1. John Donne

2. Metaphysical poetry Emphasis on finding happiness (faith, love)
Strong lines
Deliberate roughness
Great variety in forms
Attention catching

3. Divine Meditation #14 Batter my Heart
Use of opposites (knock – batter/rise – overthrow/breathe - blow/shine – burn
Not love, but brutal overmastering
Paradoxes: imprison vs free, ravish vs chaste
Form: sonnet (Petrarchan or Shakespearean?)
Rhyme scheme?

4. The Flea Mark but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deniest me is;   
It sucked me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be;   
Thou know’st that this cannot be said
A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead,
    Yet this enjoys before it woo,
    And pampered swells with one blood made of two,
    And this, alas, is more than we would do.

5. Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare,
Where we almost, nay more than married are.   
This flea is you and I, and this
Our mariage bed, and marriage temple is;   
Though parents grudge, and you, w'are met,   
And cloistered in these living walls of jet.
    Though use make you apt to kill me,
    Let not to that, self-murder added be,
    And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.

6. Cruel and sudden, hast thou since
Purpled thy nail, in blood of innocence?   
Wherein could this flea guilty be,
Except in that drop which it sucked from thee?   
Yet thou triumph’st, and say'st that thou   
Find’st not thy self, nor me the weaker now;
    ’Tis true; then learn how false, fears be:
    Just so much honor, when thou yield’st to me,
    Will waste, as this flea’s death took life from thee.

7. Andrew Marvell To his Coy Mistress

8. To His Coy Mistress: Translation and Summary
Author: Andrew Marvell
Written: 1650 C.E C.E.
Published by: Marvell's housekeeper several years after his death.
Poem in a nutshell: "Life's too short; let's bang."
This poem is, perhaps, the most elaborate pick-up line ever created:
                                                                       
                                                                                                                                                                                                
Had we but world enough, and time, This coyness, Lady, were no crime. We would sit down and think which way To walk and pass our long love's day. Thou by the Indian Ganges' side Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide Of Humber would complain. I would Love you ten years before the Flood, And you should, if you please, refuse Till the conversion of the Jews. My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires, and more slow; An hundred years should go to praise Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze; Two hundred to adore each breast, But thirty thousand to the rest; An age at least to every part, And the last age should show your heart. For, Lady, you deserve this state, Nor would I love at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity. Thy beauty shall no more be found, Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound My echoing song: then worms shall try That long preserved virginity, And your quaint honour turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust: The grave 's a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace.
Now therefore, while the youthful hue Sits on thy skin like morning dew, And while thy willing soul transpires At every pore with instant fires, Now let us sport us while we may, And now, like amorous birds of prey, Rather at once our time devour Than languish in his slow-chapt power. Let us roll all our strength and all Our sweetness up into one ball, And tear our pleasures with rough strife Thorough the iron gates of life: Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run.
If land and time were no issue, this teasing, my Lady, would be of no consequence. We would sit down, relax, and think different ideas for dates. I would find you by the side of the Ganges' of India and romance you with the sweetest compliments. I would court you ten years before the Great Flood of Noah till the conversion of all Jews to Christianity. My love, like a vegetable garden, would grow to cover as much territory as the greatest empire—only more slowly. I would praise your eyes and forehead for one hundred years; two hundred years to admire each of your breasts; and, for thirty thousand years, I would worship and adore every other inch of your body. It would take at least one age for me to fully appreciate every feature that you possess, but, in the last age, I would look upon your heart. For, my Lady, you deserve nothing but the best and I would not have it any other way.
But, alas, we do not have all the time in the world. I can hear Time's chariot quickly drawing near and it brings old age and death with it. Your beauty will soon fade and you will die. Then, as you lay buried, only the worms will have a go at your virginity. Your chaste honor will be reduced to dust, and with your death shall be the death of my lust. The grave is great and everything but there is no romance and intimacy there.
So, let's have sex while we are still young, healthy, and attractive. We shouldn't be wasting time; we should be having raw, animalistic sex right now like those birds during the mating season. We can't make time stand still but we can make him run. Because you know what they say: “Time flies by when you're having fun.”

9. .
If land and time were no issue, this teasing, my Lady, would be of no consequence. We would sit down, relax, and think different ideas for dates. I would find you by the side of the Ganges' of India and romance you with the sweetest compliments. I would court you ten years before the Great Flood of Noah till the conversion of all Jews to Christianity. My love, like a vegetable garden, would grow to cover as much territory as the greatest empire—only more slowly. I would praise your eyes and forehead for one hundred years; two hundred years to admire each of your breasts; and, for thirty thousand years, I would worship and adore every other inch of your body. It would take at least one age for me to fully appreciate every feature that you possess, but, in the last age, I would look upon your heart. For, my Lady, you deserve nothing but the best and I would not have it any other way.
But, alas, we do not have all the time in the world. I can hear Time's chariot quickly drawing near and it brings old age and death with it. Your beauty will soon fade and you will die. Then, as you lay buried, only the worms will have a go at your virginity. Your chaste honor will be reduced to dust, and with your death shall be the death of my lust. The grave is great and everything but there is no romance and intimacy there.
So, let's have sex while we are still young, healthy, and attractive. We shouldn't be wasting time; we should be having raw, animalistic sex right now like those birds during the mating season. We can't make time stand still but we can make him run. Because you know what they say: “Time flies by when you're having fun.”

10. The Character of Holland BY ANDREW MARVELL(excerpt)
Holland, that scarce deserves the name of land,
As but th’ off-scouring of the British sand;
And so much earth as was contributed
By English pilots when they heav’d the lead;
Or what by th’ ocean’s slow alluvion fell,
Of shipwrack’d cockle and the mussel-shell;
This indigested vomit of the sea
Fell to the Dutch by just propriety.

11. Glad then, as miners that have found the ore,
They with mad labour fish’d the land to shore;
And div’d as desperately for each piece
Of earth, as if’t had been of ambergris;
Collecting anxiously small loads of clay,
Less than what building swallows bear away;
Or than those pills which sordid beetles roll,
Transfusing into them their dunghill soul.
How did they rivet, with gigantic piles,
Thorough the centre their new-catched miles;
And to the stake a struggling country bound,
Where barking waves still bait the forced ground;
Building their watry Babel far more high
To reach the sea, than those to scale the sky.

12. Yet still his claim the injur’d ocean laid,
And oft at leap-frog ore their steeples play’d:
As if on purpose it on land had come
To show them what’s their mare liberum.
A daily deluge over them does boil;
The earth and water play at level-coil;
The fish oft-times the burgher dispossest,
And sat not as a meat but as a guest;
And oft the Tritons and the sea-nymphs saw
Whole sholes of Dutch serv’d up for cabillau;
Or as they over the new level rang’d
For pickled herring, pickled heeren chang’d.
Nature, it seem’d, asham’d of her mistake,
Would throw their land away at duck and drake.