched as Cain, / Wretched as he, and not deserve least pity. / In plaguing him, let misery be witty; / Let all eyes shun him, and he shun each eye, / Till he be noisome as his infamy; / May he without remorse deny God thrice, / And not be trusted more on his soul's price; / And, after all self-torment, when he dies, / May wolves tear out his heart, vultures his eyes, / Swine eat his bowels, and his falser tongue / That utter'd all, be to some raven flung; / And let his carrion corse be a longer feast / To the king's dogs, than any other beast. / Now have I cursed, let us our love revive; / In me the flame was never more alive. / I could begin again to court and praise, / And in that pleasure lengthen the short days / Of my life's lease; like painters that do take / Delight, not in made work, but whiles they make. / I could renew those times, when first I saw / Love in your eyes, that gave my tongue the law / To like what you liked; and at masks and plays / Commend the selfsame actors, the same ways; / Ask how you did, and often with intent / Of being officious, be impertinent; / All which were such soft pastimes, as in these / Love was as subtly catch'd as a disease. / But being got, it is a treasure sweet, / Which to defend is harder than to get; / And ought not be profaned, on either part, / For though 'tis got by chance, 'tis kept by art.

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The Expostulation is listed on Textopian as a poem by John Donne, dated 1633 CE.

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Work type: Poem
Author: John Donne
Date: 1633 CE
Language: English
Genres: Love Poetry, Dramatic Monologue, Metaphysical Poetry, Lyric Poetry, Narrative Poetry
Length: 922 words
Structure: 1 section, 1 paragraphs
Reading fit: Fairly Easy (7th Grade)

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Genres

Love Poetry — The poem's central concern is romantic love and its emotional complexities—betrayal, jealousy, and reconciliation—making it fundamentally an exploration of intimate human affection and its fragility.
Dramatic Monologue — The work employs intense direct address to an absent beloved with accusatory rhetoric, emotional escalation, and narrative movement characteristic of dramatic verse rather than purely meditative lyric.
Metaphysical Poetry — Exemplifies Donne's metaphysical style through elaborate conceits (oaths written in water, nature's constancy as cosmic proof), abstract philosophical argument, and intellectual wit applied to emotional experience.
Lyric Poetry — The poem intensely expresses personal emotional states—despair, jealousy, hope, renewal—with subjectivity and introspection characteristic of lyric verse, though its dramatic address modulates this classification.