Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Benjamin "Ben" Jonsonwas an English playwright, poet, actor and literary critic of the 17th century, whose artistry exerted a lasting impact upon English poetry and stage comedy. He popularised the comedy of humours. He is best known for the satirical plays Every Man in His Humour, Volpone, or The Foxe, The Alchemistand Bartholomew Fayre: A Comedyand for his lyric poetry; he is generally regarded as the second most important English dramatist, after William Shakespeare, during the reign of James I...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth11 June 1572
Books are faithful repositories, which may be awhile neglected or forgotten, but when they are opened again, will again impart their instruction.
Reader look, not on his picture but his book.
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; Thou art a monument, without a tomb, And art alive still, while thy book doth live, And we have wits to read , and praise to give .
In his adversity I ever prayed, that God would give him strength; for greatness he could not want.
Still to be neat, still to be drest, / As you were going to a feast.
That for which all virtue now is sold, and almost every vice- almighty gold
The fear of every man that heard him was, lest he should make an end.
Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears; / Yet slower yet, O faintly, gentle springs.
Follow a shadow, it still flies you,Seem to fly it, it will pursue.So court a mistress, she denies you;Let her alone, she will court you.Say, are not women truly, thenStyled but the shadows of us men?
Follow a shadow, it still flies you, Seem to fly it, it will pursue. So court a mistress, she denies you; Let her alone, she will court you. Say, are not women truly, then Styled but the shadows of us men?
Twas only fear first in the world made gods.
This is the danger, when vice becomes a precedent
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; / Thou art a monument without a tomb.
Queen and huntress, chaste and fair, / Now the sun is laid to sleep, / Seated in thy silver chair, / State in wonted manner keep: / Hesperus entreats thy light, / Goddess, excellently bright.