Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back? Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid? O, none, unless this miracle have might, That in black ink my love may still shine bright. (Sonnet 65.) POETRY VICTOR OVER DEATH. But be contented: when that fell arrest The earth can have but earth, which is his due ; The worth of that is that which it contains, THE PEN GIVES A LIFE BEYOND LIFE. Or I shall live your epitaph to make, Or you survive when I in earth am rotten; BEN JONSON. [Born 1573. Educated at Westminster School, under William Camden. Produced his first comedy, Every Man in His Humour, 1596; his first tragedy, Sejanus, 1603. Published the first volume of his Works, including Plays, Epigrams, and The Forest, 1616. The University of Oxford conferred on him the degree M.A., 1619. Died 1637. The second folio volume of his works published 1641.] Pray thee, take TO THE READER. care, that tak'st my book in hand, To read it well; that is to understand. TO MY BOOK. (Epigram 1.) It will be look'd for, Book, when some but see Thou shouldst be bold, licentious, full of gall, Wormwood, and sulphur, sharp, and tooth'd withal; Become a petulant thing, hurl ink, and wit, He that departs with his own honesty For vulgar praise, doth it too dearly buy. (Epigram 2.) FRIENDS AND BOOKS. When I would know thee GOODYERE, my thought looks Upon thy well-made choice of friends and books ; Then do I love thee, and behold thy ends In making thy friends books, and thy books friends : Now I must give thy life and deed, the voice Where, though 't be love that to thy praise doth move, It was a knowledge that begat that love. (Epigram 86). POWER OF THE MUSE. It is the Muse alone, can raise to heaven, Painted, or carv'd upon our great men's tombs, That bred them, graves: when they were born they died, That had no muse to make their fame abide. How many equal with the Argive queen, Have beauty known, yet none so famous seen? Or, in an army's head, that lock'd in brass Gave killing strokes. There were brave men before Ajax, or Idomen, or all the store That Homer brought to Troy; yet none so live, Who placed Jason's Argo in the sky, But only poets, rapt with rage divine? And such, or my hopes fail, shall make you shine. (Epistle to Elizabeth, Countess of Rutland: from "The Forest.") |