A reply to John Donne’s The Apparition, in which a recently-dumped whinger threatens to die of a broken heart and haunt his ex. Upon reading the original you have to conclude that the lady was better off out of it, and that Donne was a stalker. Written for a poetry contest aged 17ish.
Why should I care if thou wilt clank thy chains?
Thou think’st thou couldst affright
Thy murd’ress by thy ghoulish sight,
To penalise my sin. O, spare thy pains
And stay in Hell; go not bump in the night.
He, whose I am now, is two of thee
And of thy love a mockery doth make;
He doth not tire so easily of me
For slumber’s sake.
Thy negligence made our love cease to be
So wilt thou now in envy prate thy plaint?
It was not I who cleft thy heart in twain,
But impotence. Lust thus slain
Cannot by mere love expiate its taint,
For nature will be satisfied. ’Tis just
That I am not content to gather dust,
But will live now; not slave to thee, but lust.