
The speaker addresses Love directly, announcing that before he draws his last breath he will breathe out a series of legacies. He bequeaths his eyes to Argus, or to Love itself if they prove blind, his tongue to Fame, his ears to ambassadors, and his tears to women or to the sea. He explains that Love has taught him this pattern of giving through his experience of serving a woman who already had twenty other admirers, so now he resolves to give only to those who already have too much. He gives his constancy to the planets, his truth to courtiers, his ingenuity and openness to Jesuits, his pensiveness to buffoons, his silence to well-travelled men, and his money to a Capuchin friar. Again he credits Love with teaching him this principle by making him love where no love can be received in return, so he gives only to those incapable of receiving it. He gives his faith to Roman Catholics, his good works to the Schismatics of Amsterdam, his civility and courtship to a University, his modesty to bare soldiers, and his patience to gamesters to share among themselves. Love, he says, taught him this by making him love a woman who considers his love a disparity beneath her, so he now gives only to those who would regard his gifts as an indignity. He gives his reputation to those who were his friends, his industry to his foes, his doubtfulness to schoolmen, his sickness to physicians or to excess itself, everything he has written in rhyme to nature, and his wit to his own company. He explains that by making him adore the woman who first begot this love in him, Love has taught him that in giving these things he only seems to give, when in fact he is merely restoring what was already hers. To the person for whom the next passing-bell will toll, he gives his physic books; his written rolls of moral counsels he gives to Bedlam; his brazen medals he gives to those who lack bread; and to those who live among foreigners he gives his English tongue. Love, he says, by making him love one who regards her friendship as a fit portion only for younger lovers, has caused him to disproportion his gifts in this way. Having catalogued these bequests, the speaker declares he will give no more, but will instead undo the world itself by dying, since Love will die with him. He tells the woman that once he is gone, all her beauties will be worth no more than gold left undrawn in a mine, and all her graces will be as useless as a sundial set in a grave. He closes by saying that Love, through making him love a woman who neglects both the speaker and Love itself, has taught him to invent and practise this single means of annihilating all three of them together.
By John Donne · First published 1633 · Genre: Metaphysical Poetry, Satirical Poetry, Love Poetry · 640 words
Before I sigh my last gasp, let me breathe, / Great Love, some legacies; I here bequeath / Mine eyes to Argus, if mine eyes can see; / If they be blind, then, Love, I give them thee; / My tongue to Fame; to ambassadors mine ears; / To women or the sea, my tears: / Thou, Love, hast taught me heretofore / By making me serve her who had twenty more, / That I should give to none, but such as had too much before.
The Will is listed on Textopian as a poem by John Donne, dated 1633 CE.
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metaphysical · love-poem · wit · conceit · testament · bequest · 17th-century · romantic · devotion · intellectual · clever · melancholic