December 2006

"'Busy old fool—'"


"'Unruly sun—'"


"'Why dost thou thus,/ Through windows, and through curtains, call on us?'"

"Are you feeling all right, Josh?"

"Never felt better. 'If her eyes have not blinded thine/Look, and tomorrow late tell me/Whether both th'Indias, of spice and mine,/Be where thou left'st them, or lie here with me.'"

"Are you actually reciting poetry?"

"I am."

"Where is Josh Lyman, and what have you done with him?"

"It's what you've done with him, that's the question. 'Ask for those kings that thou saw'st yesterday,/ And thou shalt hear, All here in one bed lay.'"

"This is just bizarre."

"It's John Donne. 'She is all states, and all princes, I.'"

"I can't believe you've memorized poetry."

"Just this poem."

"Why on earth?"

"I always liked it. And it kind of sums up how I've been feeling for the last few months, so I looked it up again the other day."

"What does it mean?"

"It's about this guy talking to the sun."

"And I thought it was just you who were crazy."

"He's telling the sun not to bother him, because he's been having such a wonderful time in bed that he doesn't want to get up and leave his lover."

"Maybe that's not so crazy. I could relate to that right now."

"I thought you might."


"He says that she's like all the kingdoms of the world put together, and he feels like all the kings."

"Definitely egotist. It should be presidents for you, anyway."

"That wouldn't sound as good."

"No, I guess it wouldn't."

"And then he says that nothing else in the world really matters to him except her, and their being together. 'Nothing else is.'"

"That's really sweet."

"It's how you make me feel."

"Oh, Josh. It's how you make me feel, too."

"I love you, Donna."

"I love you too, Josh."

"I always have, you know."

"I always have too, Josh."

"And I always will."

"I always will too, sweetheart. Always. I promise."

"I promise too, Donna. That's what I wanted to tell you this morning: I promise I'll always love you, all my life, no matter what. There's nobody else I want, Donna. There never will be. It's just you."

"Oh, Josh. I'll never want anyone else, either; it's just you for me, too. It always has been, and it always will be, and I'll never leave you again, I promise. I promise. I promise. Oh, Josh, are you—?"

"I'm—sorry. I didn't— think I would, but—"

"It's okay, Josh. I'm crying, too."

"I really do love you, Donna."

"I really do love you too, Josh. Always."


Busy old fool, unruly Sun,
Why dost thou thus,
Through windows, and through curtains, call on us ?
Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run ?
Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide
Late school-boys and sour prentices,
Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride,
Call country ants to harvest offices;
Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime,
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

Thy beams so reverend, and strong
Why shouldst thou think?
I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,
But that I would not lose her sight so long.
If her eyes have not blinded thine,
Look, and to-morrow late tell me,
Whether both th' Indias of spice and mine
Be where thou left'st them, or lie here with me.
Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday,
And thou shalt hear, "All here in one bed lay."

She is all states, and all princes I;
Nothing else is.
Princes do but play us; compared to this,
All honour's mimic, all wealth alchemy.
Thou, Sun, art half as happy as we,
In that the world's contracted thus;
Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be
To warm the world, that's done in warming us.
Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;
This bed thy center is, these walls thy sphere.


The End