The Baite

John Donne

1572 to 1631

Poem Image
Track 1

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Come live with mee, and bee my love,
Let coarse bold hands, from slimy nest
The bedded fish in banks out-wrest,
Will amorously to thee swimme,
And if my selfe have leave to see,
Alas, is wiser farre then I.
Warm'd by thy eyes, more then the Sunne.
There will the river whispering runne
If thou, to be so seene, beest loath,
Gladder to catch thee, then thou him.
When thou wilt swimme in that live bath,
And wee will some new pleasures prove
Each fish, which every channell hath,
For thou thy selfe art thine owne bait;
Let others freeze with angling reeds,
And there the'inamor'd fish will stay,
By Sunne, or Moone, thou darknest both,
With silken lines, and silver hookes.
Begging themselves they may betray.
I need not their light, having thee.
Bewitch poore fishes wandring eyes.
Or curious traitors, sleavesilke flies
With strangling snare, or windowie net:
For thee, thou needst no such deceit,
Of golden sands, and christall brookes,
Or treacherously poore fish beset,
And cut their legges, with shells and weeds,
That fish, that is not catch'd thereby,

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