To John Donne

Donne, the delight of Phoebus and each Muse

   Who, to thy one, all other brains refuse;

   Whose every work of thy most early wit

   Came forth example, and remains so yet;

   Longer a-knowing than most wits do live;

   And which no affection praise enough can give!

   To it, thy language, letters, arts, best life,

   Which might with half mankind maintain a strife.

   All which I meant to praise, and yet I would;

  But leave, because I cannot as I should!

NOTESForm: couplets1.Drummond reported Jonson as remarking: \