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The Will

by John Donne
      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.
      My constancy I to the planets give;
      My truth to them who at the court do live;
      My ingenuity and openness,
      To Jesuits; to buffoons my pensiveness;
      My silence to any, who abroad hath been;
                  My money to a Capuchin:
            Thou, Love, taught'st me, by appointing me
      To love there, where no love received can be,
Only to give to such as have an incapacity.
      My faith I give to Roman Catholics;
      All my good works unto the Schismatics
      Of Amsterdam; my best civility
      And courtship to an University;
      My modesty I give to soldiers bare;
                  My patience let gamesters share:
            Thou, Love, taught'st me, by making me
      Love her that holds my love disparity,
Only to give to those that count my gifts indignity.
      I give my reputation to those
      Which were my friends; mine industry to foes;
      To schoolmen I bequeath my doubtfulness;
      My sickness to physicians, or excess;
      To nature all that I in rhyme have writ;
                  And to my company my wit:
            Thou, Love, by making me adore
      Her, who begot this love in me before,
Taught'st me to make, as though I gave, when I do but restore.
      To him for whom the passing-bell next tolls,
      I give my physic books; my written rolls
      Of moral counsels I to Bedlam give;
      My brazen medals unto them which live
      In want of bread; to them which pass among
                  All foreigners, mine English tongue:
            Though, Love, by making me love one
      Who thinks her friendship a fit portion
For younger lovers, dost my gifts thus disproportion.
      Therefore I'll give no more, but I'll undo
      The world by dying, because love dies too.
      Then all your beauties will be no more worth
      Than gold in mines, where none doth draw it forth;
      And all your graces no more use shall have,
                  Than a sun-dial in a grave:
            Thou, Love, taught'st me by making me
      Love her who doth neglect both me and thee,
To invent, and practise this one way, to annihilate all three.



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