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.
