Death by John Donne

Donne read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://classicpoetryaloud.podomatic.com/ Giving voice to the poetry of the past. This reading is part of Classic Poetry Aloud's celebration of one year of poetry podcasting (that's over 200 readings!). Donations to support Classic Poetry Aloud for another year would be welcome, just visit http://classicpoetryaloud.wordpress.com/ and click the 'PayPal Donate' button. --------------------------------------------------- Death by John Donne Death be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so, For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow, Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee, Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow, And soonest our best men with thee doe goe, Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie. Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell, And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well, And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then; One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally, And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.