On Lucy, Countess Of Bedford
By Ben Jonson
This morning, timely rapt with holy fire, I thought to form unto my zealous Muse What kind of creature I could most desire, To honour, 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 learnd 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.
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"This morning, timely rapt with holy fire,..."
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