Ben Jonson ( 10 of 57 )
O what is it proud slime will not believe
Of his own worth, to hear it equal praised
read more
O what is it proud slime will not believe
Of his own worth, to hear it equal praised
Thus with the gods?
Laugh, and be fat, sir, your penance is known.
They that love mirth, let them heartily drink,
read more
Laugh, and be fat, sir, your penance is known.
They that love mirth, let them heartily drink,
'Tis the only receipt to make sorrow sink.
The gods
Grow angry with your patience. 'Tis their care,
And must be yours, that guilty men read more
The gods
Grow angry with your patience. 'Tis their care,
And must be yours, that guilty men escape not:
As crimes do grow, justice should rouse itself.
Bad men excuse their faults, good men will leave them.
Bad men excuse their faults, good men will leave them.
The master of art or giver of wit,
Their belly.
The master of art or giver of wit,
Their belly.
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.
Her treading would not bend a blade of grass,
Or shake the downy blow-ball from his stalk!
Her treading would not bend a blade of grass,
Or shake the downy blow-ball from his stalk!
They say Princes learn no art truly, but the art of horsemanship.
The reason is, the brave beast is read more
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.
A prince without letters is a Pilot without eyes. All his
government is groping.
A prince without letters is a Pilot without eyes. All his
government is groping.
It strikes! one, two,
Three, four, five, six. Enough, enough, dear watch,
Thy pulse hath beat enough. read more
It strikes! one, two,
Three, four, five, six. Enough, enough, dear watch,
Thy pulse hath beat enough. Now sleep and rest;
Would thou could'st make the time to do so too;
I'll wind thee up no more.
