Thou art a day of mirth: And where the week-days trail on ground, O let me take thee at the bound, WEET day! so cool, so calm, so bright, Sweet rose! whose hue, angry and brave, Thy root is ever in its grave; And thou must die. Sweet spring! full of sweet days and roses, Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like season'd timber never gives; But, though the whole world turn to coal, WHE Having a glass of blessings standing by; Let us (said he) pour on him all we can: Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie, So strength first made a way; Then beauty flow'd, then wisdom, honour, pleasure: When almost all was out, God made a stay, Perceiving that alone, of all his treasure, Rest in the bottom lay. For if I should (said he) Bestow this jewel also on my creature, Yet let him keep the rest, But keep them with repiñing restlessness: [RICHARD CORBET was born at Ewell, in Surrey, in 1582, and was educated at Oxford, where he obtained great celebrity as a wit. He took orders, and, after obtaining several preferments, was promoted successively to the sees of Oxford and Norwich. Bishop Corbet was remarkable for his convivial habits, and some amusing traits of eccentricity and humour have been handed down regarding him; even the mitre does not seem to have made him graver, or averse to a practical jest.] AREWELL rewards and fairies, FAR Good housewives now may say, For now foul sluts in dairies Do fare as well as they. And though they sweep their hearths no less The fairies' lost command; They did but change priests' babies, Who live as changelings ever since, For love of your domains. At morning and at evening both, When Tom came home from labour, Or Cis to milking rose, Then merrily went their tabor, And nimbly went their toes. Witness those rings and roundelays By which we note the fairies A tell-tale in their company Their mirth, was punish'd sure; To pinch such black and blue : O how the commonwealth doth need BY BEN JONSON.-1574-1637. [BEN JONSON was born in Westminster, in 1574, a month after his father's death. He passed his early days at Westminster School, and was then put to the trade of a bricklayer; but, disliking that business, he ran away, and joined the army. After his return from Flanders, where he served, he went to the University of Cambridge, but was soon compelled by poverty to leave it, and go on the stage. Unhappily he killed a brother actor in a duel, for which he narrowly escaped being hanged; while in prison he became a convert to the Roman Catholic religion, in which he remained for some years. For the rest of his life he continued to write plays, and having had a share in Eastward Ho,' which was supposed to reflect on the Scotch, he was again sent to prison in the reign of James I.; when he obtained his liberty, he flattered that weak prince, and became his favourite. Charles I. gave him a pension, but his extravagant habits always kept him poor. Ile died in 1637, and was buried in Westminster Abbey. A convivial associate induced a stone cutter who was erecting a monument in Poet's Corner to him, to inscribe on it the now memorable epitaph, "O rare Ben Jonson;" and he well deserved it.] RINK to me only with thine eyes, DRINK And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I'll not look for wine. The thirst, that from the soul doth rise, But might I of Jove's nectar sup I would not change for thine. |