Pardon free truth, and let thy modesty,
Which conquers all, be once o'ercome by thee.
Which conquers all, be once o'ercome by thee.
Ben Jonson - Discoveries Made Upon Men, and Some Poems
For
a part of the whole was true; which, if you take away, you either change
the whole or it is not the whole. For if it be such a part, as, being
present or absent, nothing concerns the whole, it cannot be called a part
of the whole; and such are the episodes, of which hereafter. For the
present here is one example: the single combat of Ajax with Hector, as it
is at large described in Homer, nothing belongs to this Ajax of
Sophocles.
You admire no poems but such as run like a brewer's cart upon the stones,
hobbling:--
"Et, quae per salebras, altaque saxa cadunt,
Accius et quidquid Pacuviusque vomunt.
Attonitusque legis terrai, frugiferai. " {160a}
SOME POEMS.
TO WILLIAM CAMDEN.
CAMDEN! most reverend head, to whom I owe
All that I am in arts, all that I know--
How nothing's that! to whom my country owes
The great renown, and name wherewith she goes!
Than thee the age sees not that thing more grave,
More high, more holy, that she more would crave.
What name, what skill, what faith hast thou in things!
What sight in searching the most antique springs!
What weight, and what authority in thy speech!
Men scarce can make that doubt, but thou canst teach.
Pardon free truth, and let thy modesty,
Which conquers all, be once o'ercome by thee.
Many of thine, this better could, than I;
But for their powers, accept my piety.
ON MY FIRST DAUGHTER.
HERE lies, to each her parents' ruth,
Mary, the daughter of their youth;
Yet, all heaven's gifts, being heaven's due,
It makes the father less to rue.
At six months' end, she parted hence,
With safety of her innocence;
Whose soul heaven's queen, whose name she bears,
In comfort of her mother's tears,
Hath placed amongst her virgin-train;
Where, while that severed doth remain,
This grave partakes the fleshly birth;
Which cover lightly, gentle earth!
ON MY FIRST SON.
FAREWELL, thou child of my right hand, and joy;
My sin was too much hope of thee, loved boy;
Seven years thou wert lent to me, and I thee pay,
Exacted by thy fate, on the just day.
Oh! could I lose all father, now! for why,
Will man lament the state he should envy?
To have so soon 'scaped world's, and flesh's rage,
And, if no other misery, yet age!
Rest in soft peace, and, asked, say here doth lie
Ben Jonson his best piece of poetry;
For whose sake, henceforth, all his vows be such,
As what he loves may never like too much.
TO FRANCIS BEAUMONT.
HOW I do love thee, Beaumont, and thy muse,
That unto me dost such religion use!
How I do fear myself, that am not worth
The least indulgent thought thy pen drops forth!
At once thou mak'st me happy, and unmak'st;
And giving largely to me, more thou takest!
a part of the whole was true; which, if you take away, you either change
the whole or it is not the whole. For if it be such a part, as, being
present or absent, nothing concerns the whole, it cannot be called a part
of the whole; and such are the episodes, of which hereafter. For the
present here is one example: the single combat of Ajax with Hector, as it
is at large described in Homer, nothing belongs to this Ajax of
Sophocles.
You admire no poems but such as run like a brewer's cart upon the stones,
hobbling:--
"Et, quae per salebras, altaque saxa cadunt,
Accius et quidquid Pacuviusque vomunt.
Attonitusque legis terrai, frugiferai. " {160a}
SOME POEMS.
TO WILLIAM CAMDEN.
CAMDEN! most reverend head, to whom I owe
All that I am in arts, all that I know--
How nothing's that! to whom my country owes
The great renown, and name wherewith she goes!
Than thee the age sees not that thing more grave,
More high, more holy, that she more would crave.
What name, what skill, what faith hast thou in things!
What sight in searching the most antique springs!
What weight, and what authority in thy speech!
Men scarce can make that doubt, but thou canst teach.
Pardon free truth, and let thy modesty,
Which conquers all, be once o'ercome by thee.
Many of thine, this better could, than I;
But for their powers, accept my piety.
ON MY FIRST DAUGHTER.
HERE lies, to each her parents' ruth,
Mary, the daughter of their youth;
Yet, all heaven's gifts, being heaven's due,
It makes the father less to rue.
At six months' end, she parted hence,
With safety of her innocence;
Whose soul heaven's queen, whose name she bears,
In comfort of her mother's tears,
Hath placed amongst her virgin-train;
Where, while that severed doth remain,
This grave partakes the fleshly birth;
Which cover lightly, gentle earth!
ON MY FIRST SON.
FAREWELL, thou child of my right hand, and joy;
My sin was too much hope of thee, loved boy;
Seven years thou wert lent to me, and I thee pay,
Exacted by thy fate, on the just day.
Oh! could I lose all father, now! for why,
Will man lament the state he should envy?
To have so soon 'scaped world's, and flesh's rage,
And, if no other misery, yet age!
Rest in soft peace, and, asked, say here doth lie
Ben Jonson his best piece of poetry;
For whose sake, henceforth, all his vows be such,
As what he loves may never like too much.
TO FRANCIS BEAUMONT.
HOW I do love thee, Beaumont, and thy muse,
That unto me dost such religion use!
How I do fear myself, that am not worth
The least indulgent thought thy pen drops forth!
At once thou mak'st me happy, and unmak'st;
And giving largely to me, more thou takest!
