Donne, the delight of Phoebus and each Muse <br />Who, to thy one, all other brains refuse; <br />Whose every work of thy most early wit <br />Came forth example, and remains so yet; <br />Longer a-knowing than most wits do live; <br />And which no affection praise enough can give! <br />To it, thy language, letters, arts, best life, <br />Which might with half mankind maintain a strife. <br />All which I meant to praise, and yet I would; <br />But leave, because I cannot as I should!<br /><br />Ben Jonson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-john-donne-2/
