SparkNotes: Donne’s Poetry: “The Broken Heart”

Good sir, benotsevere in your construc-
tion;
I am no stranger to such easy calms
As sit in tender bosoms: lordly Ithocles
Hath grac'd my entertainment in abundance,
Of arrogance and spleen which wrought the
rape
On griev'd Penthea's purity; his scorn
Of my untoward fortunes is reclaim'd
Unto a courtship, almost to a fawning:

A summary of “The Broken Heart” in John Donne's Donne’s Poetry
Photo provided by Flickr

Know,Prophilus, Inever undervalu'd,
From the first time you mentioned worthy love,
A fault of judgment in me, and a dulness
In my affections, not to weigh and thank
My better stars that offered me the grace
Of so much blissfulness. For, to speak truth,
With yours; nor have I left that resolution:
But only, in a word, whatever choice
Lives nearest in my heart must first procure
Consent both from my father and my brother,
Ere he can own me his.


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Look ye, uncle,
Some such there are whose liberal contents
Swarm without care in every sort of plenty;
To sleep; and they sleep, uncle: in which si-
lence
Their very dreams present 'em choice of pleas-
ures,
Pleasures observe me, uncle of rareobject;
Here heaps of gold, there increments of hon-
ours,
Now change of garments, then the votes of
Anon varieties of beauties, courting,
In flatteries of the night, exchange of dalliance:
Yet these are still but dreams. Give me felic-
ity
Of which my senses waking are partakers,
And then, too, when I stagger in expectance
Of the least comfort that can cherish life.
I saw it, sir, I saw it ; for it came
From her own hand.


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Bassanes,
The man that calls her wife, considers truly
What heaven of perfections he is lord of
Begets a kind of monster-love, which love
Is nurse unto a fear so strong and servile
As brands all dotage with a jealousy:
All eyes who gaze upon that shrine of beauty
Some one, he is assur'd, may now or then,
If opportunity but sort, prevail.
So much, out of a self-unworthiness,
His fears transport him; not that he finds
cause
You spin out your discourse.
My griefs are violent:
For knowing how the maid was heretofore
Courted by me, his jealousies grow wild
That I should steal again into her favours,
Know I nor dare nor dream of. Hence, from
hence
I undertake a voluntary exile;
First, by my absence to take off the cares
Of jealous Bassanes; but chiefly, sir,
Lastly, to lose the memory of something
Her presence makes to live in me afresh.
Enough, my Orgilus, enough. To Ath-
ens,
I give a full consent. Alas, good lady!
We shall hear from thee often?

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Euphranea, thusuponthy cheeks I
print
A brother's kiss; more careful of thine honour,
Thy health, and thy well-doing, than my life.
I must prefer a suit t' ye.

The Broken Heart - Poem by John Donne - Poetry

The Spartangods aregracious; our
humility
Shall bend before their altars, and perfume
Their temples with abundant sacrifice.
See, lords, Amyclas, your old king, is ent'ring
This silver badge of age, and change this snow
For hairs as gay as are Apollo's locks;
Our heart leaps in new vigour.