Poem by Ben Jonson

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! 

1. To the Reader
2. On the Union
3. To Brainhardy
4. To My Book
5. On Lieutenant Shift

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