The following is the conclusion of 'The Life of Dr John Donne.' The biography of John Donne (1571 or 1572 - 1631), who was the Dean of St Paul's Cathedral in London, was written by his friend Izaak Walton in February 1639.
And now, having brought him through the many labyrinths and perplexities of a various life, even to the gates of death and the grave, my desire is, may he rest in rest, till I have told my Reader that I have seen many pictures of him, in several habits, and at several ages, and in several postures: and I now mention this, because I have seen one picture of him, drawn by a curious hand, at his age of eighteen, with his sword, and what other adornments might then suit with the present fashions of youth and the giddy gaieties', of that age; and his motto was then -
How much shall I be changed,
Before I am changed!
And if that young, and now his dying picture were at this time set together, every beholder might say, Lord! how much is Dr. Donne already changed, before he is changed! And the view of them might give my Reader occasion to ask himself with some amazement, "Lord! how much may I also, that am now in health, be changed before I am changed; before this vile, this changeable body shall be put off mortality!" and therefore to prepare for it. - But this is not writ so much for my Reader's memento, as to tell him, that Dr. Donne would often in his discourses, and often publicly in his Sermons, mention the many changes both of his body and mind; especially of his mind from a vertiginous giddiness; and would as often say, "His great and most blessed change was from a temporal to a spiritual employment;" in which he was so happy, that he accounted the former part of his life to be lost; and in the beginning of it to be, from his first entering into Sacred Orders, and serving his most merciful God at his altar,
Upon Monday, after the drawing this picture, he took his last leave of his beloved study; and, being sensible of his hourly decay, retired himself to his bed-chamber; and that week sent at several times for many of his considerable friends, with whom he took a solemn and deliberate farewell, commending them to their considerations some sentences useful for their regulation of their lives; and then dismissed them, as good Jacob did his sons, with a spiritual benediction. The Sunday following, he appointed his servants, that if there were any business yet undone, that concerned him or themselves, it should be prepared against Saturday next; for after that day he would not mix his thoughts with anything that concerned this world; nor ever did; but, as Job, so he "waited for the appointed day of his dissolution."
And now he was so happy as to have nothing to do but to die, to do which, he stood in need of no longer time; for he had studied it long, and to so happy a perfection, that in a former sickness he called God to witness "He was that minute ready to deliver his soul into his hands, if that minute God would determine his dissolution." In that sickness he begged of God the constancy to be preserved in that state for ever; and his patient expectation to have his immortal soul disrobed from her garment of mortality, makes me confident, that he now had a modest assurance that hos prayers were then heard, and his petition granted. He lay fifteen days earnestly expecting his hourly change; and in the last hour of his last day, as his body melted away, and vapoured into spirit, his soul having, I verily believe, some revelation of the beatifical vision, he said, "I were miserable if I might not die;" and after these words, closed many periods of his faint breath by saying often, "Thy kingdom come, thy will be done." His speech, which had long been his ready and faithful servant, left him not till the last minute of his life, and then forsook him, not to serve another master - for who speaks like him - but died before him; for that it was then become useless to him, that now conversed with God on Earth, as Angels are said to do in Heaven, only by thoughts and looks. Being speechless, and seeing Heaven by that illumination by which he saw it, he did, as St. Stephen, "look steadfastly into it, till he saw the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God his Father;" and being satisfied with this blessed sight, as his soul ascended, and his last breath departed from him, he closed his own eyes, and then disposed his hands and body into such posture, as required not the least alteration by those that came to shroud him.
Thus variable, thus virtuous was the life: thus excellent, thus exemplary was the death of this memorable man.
He was buried in that place of St. Paul's Church, which he had appointed for that use some years before his death; and by which he passed daily to pay his public devotions to Almighty God - who was then served twice a day by a public form of prayer and praises in that place - but he was not buried privately, though he desired it; for, beside an unnumbered number of others, many persons of Nobility, and of eminence for Learning, who did love and honour him in his life, did shew it at his death, by a voluntary and sad attendance of his body to the grave, where nothing was so remarkable as a public sorrow.
To which place of his burial some mournful friend repaired, and, as Alexander the Great did to the grave of the famous Achilles, so they strewed his with an abundance of curious and costly flowers; which course, they, - who were never yet known, - continued morning and evening for many days, not ceasing, till the stones, that were taken up in that Church, to give his body admission into the cold earth, - now his bed of rest, - were again by the Mason's art so leveled and firmed as they had been formerly, and his place of burial undistinguishable to common view.
The next day after his burial, some unknown friend, some one of the many lovers and admirers of his Virtue and Learning, writ this Epitaph with a coal on the wall over his rave
Reader! I am to let thee know,
Donne's Body only lies below;
For, could the grave his Soul comprise,
Earth would be richer than the Skies!
Nor was this all the honour done to his reverend ashes; for, as there be some persons that will not receive a reward for that for which God accounts himself a debtor; persons that dare trust God with their charity, and without a witness; so there was by some grateful unknown friend, that thought Dr. Donne's memory ought to be perpetuated, an hundred marks sent to his faithful friends and Executors, towards the making of his Monument. It was not for many years known by whom; but, after the death of Dr. Foxe, it was known that it was he that sent it; and he lived to see it as lively a representation of his dead friend, as marble can express: a statue indeed so like Dr. Donne, that - as his friend Sir Henry Wotton hath expressed himself - "It seems to breath faintly, and posterity shall look upon it as a kind of artificial miracle."
He was of stature moderately tall; of a straight and equally-proportioned body, to which all his words and actions gave an unexpressible addition of comeliness.
The melancholy and pleasant humour were in him so contempered, that each gave advantage to the other, and made his company one of the delights of mankind.
His fancy was unimitably high, equalled only by his great wit; both being made useful by a commanding judgement.
His aspect was cheerful, and such as gave a silent testimony of a clear knowing soul, and of a conscience at peace with itself.
His melting eye shewed that he had a soft heart, full of noble compassion; of too brave a soul to offer injuries, and too much a Christian not to pardon them in others.
He did much contemplate - especially after he entered into his sacred calling - the Mercies of Almighty God, the Immortality of the soul, and the Joys of Heaven: and would often say in a kind of sacred ecstasy, - "Blessed be God that he is God, only and divinely like himself."
He was by nature highly passionate, but more apt to reluct at the excesses of it. A great lover of the offices of humanity, and of so merciful a spirit, that he never beheld the miseries of mankind without pity and relief.
He was earnest and unwearied in the search of knowledge, with which his vigorous soul is now satisfied, and employed in a continual praise of that God that first breathed it into his active body: that body, which once was a Temple of the Holy Ghost, and is now become a small quantity of Christian dust: -
But I shall see it re-animated.
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