To Mr. Thomas Woodward: all Hail, Sweet Poet, more Full of more Strong Fire

To Mr. Thomas Woodward: all Hail, Sweet Poet, mo

John Donne's "To Mr. Thomas Woodward: All Hail, Sweet Poet, More Full of More Strong Fire" is a verse epistle in which the speaker greets Woodward as a poet burning with a fire far stronger than his own dull spirit could ever kindle. He declares that he loved what nature gave Woodward, but that Woodward's wit and art he does not merely love but admires. The speaker predicts that all who have written before or will write after Woodward, however toughly labored their works, will seem like infancy or age set against a man's prime, or like early and late twilight compared to midday. The speaker then reflects that men are better off envied than pitied, and so, wishing Woodward the best, he chooses to envy him, wishing Woodward might by the same logic pity him in return. He tells Woodward not to trouble himself over him, for he himself, in all of nature's and fortune's gifts, is nothing but a monster and a beggar, a fool, saved only by the grace he has gained in the Muses' school. He goes on to lament that a modesty born too late has taken such root in soft, impressionable hearts that men can no longer praise their own good qualities without being suspected of arrogance. Because of this, he argues, no subject is worthy of Woodward's pen except Woodward himself, and no pen can sound Woodward's worth except his own; it would be a fine thing, he says, to see a poem in Woodward's praise written by Woodward's own hand. Finally, the speaker turns to the verses of his own poem, conceding that if this song proves too harsh for rhyme, it may still serve well enough as prose, even if the verse itself is faulty — just as painters' depictions of a bad god still produce a good devil. He urges Woodward, if he forgets the rhyme as he reads on, to write his own poem instead, so that the speaker may follow him and become his debtor, his echo, his foil, his zany. He closes by saying that if he shapes his own work after Woodward's, he will be thought the lion of all the world, though he is in truth only Woodward's ape.

By John Donne · First published 1633 · Genre: Lyric Poetry, Metaphysical Poetry, Encomium · 409 words

First lines

All hail, sweet poet, more full of more strong fire, / Than hath or shall enkindle my dull spirit; / I loved what nature gave thee, but thy merit / Of wit and art I love not, but admire. / Who have before or shall write after thee, / Their works, though toughly laboured, will be / Like infancy or age to man's firm stay, / Or early and late twilights to midday.

Men say, and truly, that they better be / Which be envied than pitied; therefore I, / Because I wish thee best, do thee envy; / O, wouldst thou, by like reason, pity me. / But care not for me; I, that ever was / In nature's, and in fortune's gifts, alas / -But for thy grace, got in the Muses' school- / A monster and a beggar, am a fool.

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To Mr. Thomas Woodward: all Hail, Sweet Poet, more Full of more Strong Fire is listed on Textopian as a poem by John Donne, dated 1633 CE.

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praise · dedication · metaphysical · wit · conceit · passion · intensity · Renaissance · spirituality · paradox · lyric · compliment

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