An Ode For Ben Jonson

Ah Ben!            Say how, or when            Shall we thy guests        Meet at those lyric feasts            Made at the Sun,        The Dog, the Triple Tun?        Where we such clusters had    As made us nobly wild, not mad;        And yet each verse of

Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine.                My Ben            Or come again,            Or send to us        Thy wit's great overplus;            But teach us yet        Wisely to husband it;        Lest we that talent spend,    And having once brought to an end        That precious stock, the

Of such a wit the world should have no more.