To Sir Edward Herbert, now Lord Herbert Cherbury, being at the Siege of Juliers

To Sir Edward Herbert, now Lord Herbert Cherbury

This poem by John Donne addresses Sir Edward Herbert, later Lord Herbert of Cherbury, while Herbert is at the Siege of Juliers. Donne opens with an extended figure of man as a lump into which all beasts have been kneaded, a chaotic composite tamed only by wisdom, which makes man an ark where all the beasts agree together. The fool, by contrast, is one in whom these inward beasts live at odds with one another, and he becomes sport and a spectacle to others. Nor does the fool escape his own condition, for he is himself devoured: whatever was properly human in him is eaten away, and his contending inward beasts turn to feeding on one another, coupling in anger and breeding new monsters. Donne then praises the happy state of the man who has assigned due place to his own inward beasts and disafforested his mind, clearing it as one would clear a wild forest. Such a man impales, or fences, himself so as to keep the beasts out rather than shut in; he can sow corn and trust the ground where the beasts have been, can put his horse, goat, wolf, and every other beast to proper use, and is not himself an ass to all the rest. Without this ordering, Donne warns, man is not only the herd of swine but also the very devils that drove them to headlong rage and made them worse, for man has the power to add weight to heaven's heaviest curse. He compares this to the doctrine that souls take in the poisonous tincture of original sin at their first touch with the body: in the same way, when God flings down punishments, it is human apprehension that contributes the sting. God casts hemlock to us as to His chickens, and we taste it as men. We infuse corrosiveness, or intense cold or heat, into what God intended as plain meat, for God has no specific poison that kills mysteriously; even His fiercest wrath has no innate antipathy to man, and might serve as good physic if not as food. Thus man, who might be God's pleasure, becomes instead His rod, and man, who might be his own God, becomes instead his own devil. Donne then turns to the addressee directly. Since human business is to rectify nature back to what she originally was, we are led astray by those who show man to us as smaller or greater than he truly is in due proportion, for no single form can be fixed upon man: he can draw all things into himself, and all that his faith can swallow or his reason can chew becomes part of him. All that fills and all that is filled, the whole round world, is to man but a single pill; in everyone it works, and in all it proves poisonous, purgative, or cordial. Knowledge itself kindles feverish calentures in some men while remaining icy and inert as opium to others. Donne declares that Sir Edward Herbert's own profession is as brave as it is true, in that Herbert makes it his business to know man, and this claim is made credible because Herbert has dwelt upon all worthy books and has now, through that study, become such a man himself. Donne closes by observing that actions are themselves authors, so that Herbert's friends find in him, every day, a fresh market of new actions to read.

By John Donne · First published 1633 · Genre: Metaphysical Poetry, Didactic Poetry, Panegyric · 650 words

First lines

Man is a lump, where all beasts kneaded be; / Wisdom makes him an ark, where all agree. / The fool, in whom these beasts do live at jar, / Is sport to others, and a theatre. / Nor 'scapes he so, but is himself their prey; / All which was man in him, is eat away; / And now his beasts on one another feed, / Yet couple in anger, and new monsters breed. / How happy's he, which hath due place assign'd / To his beasts, and disafforested his mind; / Impaled himself to keep them out, not in; / Can sow, and dares trust, corn where they have been; / Can use his horse, goat, wolf, and every beast, / And is not ass himself to all the rest. / Else, man not only is the herd of swine, / But he's those devils too, which did incline / Them to a headlong rage, and made them worse; / For man can add weight to heaven's heaviest curse. / As souls (they say) by our first touch take in / The poisonous tincture of original sin, / So, to the punishments which God doth fling, / Our apprehension contributes the sting. / To us, as to His chickens, He doth cast / Hemlock, and we, as men, His hemlock taste. / We do infuse to what He meant for meat / Corrosiveness, or intense cold or heat; / For God no such specific poison hath / As kills, we know not how; His fiercest wrath / Hath no antipathy, but may be good / At least for physic, if not for our food. / Thus man, that might be His pleasure, is His rod, / And is His devil, that might be his God. / Since then our business is to rectify / Nature, to what she was, we're led awry / By them, who man to us in little show, / Greater than due; no form we can bestow / On him, for man into himself can draw / All; all his faith can swallow, or reason chaw. / All that is filled and all that which doth fill, / All the round world, to man is but a pill; / In all it works not, but it is in all / Poisonous, or purgative, or cordial; / For knowledge kindles calentures in some, / And is to others icy opium. / As brave as true is that profession then / Which you do use to make-that you know man. / This makes it credible; you have dwelt upon / All worthy books, and now are such an one. / Actions are authors, and of those in you / Your friends find, every day, a mart of new.

What this Textopian page supports

To Sir Edward Herbert, now Lord Herbert Cherbury, being at the Siege of Juliers is listed on Textopian as a poem by John Donne, dated 1633 CE.

This source record anchors work identity, reading entry points, and catalog context for checking claims about the work.

Good citation fit

Similar titles

Genres

Tags

dedicatory · epistolary · metaphysical · military · heroism · 17th-century · siege warfare · virtue · honor · nobility · courage · praise

More by John Donne