Death, be not proud

John Donne(1572–1631)

Holy Sonnets, 1633

Death be not proud, though some have callèd theeMighty 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 than thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,And death shall be no more, death, thou shalt die.

From Holy Sonnets (1633), via the English Wikisource transcription. The original 17th-century spelling is kept.

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About the poem

Donne addresses Death and defies it to its face: it is not «Mighty and dreadfull», for those it thinks it overthrows do not really die. The poem is a duel — a man standing up to death with the sharp logic of the metaphysical poets.

Death, he argues, is no more than a sleep — and there are better sleeping draughts, «poppie, or charmes» — and it is a slave to «Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men». The closing couplet turns everything over: «One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally, / And death shall be no more, Death, thou shalt die.» Faith made defiance.