It was a beauty that I saw,—
  So pure, so perfect, as the frame
  Of all the universe were lame
To that one figure, could I draw,
Or give least line of it a law:
  A skein of silk without a knot!
A fair march made without a halt!
A curious...

Poet: Ben Jonson

O, Do not wanton with those eyes,
  Lest I be sick with seeing;
Nor cast them down, but let them rise,
  Lest shame destroy their being.

O, be not angry with those fires,
  For then their threats will kill me;
Nor look too kind on my desires,...

Poet: Ben Jonson

   [Wither’s Song, or “Sonnet,” appeared first in his “Fidelia” in 1615, and later with some changes in “Fair Virtue,” 1622. Jonson’s parody, here given, came out in a Collection of Verses, in 1620.]

SHALL I mine affections slack,
’Cause I see a woman’s Black?
Or myself,...

Poet: Ben Jonson

    IT is not growing like a tree
    In bulk, doth make man better be;
Or standing long an oak, three hundred year,
To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sear:
        A lily of a day
        Is fairer far in May,
    Although it fall and die that...

Poet: Ben Jonson

This figure, 1 that thou here seest put,
It was for gentle Shakespeare cut;
Wherein the Graver had a strife
With Nature to outdo the life:
O, could he but have drawn his wit
As well in brass, as he hath hit
His face; the Print would then surpass...

Poet: Ben Jonson

To draw no envy, Shakespeare, on thy name,
Am I thus ample to thy book and fame;
While I confess thy writings to be such
As neither man nor Muse can praise too much.*        *        *        *        *
                        Soul of the age!
The applause...

Poet: Ben Jonson

From “Epicœne; or, the Silent Woman,” Act I. Sc. 1.

STILL to be neat, still to be drest,
As you were going to a feast;
Still to be powdered, still perfumed,—
Lady, it is to be presumed,
Though art’s hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all...

Poet: Ben Jonson

See the chariot at hand here of Love!
  Wherein my lady rideth!
Each that draws is a swan, or a dove,
  And well the car Love guideth.
As she goes, all hearts do duty
            Unto her beauty.
And, enamored, do wish, so they might...

Poet: Ben Jonson

From the Greek of Philostratus
From “The Forest”
DRINK to me only with thine eyes,
  And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
  And I ’ll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
  Doth ask a drink divine...

Poet: Ben Jonson

From “The Vision of Delight”
BREAK, Fantasy, from thy cave of cloud,
  And spread thy purple wings,
Now all thy figures are allowed,
  And various shapes of things;
Create of airy forms a stream,
It must have blood, and naught of phlegm;
And...

Poet: Ben Jonson