John Donne

Goe, and catche a falling starre

      Get with child a mandrake roote, 
Tell me, where all past yeares are, 
      Or who cleft the Divel’s foot, 
Teach me to hear Mermaides singing, 
       Or to keep off envies stinging, 
                         And finde 
                         What winde 
Serves to advance an honest minde.

If thou beest borne to strange sights,  
      Things invisible to see, 
Ride ten thousand daies and nights,      
      Till age snow white haires on thee, 
Thou, when thou return’st, wilt tell mee,  
All strange wonders that befell thee, 
                         And sweare, 
                         No where 
Lives a woman true, and faire.

If thou findst one, let mee know,  
      Such a Pilgrimage were sweet; 
Yet doe not, I would not goe, 
      Though at next doore wee might meet; 
Though shee were true, when you met her,   
And last, till you write your letter, 
                         Yet shee 
                         Will bee 
False, ere I come, to two, or three.