
The speaker tells the Countess that she has refined his judgment, teaching him that worth arises not simply from nature but from rarity, usefulness, and circumstance. Faced with good things, one may choose among them, and he chooses to praise her virtues, especially because virtue is rare or hidden at court and needs someone to identify and reveal it. Her presence transforms the country as a season or daylight transforms a place: without her, its beauty is enclosed and dormant, but her face releases its richness. When she arrives by chariot, she seems to bring morning into night and create a new world governed by new measures of time. She resists an artificial day, making the court like the antipodes, where the ordinary sun performs lesser autumnal work while people gather around her as sacrificers, priests, or organs, obeying and proclaiming her influence. The speaker insists that he does not worship her virtuous soul itself; rather, his verses are petitions to inspect the outward temple that contains it. As travellers may visit religious buildings for their form and beauty without judging religion itself, he wishes to behold her as Virtue’s temple: her tender crystal walls, eyes, hands, and bosom are imagined as the structure and altars that enclose purity. Against lesser admirers, he presents her as an Escurial, not consecrated but simply incomparable in fairness. Her beauty seems to contain every past and future story, both record and prophecy. If Fate’s book were cleansed of sad and guilty legends, she herself would be that book. Goodness and loveliness are so united in her that she is at once their image, source, elements, parent, and growth; every part of her contains their whole. Her deeds and person are equally entire and consistent, incapable of becoming divided or contradictory. The speaker finally distrusts elaborate poetic proof and flattering excess, since such devices can create doubts where every heart already knows the truth. He leaves praise to the judgment of the senses: in Twickenham, she is the mine, storehouse, commonwealth, and history of beauty. Whoever has seen either her or that place would desire to see both, as one who had been in Paradise would seek the cherubin.
By John Donne · First published 1633 · Genre: Panegyric, Metaphysical Poetry, Lyric Poetry · 871 words
Madam- / You have refined me, and to worthiest things- / Virtue, art, beauty, fortune. Now I see / Rareness or use, not nature, value brings; / And such, as they are circumstanced, they be. / Two ills can ne'er perplex us, sin to excuse; / But of two good things we may leave and choose.
Therefore at court-which is not virtue's clime, / Where a transcendent height (as lowness me) / Makes her not be, or not show-all my rhyme / Your virtues challenge, which there rarest be; / For, as dark texts need notes, there some must be / To usher Virtue, and say, "This is she."
To the Countess of Bedford: you have Refined me, and to Worthiest Things is listed on Textopian as a poem by John Donne, dated 1633 CE.
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dedicatory · metaphysical · praise · patronage · baroque · refinement · virtue · elevation · courtly · flattery · transformation · ethical