Ben Jonson (1572 – 1637)
English Renaissance dramatist, poet and actor, most famous for his plays Volpone and The Alchemist, his lyrics, his influence on Jacobean and Caroline poets, his theory of humours, his contentious personality, and his friendship and rivalry with William Shakespeare.
What gentle ghost, besprent with April dew,
Hails me so solemnly to yonder yew?
Art hath an enemy call'd ignorance.
It was a mighty while ago.
They say princes learn no art truly, but the art of horsemanship. The reason is, the brave beast is no flatterer. He will throw a prince as soon as his groom.
There's reason good, that you good laws should make:
Men's manners ne'er were viler, for your sake.
A good life is a main argument.
Whilst that for which all virtue now is sold,
And almost every vice — almighty gold.
The burnt child dreads the fire.
Get money; still get money, boy,
No matter by what means.
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.
Opinion is a light, vain, crude, and imperfect thing.
I will eat exceedingly, and prophesy.
The world knows only two, — that's Rome and I.
He hath consumed a whole night in lying looking to his great toe, about which he hath seen Tartars and Turks, Romans and Carthaginians, fight in his imagination.
Preserving the sweetness of proportion and expressing itself beyond expression.
It must be done like lightning.
'Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to show
To whom all Scenes of Europe homage owe.
He was not of an age, but for all time!
And all the muses still were in their prime,
When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm
Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm!
Nature herself was proud of his designs,
And joy'd to wear the dressing of his lines!
Which were so richly spun, and woven so sit,
As, since she will vouchsafe no other wit.
I loved the man and do honor his memory, on this side idolatry, as much as any.
If he were
To be made honest by an act of parliament
I should not alter in my faith of him.
Truth is the trial of itself
And needs no other touch,
And purer than the purest gold,
Refine it ne'er so much.