Footnotes
[177:1] Attributed by many writers to the Princess Elizabeth. It is not in the original edition of Donne, but first appears in the edition of 1654, p. 352.
[177:2] See Fortescue, page [7].
[177:3] See Bacon, page [166].
BEN JONSON.[177:4] 1573-1637.
It was a mighty while ago.
Every Man in his Humour. Act i. Sc. 3.
Hang sorrow! care 'll kill a cat.[177:5]
Every Man in his Humour. Act i. Sc. 3.
As he brews, so shall he drink.
Every Man in his Humour. Act ii. Sc. 1.
Get money; still get money, boy,
No matter by what means.[177:6]
Every Man in his Humour. Act ii. Sc. 3.
[[178]]
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Have paid scot and lot there any time this eighteen years.
Every Man in his Humour. Act iii. Sc. 3.
It must be done like lightning.
Every Man in his Humour. Act iv. Sc. v.
There shall be no love lost.[178:1]
Every Man out of his Humour. Act ii. Sc. 1.
Still to be neat, still to be drest,
As you were going to a feast.[178:2]
Epicœne; Or, the Silent Woman. Act i. Sc. 1.
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.
Epicœne; Or, the Silent Woman. Act i. Sc. 1.
That old bald cheater, Time.
The Poetaster. Act i. Sc. 1.
The world knows only two,—that 's Rome and I.
Sejanus. Act v. Sc. 1.
Preserving the sweetness of proportion and expressing itself beyond expression.
The Masque of Hymen.
Courses even with the sun
Doth her mighty brother run.
The Gipsies Metamorphosed.
Underneath this stone doth lie
As much beauty as could die;
Which in life did harbour give
To more virtue than doth live.
Epitaph on Elizabeth, L. H.
Whilst that for which all virtue now is sold,
And almost every vice,—almighty gold.[178:3]
Epistle to Elizabeth, Countess of Rutland.
[[179]]
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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.[179:1]
The Forest. To Celia.
Soul of the age,
The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage,
My Shakespeare, rise! I will not lodge thee by
Chaucer or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie
A little further, to make thee a room.[179:2]
To the Memory of Shakespeare.
Marlowe's mighty line.
To the Memory of Shakespeare.
Small Latin, and less Greek.
To the Memory of Shakespeare.
He was not of an age, but for all time.
To the Memory of Shakespeare.
For a good poet 's made as well as born.
To the Memory of Shakespeare.
Sweet swan of Avon!
To the Memory of Shakespeare.
Underneath this sable hearse
Lies the subject of all verse,—
Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother.
Death, ere thou hast slain another,
Learn'd and fair and good as she,
Time shall throw a dart at thee.
Epitaph on the Countess of Pembroke.[179:3]
[[180]]
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Let those that merely talk and never think,
That live in the wild anarchy of drink.[180:1]
Underwoods. An Epistle, answering to One that asked to be sealed of the Tribe of Ben.
Still may syllabes jar with time,
Still may reason war with rhyme,
Resting never!
Underwoods. Fit of Rhyme against Rhyme.
In small proportions we just beauties see,
And in short measures life may perfect be.
Underwoods. To the immortal Memory of Sir Lucius Cary and Sir Henry Morison. III.
What gentle ghost, besprent with April dew,
Hails me so solemnly to yonder yew?[180:2]
Elegy on the Lady Jane Pawlet.