Ben Jonson (1572–1637)

THIS morning, timely rapt with holy fire,

I thought to form unto my zealous Muse

What kind of creature I could most desire

To honor, serve, and love, as poets use.

I meant to make her fair, and free, and wise,

Of greatest blood, and yet more good than great;

I meant the Day-Star should not brighter rise,

Nor lend like influence from his lucent seat.

I meant she should be courteous, facile, sweet,

Hating that solemn vice of greatness, pride;

I meant each softest virtue there should meet

Fit in that softer bosom to reside.

Only a learnèd and a manly soul

I purposed her, that should, with even powers,

The rock, the spindle, and the shears control

Of Destiny, and spin her own free hours.

Such when I meant to feign, and wished to see,

My Muse bade Bedford write, and that was she.