On Lucy, Countess of Bedford

This morning timely wrapt with holy fire, I thought to form unto my zealous Muse, What kind of creature I could most desire To know, 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 learned, 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!