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Ben jonson still neat my first son and drink me only thine

But in the worth and choice. The Poetaster 1601Act I, scene i Of all wild beasts preserve me from a tyrant; and of all tame, a flatterer. Sejanus 1603Act V, scene 1 Calumnies are answered best with silence. Volpone 1606Act II, scene ii You that would last long, list to my songMake no more coil, but buy of this oil.

Ben Jonson, Still To Be Neat, On My First Son, And Drink To Me Only With Thine Eyes

Would you be ever fair and young? Stout of teeth and strong of tongue? Tart of palate, quick of ear? Sharp of sight, of nostril clear? Moist of hand and light of foot? Or, I will come nearer to it Would you live free from all diseases, Do the act your mistress pleases; Yet fright all aches from your bones? Here's a medicine for the nones. Volpone 1606Act II, scene ii Preserving the sweetness of proportion and expressing itself beyond expression.

The Masque of Hymen 1606 Still to be neat, still to be drest, As you were going to a feast. Epicene, or The Silent Woman 1609Act I, scene i; a translation from Bonnefonius Still to ben jonson still neat my first son and drink me only thine powder'd, still perfum'd, Lady, it is to be presum'd, Though art's hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound. Give me a look, give me a face, That makes simplicity a grace; Robes loosely flowing, hair as free, Such sweet neglect more taketh me Than all the adulteries of art: They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.

Catiline His Conspiracy 1611Act III, scene ii Ambition, like a torrent, ne'er looks back; And is a swelling, and the last affection A high mind can put off; being both a rebel Unto the soul and reason, and enforceth All laws, all conscience, treads upon religion, and offereth violence to nature's self. Catiline His Conspiracy 1611Act III, scene ii So breaks the sun earth's rugged chains, Wherein rude winter bound her veins; So grows both stream and source of price, That lately fettered were with ice.

The Irish Masque at Court 1613 I will eat exceedingly, and prophesy. To the Reader [On the portrait of Shakespeare prefixed to the First Folio] 1618lines 9-10 Truth is the trial of itself And needs no other touch, And purer than the purest gold, Refine it ne'er so much. The Touchstone of Truth 1624lines 1-4 Courses even with the sun Doth her mighty brother run. Death, ere thou hast slain another, Learn'd and fair and good as she, Time shall throw a dart at thee.

This epitaph is generally ascribed to Ben Jonson. It appears in the editions of his Works; but in a manuscript collection of Browne's poems preserved amongst the Lansdowne MS. What gentle ghost, besprent with April dew, Hails me so solemnly to yonder yew?

It was a mighty while ago.

  1. How willful blind is he then, that would stray, And hath it in his powers, to make his way! I feel that when he wrote this poem to Adolescence and Alcohol.
  2. Catiline His Conspiracy 1611 , Act III, scene ii So breaks the sun earth's rugged chains, Wherein rude winter bound her veins; So grows both stream and source of price, That lately fettered were with ice. Nature herself was proud of his designs, And joy'd to wear the dressing of his lines!
  3. What gentle ghost, besprent with April dew, Hails me so solemnly to yonder yew? Come my Celia, let us prove, While we can, the sports of love; Time will not be ours forever, He at length our good will sever.
  4. Act V Scene 2 Line 312-313. In each of which he seems to shake a lance, As brandish'd at the eyes of ignorance.
  5. Catiline His Conspiracy 1611 , Act III, scene ii Ambition, like a torrent, ne'er looks back; And is a swelling, and the last affection A high mind can put off; being both a rebel Unto the soul and reason, and enforceth All laws, all conscience, treads upon religion, and offereth violence to nature's self.

Act i, Scene 3 Hang sorrow! Act i, Scene 3. Comparable to "Hang sorrow! Act ii, Scene 1 Get money; still get money, boy, No matter by what means. Act ii, Scene 3. Act iii, Scene 3 It must be done like lightning. Act iv, Scene v Eastward Hoe 1605 [ edit ] In the meantime, to all suits, to all entreaties, to all letters, to all tricks, I will be deaf as an adder, blind as a beetle, lay mine ear to the ground, and lock mine eyes i' my hand against all temptations.

Act v, scene ii, lines 68-70 The burnt child dreads the fire.

Ben Jonson

Act I, scene 2 The Devil is an Ass! I, To The Reader, lines 1-2 If all you boast of your great art be true; Sure, willing poverty lives most in you. VI, To Alchemists, lines 1-2 There's reason good, that you good laws should make: Men's manners ne'er were viler, for your sake. My sin was too much hope of thee, loved boy.

Seven years thou wert lent to me, and I thee pay, Exacted by thy fate, on the just day. O, could I lose all father now. For why Will man lament the state he should envy? To have soon 'scaped world's and flesh's rage, And, if no other misery, yet age! Rest in soft peace, and, asked, say here doth lie Ben Jonson his best piece of poetry: For whose sake, henceforth, all his vows be such, As what he loves may never like too much.

Through which our merit leads us to our meeds. How willful blind is he then, that would stray, And hath it in his powers, to make his way!

On My First Son

This world death's region is, the other life's: And here, it should be one of our first strifes, So to front death, as men might judge us past it. For good men but see death, the wicked taste it.

Come my Celia, let us prove, While we can, the sports of love; Time will not be ours forever, He at length our good will sever. Spend not then his gifts in vain; Suns that set may rise again, But if once we lose this light, 'Tis with us perpetual night.

Why should we defer our joys? Fame and rumour are but toys. Song, To Celia, lines 1-10. So court a mistress, she denies you; Let her alone, she will court you.

On my First Son

The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine. I sent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honoring thee As giving it a hope that there It could not withered be.

But thou thereon didst only breathe, And sent'st it back to me; Since when it grows and smells, I swear, Not of itself, but thee. And if you will, take the cup to your lips and fill it with kisses, and give it so to me".

Not to know vice at all, and keep true state, Is virtue, and not fate: Next to that virtue is to know vice well, And her black spite expel.

Epode, lines 1-4 Whilst that for which all virtue now is sold, And almost every vice — almighty gold. Epistle to Elizabeth, Countess of Rutland, lines 1-2. William Shakespeare 1618 [ edit ] He was not of an age, but for all time. Soul of the age! The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage! My Shakespearerise; I will not lodge thee by Chaucer or Spenseror bid Beaumont lie A little further, to make thee a room; Thou art a monument, without a tomb, And art alive still, while thy book doth live, And we have wits to readand praise to give.

Lines 17 - 24; this was inspired by a eulogy by William BasseOn Shakespeare: For if I thought my judgment were of years, I should commit thee surely with thy peers, And tell how far thou didst our Lily outshine, Or sporting Kydor Marlow 's mighty line. And though thou hadst small Latin and less Greek, From thence to honour thee, I will not seek For names… 'Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to show To whom all Scenes of Europe homage owe.

He was not of an age, but for all time!

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And all the muses still were in their prime, When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm! Nature herself was proud of his designs, And joy'd to wear the dressing of his lines!

Which were so richly spun, and woven so sit, As, since she will vouchsafe no other wit. Lines 41 - 50 Yet must I not give nature all: For though the poet's matter nature be, His art doth give the fashion.

And that he Who casts to write a living line, must sweat, Such as thine arc and strike the second heat Upon the muses anvil; turn the fame, And himself with it, that he thinks to frame; Or for the laurel, he may gain a scorn, For a good poet's made, as well as born.

  • A tremendous crowd of mourners attended his burial at Westminster Abbey;
  • Lines 41 - 50 Yet must I not give nature all;
  • About two and a half years later, Xavier and I are still together and still happier than ever;
  • The Masque of Hymen 1606 Still to be neat, still to be drest, As you were going to a feast;
  • Epicene, or The Silent Woman 1609 , Act I, scene i; a translation from Bonnefonius Still to be powder'd, still perfum'd, Lady, it is to be presum'd, Though art's hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound.

And such wert thou. Look how the father's face Lives in his issue, even so the race Of Shakspeare's mind and manners brightly shines In his well-turned, and true filed lines: In each of which he seems to shake a lance, As brandish'd at the eyes of ignorance.

Lines 55 - 70 Sweet swan of Avon! But stay, I see thee in the hemisphere Advanc'd, and made a constellation there! Shine forth, thou star of poetsand with rage, Or influence, chide, or cheer the drooping stage, Which, since thy flight from hence, hath mourn'd like night, And despairs day, but for thy volumes light.

Lines 71 - 80.