But he did not become just another legislator, another in a long line of powdered-wigs who left unimportant and uninspiring legacies, whose work was all but forgotten after their passing. No, John Donne sacrificed it all for the love of a woman; it was a powerful love that changed his life, altered his destiny forever.

It was during his internship with Sir Edgerton that he met and fell in love with the niece of his employer's second wife. Anne More was the lovely daughter of Sir Thomas More, a lieutenant in Queen Elizabeth's service and a man known for fits of extreme rage. The connection between John and Anne was kept secret, their clandestine meetings aided by mutual friends. They both knew that her father would never have approved their union; after all, she was a heiress, and he a secretary whose only remaining wealth was related to his pluckish enthusiasm. Another reason for their careful secrecy: he was 29, and she was 16.

When it became known that Sir More was actively seeking a suitable husband for his daughter, the desperate lovers panicked. They had pledged to each other their undying love, and could not bear to be parted, have their union torn asunder. They eloped, and were married in a private ceremony. Several months later, John wrote a letter to Sir More, informing him that his daughter's hand was already accounted for, and that it was too late for anyone to do anything about it.

Enraged, Anne's father brought charges against John for wedding a minor without parental consent, and made an unsuccessful attempt to have the marriage annulled. John was jailed briefly and released, but he quickly found that his choices had made his life another sort of prison - one of disgrace, destitution and poverty. Sir More had convinced Sir Edgerton to fire John, and word of the scandal spread like wildfire. His public career was finished, ruined. During the next 14 years, he scratched together a living doing odd legal jobs, living in friends' guest-houses, Anne and a growing family in tow.

History has not been kind enough to reveal any of Anne's insights into her life with John. We do know this: where once she had lived a life of privilege and class, Anne's post-marriage role was reduced to that of baby machine. During their 16-year marriage, she gave birth 12 times, including five miscarriages. In fact, her death in 1617 was attributed to complications related to childbirth; by the end, it could be surmised, she was simply worn out.

John, as we well know, was something of a writer. However, his many poems were all published posthumously, save for two: the Anniversaries. These two works were elegies, written to honor the memory of Elizabeth Drury, the 15-year old daughter of a wealthy man from whom John desired patronage. They were both hundreds upon hundreds of lines in length, and attempted to draw a connection between the loss of this woman's life and the world's future, which was sure to be gloomy without her radiant presence. The first of the Anniversaries, called An Anatomy of the World, was lavishly subtitled, "By occasion of the untimely death of Mistress Elizabeth Drury, the frailty and the decay of this whole world is represented."

And that rich India which doth gold inter,
Is but as single money, coin'd from her;
She to whom this world must it self refer,
As suburbs or the microcosm of her,
She, she is dead; she's dead: when thou know'st this,
Thou know'st how lame a cripple this world is.

I've wondered what Anne thought of all this. Did it hurt her feelings that her husband had found the perfect image of womanly virtue in someone other than her - a girl whom he had never actually met?

Perhaps this was all just literary prostitution, plain and simple. Sir Drury was so touched by the tribute to his dead daughter that he took John on a grand tour of Europe and gave him the use of his mansion in the London suburbs. I can just imagine John saying, "This stuff I'm writing? All bullshit, honey... just paying the bills here. Go back to bed."