BEN JONSON
Ah, Ben!
Say how, or when,
Shall we thy guests
Meet at those lyric feasts
Made at the Sun,
The Dog, the Triple Tun?
Where we such clusters had
As made us nobly wild, not mad;
And yet each verse of thine
Out-did the meat, out-did the frolic wine.
My Ben!
Or come again
Or send to us
Thy wit’s great over-plus;
But teach us yet
Wisely to husband it,
Lest we that talent spend:
And having once brought to an end
That precious stock, the store
Of such a wit, the world should have no more.
GEORGE HERBERT
1593–1632
HOLY BAPTISM
Since, Lord, to Thee
A narrow way and little gate
Is all the passage, on my infancy
Thou didst lay hold, and antedate
My faith in me.
O, let me still
Write Thee ‘great God,’ and me ‘a child’;
Let me be soft and supple to Thy will,
Small to myself, to others mild,
Behither ill.
Although by stealth
My flesh get on; yet let her sister,
My soul, bid nothing but preserve her wealth:
The growth of flesh is but a blister;
Childhood is health.
VIRTUE
Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky,
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night,
For thou must die.