Batter my heart, three person'd God; for you As yet but knocke, breathe, shine, and seeke to mend; That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend Your force, to breake, blowe, burn and make me new. I, like an usurpt towne, to another due, Labour to admit you, but Oh, to no end, Reason your viceroy in mee, mee should defend But is captiv'd, and proves weake or untrue. Yet dearely I love you, and would be loved faine, But am betroth'd unto your enemie: Divorce mee, untie, or breake that knot againe, Take mee to you, imprison mee, for I Except you enthrall mee, never shall be free, Nor ever chaste, except you ravish mee.
Three Sonnets of John Donne
Song Cycle by Mervyn Burtch (b. 1929)
?. Batter my heart  [sung text not yet checked]
Language: English
Text Authorship:
- by John Donne (1572 - 1631), no title, appears in Holy Sonnets, no. 14
See other settings of this text.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Daniel Johannsen) , copyright © 2020, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
?. Oh my blacke Soule!  [sung text not yet checked]
Language: English
Oh my blacke Soule! now thou art summoned By sicknesse, death's herald, and champion; Thou art like a pilgrim, which abroad hath done Treason, and durst not turne to whence hee is fled, Or like a thiefe, which till death's doome be read, Wisheth himselfe deliver'd from prison; But dam'd and hal'd to execution, Wisheth that still he might be imprisoned. Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lacke; But who shall give thee that grace to beginne? Oh make thyselfe with holy mourning blacke, And red with blushing, as thou are with sinne; Or wash thee in Christ's blood, which hath this might That being red, it dyes red soules to white.
Text Authorship:
- by John Donne (1572 - 1631), no title, appears in Holy Sonnets, no. 4
See other settings of this text.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Daniel Johannsen) , copyright © 2020, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
?. Death be not proud  [sung text not yet checked]
Language: English
Death be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadfull, for thou art not soe, For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow, Die not, poore death, nor [yet canst thou]1 kill mee. From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures be, Much pleasure; then from thee, much more must flow, And soonest our best men with thee do goe, Rest of their bones, and souls deliverie. Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings and desperate men, And dost with poyson, warre, and sickness dwell, And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well And better than thy stroake; why swell'st thou then? One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally, And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
Text Authorship:
- by John Donne (1572 - 1631), no title, appears in Holy Sonnets, no. 10
See other settings of this text.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) [singable] (Bertram Kottmann) , "Sonett über den Tod", copyright © 2013, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Daniel Johannsen) , copyright © 2020, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Richard Flatter) , "Sonett an den Tod", appears in Die Fähre, Englische Lyrik aus fünf Jahrhunderten, first published 1936
- ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , "Non esser fiera, Morte", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
1 Bennett: "nor canst thou yet"
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
Total word count: 355