His Prayer To Ben Jonson
When I a verse shall make,
Know I have pray'd thee,
For old religion's sake,
Saint Ben to aid me
When I a verse shall make,
Know I have pray'd thee,
For old religion's sake,
Saint Ben to aid me
'Tis true, dear Ben, thy just chastising hand Hath fix'd upon the sotted age a brand To their swoll'n pride and empty scribbling due; It can nor judge, nor write, and yet 'tis true Thy comic muse, from the exalted line Touch'd by thy Alchemist, do...
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...
I see that wreath which doth the wearer arm 'Gainst the quick strokes of thunder, is no charm To keep off deaths pale dart
For,
Johnson then Thou hadst been number'd still with living men
Times sithe had fear'd thy Lawrel to invade,
Мое сердце - Не камень Я живу на Биг–Бене Смотрю за Луной Будь со мной, Дженни! My heart isn’t a stone I live on Big Ben I’m looking at the moon I'd like you to be here, Janе!
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«Да прилипнет в жажде к нёбу
Мой язык и да отсохнут
Руки, если я забуду