John Donne (pr. Dun)
English poet and rather handsome young man.
That hair! Those lips! And look, his collar’s untied at the neck… Naughty.
John Donne was a very sensual man, and a poet unafraid of sexuality - look no further than his elegy, ‘To His Mistress Going To Bed’ (“License my roving hands, and let them go/Behind, before, above, between, below.”)
He was melancholic, seemingly preoccupied with death… (see the dark shadows and brooding look on his face)… and sex (see the open shirt and pouting lips).
He fought in the Anglo-Spanish war, gained a prestigious diplomatic job, fell in love with and secretly married his boss’s daughter, was found out, fired, and thrown in jail. He then worked as a lawyer for years, to sustain his ever-growing family (12 births in 16 years, the last of which resulted in Anne’s death and sent Donne into deep mourning), and later in life became a priest, and a member of parliament.
What a man.