BEN JONSON 1574–1637

See the chariot at hand here of Love, Wherein my lady rideth! Each that draws is a swan or a dove, And well the car Love guideth. As she goes all hearts do duty Unto her beauty; And enamoured do wish, so they might But enjoy such a sight, That they still were to run by her side, Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride.

Do but look on her eyes, they do light All that love’s world compriseth! Do but look on her, she is bright As love’s star when it riseth! Do but mark, her forehead’s smoother Than words that soothe her! And from her arched brows, such a grace Sheds itself through the face, As alone there triumphs to the life All the gain, all the good of the elements’ strife.

Have you seen but a bright lily grow Before rude hands have touched it? Have you marked but the fall of the snow Before the soil hath smutched it? Have you felt the wool of the beaver, Or swan’s down ever? Or have smelled o’ the bud o’ the brier? Or the nard in the fire? Or have tasted the bag of the bee? O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she!

Wretched and foolish jealousy, How cam’st thou thus to enter me? I ne’er was of thy kind: Nor have I yet the narrow mind To vent that poor desire, That others should not warm them at my fire: I wish the sun should shine On all men’s fruits and flowers as well as mine.

But under the disguise of love, Thou say’st thou only cam’st to prove What my affections were. Think’st thou that love is helped by fear? Go, get thee quickly forth, Love’s sickness and his noted want of worth, Seek doubting men to please. I ne’er will owe my health to a disease.

Wouldst thou hear what many say In a little?—reader, stay.

Underneath this stone doth lie As much beauty as could die; Which in life did harbour give To more virtue than doth live. If at all she had a fault, Leave it buried in this vault. One name was Elizabeth, The other, let it sleep with death: Fitter where it died to tell Than that it lived at all. Farewell!

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!

Earth, let not thy envious shade Dare itself to interpose; Cynthia’s shining orb was made Heaven to clear when day did close: Bless us then with wished sight, Goddess excellently bright!

Lay thy bow of pearl apart, And thy crystal-shining quiver; Give unto the flying hart Space to breathe, how short soever: Thou that mak’st a day of night, Goddess excellently bright!

Here lies to each her parent’s 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 among her virgin train: Where, while that severed doth remain, This grave partakes the fleshly birth, Which cover lightly, gentle earth.

Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears; Yet, slower yet; O faintly, gentle springs; List to the heavy part the music bears; Woe weeps out her division when she sings. Droop herbs and flowers; Fall grief in showers, Our beauties are not ours; O, I could still, Like melting snow upon some craggy hill, Drop, drop, drop, drop, Since nature’s pride is now a withered daffodil.

Weep with me, all you that read This little story; And know, for whom a tear you shed Death’s self is sorry. It was a child that so did thrive In grace and feature, As Heaven and Nature seemed to strive Which owned the creature. Years he numbered scarce thirteen When fates turned cruel, Yet three filled zodiacs had he been The stage’s jewel; And did act (what now we moan) Old men so duly, Ah, sooth, the Parcae thought him one— He played so truly. So by error to his fate They all consented, But viewing him since, alas, too late They have repented; And have sought, to give new birth, In baths to steep him; But being much too good for earth, Heaven vows to keep him.