By
John Donne
And since thou so desirously
Did'st long to
die, that long before thou could'st,
And long since thou no more couldst dye,
Thou in thy catter'd
mystique body wouldst
In Abel dye, and ever since
In thine; let their
blood come
To begge for us, a discreet
patience
Of death, or of
worse life: for Oh, to Some
Not to be
Martyrs, is a
martyrdom.