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John Donne - The Triple Fool
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I am two fools, I know,
      For loving, and for saying so
        In whining poetry;
    But where`s that wiseman, that would not be I,
        If she would not deny?
    Then as th` earth`s inward narrow crooked lanes
      Do purge sea water`s fretful salt away,
    I thought, if I could draw my pains
      Through rhyme`s vexation, I should them allay.
   Grief brought to numbers cannot be so fierce,
   For he tames it, that fetters it in verse.

     But when I have done so,
     Some man, his art and voice to show,
       Doth set and sing my pain;
   And, by delighting many, frees again
       Grief, which verse did restrain.
   To love and grief tribute of verse belongs,
     But not of such as pleases when `tis read.
   Both are increased by such songs,
     For both their triumphs so are published,
   And I, which was two fools, do so grow three;
   Who are a little wise, the best fools be.
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