John Donne
What If This Present
What if this present were the world's last night?
Marke in my heart, O Soule, where thou dost dwell
The picture of Christ crucified, and tell
Whether that countenance can thee affright
Teares in his eyes quench the amazing light
Blood fills his frownes, which from his pierc'd head fell
And can that tongue adjudge thee into hell
Which pray'd forgivenesse for his foes fierce spight?
No, no; but as in my Idolatrie
I said to all my profane mistresses
Beauty, of pity, foulenesse onely is
A sign of rigour: so I say to thee
To wicked spirits are horrid shapes assign'd
This beauteous forme assures a piteous minde