But could youth last, could love still breed, Then those delights my mind might move Ben Jonson 1573-1637 TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED MASTER WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE, AND WHAT HE HATH LEFT US (From First Folio edition of Shakespeare, 1623) To draw no envy, Shakspeare, on thy name, As neither Man nor Muse can praise too much. Which, when it sounds at best, but echoes right; Or blind affection, which doth ne'er advance 10 The truth, but gropes, and urgeth all by chance; Or crafty malice might pretend this praise, And think to ruin where it seemed to raise. 15 But thou art proof against them and, indeed, Thou art alive still while thy book doth live, And we have wits to read, and praise to give. 25 That I not mix thee so my brain excuses,— I mean with great but disproportioned Muses; For if I thought my judgment were of years, I should commit thee surely with thy peers, And tell how far thou didst our Lyly outshine, 30 Or sporting Kyd, or Marlowe's mighty line. And though thou hadst small Latin and less Greek, From thence to honour thee I would not seek 35 Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead, Of all that insolent Greece or haughty Rome And all the Muses still were in their prime, Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please; As they were not of Nature's family. 55 Yet must I not give Nature all; thy Art, My gentle Shakspeare, must enjoy a part. Who casts to write a living line, must sweat 60 (Such as thine are) and strike the second heat Upon the Muses' anvil, turn the same, And himself with it, that he thinks to frame; For a good poet's made, as well as born. 65 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, And make those flights upon the banks of That so did take Eliza and our James! 75 But stay, I see thee in the hemisphere Advanced, and made a constellation there! Shine forth, thou Star of Poets, and with rage Or influence chide or cheer the drooping stage, Which, since thy flight from hence, hath mourned like night, 80 And despairs day but for thy volume's light. SIMPLEX MUNDITIIS (From Epicane; or, The Silent Woman, Act I. sc. 1., Still to be neat, still to be drest, 5 Though art's hid causes are not found, Give me a look, give me a face, That makes simplicity a grace; Robes loosely flowing, hair as free: 10 Such sweet neglect more taketh me Than all the adulteries of art; They strike mine eyes, but not my heart. THE TRIUMPH OF CHARIS (From "A Celebration of Charis" in Underwoods, 1616) See the chariot at hand here of Love, Each that draws is a swan or a dove, And well the car Love guideth. 5 As she goes, all hearts do duty And enamoured do wish, so they might That they still were to run by her side, 10 Through swords, through seas, wither she would ride. Do but look on her eyes, they do light 20 And from her arched brows, such a grace As alone there triumphs to the life All the gain, all the good of the elements' strife. Have you seen but a bright lily grow Have you marked but the fall o' the snow 25 Have you felt the wool of beaver? Or swan's down ever? 30 Or have smelt o' the bud o' the briar? Or have tasted the bag of the bee? O so white,-O so soft,-O so sweet is she! 5 SONG. TO CYNTHIA (From Cynthia's Revels, Act V. sc. 3, 1600) Queen and huntress, chaste and fair, Now the sun is laid to sleep; Seated in thy silver chair, Earth, let not thy envious shade Cynthia's shining orb was made Lay thy bow of pearl apart, And thy crystal-shining quiver; 15 Give unto the flying hart Space to breathe, how short soever: Thou that makest a day of night, |