Share:
  Guess poet | Poets | Poets timeline | Isles | Contacts

Ben Jonson - An Ode to HimselfBen Jonson - An Ode to Himself
Work rating: Low


Where dost thou careless lie,    Buried in ease and sloth?    Knowledge that sleeps doth die;    And this security,    It is the common moth    That eats on wits and arts, and oft destroys them both.    Are all th` Aonian springs    Dried up? lies Thespia waste?    Doth Clarius` harp want strings,   That not a nymph now sings?   Or droop they as disgrac`d,   To see their seats and bowers by chatt`ring pies defac`d?   If hence thy silence be,   As `tis too just a cause,   Let this thought quicken thee:   Minds that are great and free   Should not on fortune pause;   `Tis crown enough to virtue still, her own applause.   What though the greedy fry   Be taken with false baites   Of worded balladry,   And think it poesy?   They die with their conceits,   And only piteous scorn upon their folly waits.   Then take in hand thy lyre,   Strike in thy proper strain,   With Japhet`s line aspire   Sol`s chariot for new fire,   To give the world again;   Who aided him will thee, the issue of Jove`s brain.   And since our dainty age   Cannot endure reproof,   Make not thyself a page   To that strumpet, the stage,   But sing high and aloof,   Safe from the wolf`s black jaw and the dull ass`s hoof.
Source

The script ran 0.001 seconds.