Lucy, you brightness of our sphere, who are <br />Life of the Muses' day, their morning star! <br />If works, not th' author's, their own grace should look, <br />Whose poems would not wish to be your book? <br />But these, desir'd by you, the maker's ends <br />Crown with their own. Rare poems ask rare friends. <br />Yet satires, since the most of mankind be <br />Their unavoided subject, fewest see; <br />For none e'er took that pleasure in sin's sense <br />But, when they heard it tax'd, took more offence. <br />They, then, that living where the matter is bred, <br />Dare for these poems, yet, both ask and read <br />And like them too, must needfully, though few, <br />Be of the best; and 'mongst those best are you, <br />Lucy, you brightness of our sphere, who are <br />The Muses' evening, as their morning star.<br /><br />Ben Jonson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-lucy-countess-of-bedford-with-john-donne-s-satires/
