ABSTRACT
Donne, the delight of Phoebus1 and each Muse, Who, to thy one, all other brains refuse;2
Whose every work of thy most early3 wit Came forth example, and remains so yet; Longer a-knowing4 than most wits do live, And which no affection praise enough can give! To it5 thy language, letters, arts, best life, Which might with half mankind maintain a strife.6
