To Sir Henry Goodyere

To Sir Henry Goodyere by John Donne

This verse letter to Sir Henry Goodyere opens with a portrait of a man who lives by habitual repetition, treating the past as a template, seeing and hearing only what he has already seen and heard, and reducing his life to the monotonous telling of a string of beads. Donne then contrasts this with a palace, which, if it is what it should be, either continues growing or else decays, while its inhabitant is not fixed in this way but always strives to press upward and improve his fortune. Turning to Goodyere directly, Donne observes that his body has had its morning and now has its noon, and will not improve further; its next change is night. But the "fair, larger guest" who dwells in that body, the soul, finds sun and moon mere sparks by comparison and claims a different right, since the noble soul grows stronger with age, her appetite and digestion improving. Donne insists they must not starve the soul, nor hope to sustain her to the end on the mild nourishment of women's milk and pap; she requires more manly diet. He tells Goodyere that he has already seen all libraries, described as schools, camps, and courts, but urges him to examine his own granaries to see whether, at harvest time, he has been too indulgent to his sports and pleasures. To redeem this indulgence, Donne suggests he transplant himself abroad for a while. Perhaps foreign ground bears no more wit than English ground does, but the diversions there are more scant than those which abound at home. Being a stranger has the benefit that one can choke off beginnings of bad habits before they become fixed habits; going away, wherever it may be, means gaining something, since one gets to forget; and new faults, until they have had time to become ingrained, are merely smoke. Donne likens the soul, whose country is heaven and whose father is God, to a traveler sent into this world, which he calls corruption's sink; yet in her travel through the world she gathers enough that she returns home wiser than she went. This journey pays off if it teaches one to spare, and to be ashamed of taking pride in one's hawks' praise, since it is only when the hawk lessens herself in the air, flying so high she seems to shrink, that one can truly say she flies high enough. Donne then urges Goodyere to keep the lively taste he now holds of God, to love Him as he does now but to fear Him more, and in his afternoons to remember what he told and promised God at morning prayer. He tells him to let falsehood anger him like a discord in music, but otherwise not to be froward or perverse. Donne then checks himself, asking why he touches on things that are not already new to Goodyere's own practice, noting that fables or even fruit-trenchers teach as much as he has just said. He closes by explaining his purpose in writing: he makes Goodyere keep a promise by imagining that, though riding, he has had Goodyere's company even while Goodyere himself stayed in place; and in these very thoughts, although Goodyere never stirred, he has come along with Donne to Mitcham, and is present there.

By John Donne · First published 1633 · Genre: Metaphysical Poetry, Verse Epistle, Moral and Philosophical Poetry · 595 words

First lines

Who makes the past a pattern for next year, / Turns no new leaf, but still the same things reads; / Seen things he sees again, heard things doth hear, / And makes his life but like a pair of beads.

A palace, when 'tis that which it should be, / Leaves growing, and stands such, or else decays; / But he which dwells there is not so; for he / Strives to urge upward, and his fortune raise.

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epistle · verse-epistle · metaphysical-poetry · friendship · loyalty · virtue · constancy · 17th-century · Renaissance · Early-Modern-English · philosophical · wit

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