 | Poems, By J. D. [i.e. John Donne] |  |
To M.I. W.
All haile sweet Poët, more full of more strong fire,
Then hath or shall enkindle any spirit,
I lov'd what nature gave thee, but this merit
Of wit and Art I love not but admire;
Who have before or shall write after thee,
Their workes, though toughly laboured, will bee
Like infancie or age to mans firme stay,
Or earely and late twilights to mid-day.
Then hath or shall enkindle any spirit,
I lov'd what nature gave thee, but this merit
Of wit and Art I love not but admire;
Who have before or shall write after thee,
Their workes, though toughly laboured, will bee
Like infancie or age to mans firme stay,
Or earely and late twilights to mid-day.
94
Men say, and truly, that they better be
Which be envyed then pittied: therefore I,
Because I wish thee best, doe thee envie:
O wouldst thou, by like reason, pitty mee,
But care not for mee, I, that ever was
In Natures, and in fortunes gifts, (alas,
Before thy grace got in the Muses Schoole)
A monster and a begger, am a foole.
Which be envyed then pittied: therefore I,
Because I wish thee best, doe thee envie:
O wouldst thou, by like reason, pitty mee,
But care not for mee, I, that ever was
In Natures, and in fortunes gifts, (alas,
Before thy grace got in the Muses Schoole)
A monster and a begger, am a foole.
Oh how I grieve, that late borne modesty
Hath got such root in easie waxen hearts,
That men may not themselves, their owne good parts
Extoll, without suspect of surquedrie,
For, but thy selfe, no subject can be found
Worthy thy quill, nor any quill resound
Thy worke but thine: how good it were to see
A Poëm in thy praise, and writ by thee.
Hath got such root in easie waxen hearts,
That men may not themselves, their owne good parts
Extoll, without suspect of surquedrie,
For, but thy selfe, no subject can be found
Worthy thy quill, nor any quill resound
Thy worke but thine: how good it were to see
A Poëm in thy praise, and writ by thee.
Now if this song be too'harsh for rime, yet, as
The Painters bad god made a good devill,
'Twill be good prose, although the verse be evill.
If thou forget the rime as thou dost passe,
Then write, then I may follow, and so bee
Thy debter, thy'eccho, thy foyle, thy zanee.
I shall be thought, if mine like thine I shape,
All the worlds Lyon, though I be thy Ape.
The Painters bad god made a good devill,
'Twill be good prose, although the verse be evill.
If thou forget the rime as thou dost passe,
Then write, then I may follow, and so bee
Thy debter, thy'eccho, thy foyle, thy zanee.
I shall be thought, if mine like thine I shape,
All the worlds Lyon, though I be thy Ape.
| Poems, By J. D. [i.e. John Donne] | |