Donne had been married to his wife seven years, during which they had suffered every variety of wretchedness, except the greatest of all,--that of being separated. The idea of this first parting was beyond her fortitude; she said, her "divining soul boded her some ill in his absence," and with tears she entreated him not to leave her. Her affectionate husband yielded; but Sir Robert Drury was urgent, and would not be refused. Donne represented to his wife all that honour and gratitude required of him; and she, too really tender, and too devoted to be selfish and unreasonable, yielded with "an unwilling willingness;" yet, womanlike, she thought she could not bear a pain she had never tried, and was seized with the romantic idea of following him in the disguise of a page.[50] In a delicate and amiable woman, and a mother, it could have been but a momentary thought, suggested in the frenzy of anguish. It inspired, however, the following beautiful dissuasion, which her husband addressed to her. By our first strange and fatal interview; By all desires which thereof did ensue; By our long-striving hopes; by that remorse Which my words' masculine persuasive force Begot in thee, and by the memory Of hurts which spies and rivals threaten'd me,-- I calmly beg: but by thy father's wrath, By all pains which want and divorcement hath, I conjure thee;--and all the oaths which I And thou have sworn to seal joint constancy, I here unswear, and overswear them thus: Thou shall not love by means so dangerous. Temper, O fair Love! Love's impetuous rage; Be my true mistress, not my feigned page. I'll go, and by thy kind leave, leave behind Thee, only worthy to nurse in my mind Thirst to come back. O! if thou die before, My soul from other lands to thee shall soar: Thy (else almighty) beauty cannot move Rage from the seas, not thy love teach them love, Nor tame wild Boreas' harshness: thou hast read How roughly he in pieces shivered Fair Orithea, whom he swore he loved. Fall ill or good, 'tis madness to have proved Dangers unurg'd: feed on this flattery, That absent lovers one in th' other be. Dissemble nothing,--not a boy,--nor change Thy body's habit nor mind: be not strange To thyself only: all will spy in thy face A blushing, womanly, discovering grace. When I am gone dream me some happiness, Nor let thy looks our long hid love confess: Nor praise nor dispraise me; nor bless nor curse Openly love's force; nor in bed fright thy nurse With midnight starlings, crying out, Oh! oh! Nurse, oh! my love is slain! I saw him go O'er the white Alps alone; I saw him, I, Assailed, ta'en, fight, stabb'd, bleed, fall, and die! Augur me better chance, except dread Jove Think it enough for me to have had thy love.