DEATH, BE NOT PROUD – JOHN DONNE

                                       

DEATH, BE NOT PROUD, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not soe;

For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow

Die not, poore Death, nor yet canst thou kill mee.

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 soul’s deliverie.

Thou’rt slave to Fate, Chance, kings and desperate men,

And dost with poyson, war, and sickness dwell;

And poppie of charms 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.

JOHN DONNE (1571 – 1631) was born in London and was educated at Oxford and Cambridge. Then he entered Lincoln’s Inn. At first a Roman Catholic he later became Anglican. He was secretary to the lord keeper, Sir Egerton, from 1596 to 1602 but upon secretly marrying Anne Moore, the lord keeper’s wife’s niece, he fell from grace. His sermons rank among the best in the seventeenth century. He wrote a large variety of poems: satires, epistles, elegies, and miscellaneous poems. His poetry has been described as ‘metaphysical’.

DEATH BE NOT PROUD is a poem where Donne challenges the power of death and by argument shows him (death) to be powerless. He describes death as a slave of fate, chance, kings, and murderers, and one who lives a miserable life with poison, war, and sickness. Death cannot destroy man because man’s soul is liberated by death and in the other world it does not even exist. In the poem Donne addresses death as a person; this device is known as personification.

mighty:                                        great and powerful

dreadful:                                     fearful

overthrow:                                  defeat; (here) kill

which but thy pictures bee:     which closely resemble death. “Death’ is often referred to as ‘sleep’.

best men:                                     most virtuous people; those who are loved by God die young.

soules deliverie:                        their souls are freed from their bodily prisons

poppie:                                        opium or opium preparations.

charmes:                                     drugs with magical properties.

better than they stroake:          their operation is gentle and painless.

swell’st:                                       feels proud

wee wake eternally:                   live forever in the other world.

Summary:

“Death Be Not Proud” is one of the finest poems of John Donne from his collection of poems “Holy Sonnets” addressed to Death. Death is generally supposed to be ‘mighty and dreadful’, but in reality it is neither ‘mighty’ nor ‘dreadful’. Therefore it should not be proud.

Having stated his point of view, Donne proceeds like a clever lawyer to give argument to prove it. Death is not dreadful, for those whom death is supposed to kill are not killed in reality. They do not die; they only sleep a long and peaceful sleep. Rest and sleep resemble death. As great comfort and pleasure results from sleep, so greater comfort and pleasure must result from death. That is why those who are virtuous die young. Death merely frees their souls form the prison of their bodies, and provides rest to their bodies. As death brings rest and quiet, it cannot be regarded as dreadful in any way. 

Death is not ‘mighty’ as well. It is not like a mighty king, but like a wretched slave. It is a slave of fate, chance, wicked and malicious persons, poison, wars and sickness. Death is not the cause, but the instrument. It obeys the call of accidents, kings, wicked murderers, poison, war, old age, and sickness. It is not a free agent, but a miserable slave who lives in such wretched company with sickness and old age. It cannot be regarded as glorious or mighty in any way. As a matter of fact, opium preparations or similar other intoxicants, or drugs supposed to have magical properties, can induce better sleep and with a far gentler and painless operations.

Finally, there is reason at all for Death to be proud of its powers. Death can make sleep only for a short while. After our short sleep in the grave, we will awake in the other world and live there eternally. Then Death will have no power over us. Thus, in reality, Death does not kill us; it is death itself which dies. In this way, the sonnet ends with a paradox which the poet has already proved and established.