Poems by Ben Jonson

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Let it not your wonder move,
See the chariot at hand here of Love,
False world, good night! since thou hast brought
Rhyme, the rack of finest wits,
I sing the birth was born tonight,
Hear me, O God!
On the happy entrace of Iames, our Soveraigne, to His first high Session of Parliament in this his Kingdome, the 19 of March, 1603.
To the Immortal Memory and Friendship of that noble pair,
THE TURN
Again!
I that have been a lover, and could show it,
Though beauty be the mark of praise,
Weep with me, all you that read
Where dost thou careless lie,
And must I sing? what subject shall I chuse?
For love’s sake, kiss me once again;
It is usual
Still to be neat, still to be dressed,
Come, my Celia, let us prove
Living a whole life has three conditions:
Madame,
'Tis growne almost a danger to speake true
On Salathiel Peavy, A Child of Queen Elizabeth’s Chapel
Wouldst thou hear what man can say
Weep with me, all you that read
Not to know vice at all, and keepe true state,
The trawl of unquiet mind drops astern
Kim, composite of all my loves,
The owl is abroad,the bat and the toad,
I
Have you seen but a bright lily grow
Queen and huntress, chaste and fair,
In the ember days of my last free summer,
Tonight, grave sir, both my poor house and I
It is not growing like a tree
Though I am young, and cannot tell,
Walking, snow falling, it is possible
The decorously informative church
I now think Love is rather deaf than blind,
In all faith, we did our part:
Why do we lie
My son finds occupation
Come, leave the loathed stage,
Don Surly, to aspire the glorious name
Epitaphs I
Who says that Giles and Joan at discord be?
This morning, timely rapt with holy fire,
Here lies to each her parents’ Ruth,
Farewell, thou child of my right hand, and joy;
A Child Of Queen Elizabeth’s Chapel
At court I met it, in clothes brave enough
He smashed his hand
Descended to the shore, odd how we left
I have no children:
Queen and huntress, chaste and fair,
So breaks the sun earth's rugged chains,
Still to be neat, still to be dressed,
Drink to me only with thine eyes,
Come, my Celia, let us prove
Queen and huntress, chaste and fair,
O, that joy so soon should waste!
Follow a shaddow, it still flies you,
Drink to me, only, with thine eyes,
Come my Celia, let us prove,
From "Cynthia's Revels"
Why, Disease, dost thou molest
Follow a shadow, it still flies you;
The sickness hot, a master quit, for fear,
Fortune, that favours fools, these two short hours,
The fairy beam upon you,
High-spirited friend,
It is not growing like a tree
My awkward grossness grows: I go down, through
The long laments I spent for ruin'd Troy,
GENIUS.
if only for ten minutes
Good, and great God, can I not think of thee,
Good and great God, can I not think of thee
Donne, the delight of Phoebus and each Muse
Lucy, you brightness of our sphere, who are
It will be looked for, book, when some but see
Thou art not, Penshurst, built to envious show,
How blest art thou, canst love the countrey, Wroth,
The Turn
To draw no envy, Shakespeare, on thy name,
To draw no envy, Shakespeare, on thy name,
Pray thee, take care, that tak'st my book in hand,
Kisse mee, Sweet: The wary lover
A farewell for a Gentlewoman, vertuous and noble
Camden, most reverend head, to whom I owe
Beauties, have ye seen this toy,
Some act of Love's bound to reherse,

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