Ben Jonson

This figure that thou here seest put,
It was for gentle Shakespeare cut,
Wherein the graver had read more

This figure that thou here seest put,
It was for gentle Shakespeare cut,
Wherein the graver had a strife
With Nature, to outdo the life:
Oh, could he but have drawn his wit
As well in brass, as he has hit
His face, the print would then surpass
All that was ever writ in brass;
But since he cannot, reader, look
Not on his picture, but his book.

Pleasure the servant, Virtue looking on.

Pleasure the servant, Virtue looking on.

But I do hate him as I hate the devil.

But I do hate him as I hate the devil.

All concord's born of contraries.

All concord's born of contraries.

And so to tread
As if the wind, not she, did walk;
Nor prest a flower, nor read more

And so to tread
As if the wind, not she, did walk;
Nor prest a flower, nor bow'd a stalk.