Ben Jonson

Rhyme, the rack of finest wits,
That expresseth but by fits
True conceit,
Spoiling senses of their treasure,…

Donne, the delight of Phoebus and each Muse
Who, to thy one, all other brains refuse;
Whose every work of thy most early wit
Came forth example, and remains so yet;

Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I'll not look for wine.

The trawl of unquiet mind drops
Great lucid streamers bar the sky ahead(bifurcated banners at a tourney)light alchemizes the brass on the bridgeinto sallow gold
now the short northernautumn day closes quickly
the thin coast(of grey…

If I freely can discover
What would please me in my lover,
I would have her fair and witty,
Savouring more of court than city;…

Идёшь за тенью – ускользает,
Уходишь прочь – бежит вослед.
Влюблён – тебя и знать не знают,
А нет – так нежный шлют привет.…

Любезный сэр, прошу вас вечерком
Пожаловать в мой небогатый дом:
Надеюсь, я достоин вас. К тому же
Облагородите вы скромный ужин…

Queen and huntress, chaste and fair,
Now the sun is laid to sleep,
Seated in thy silver chair
State in wonted manner keep:…

Living a whole life has three conditions: absorbing work which demands and brings fulfilment, a group of friends with whom to exchange minds, and a full love to be lost in all the time.
Of these I have the easier two, but lack the third in…

How blest art thou, canst love the countrey,
Wroth, Whether by choyce, or fate, or both!
And, though so neere the Citie, and the Court, Art tane with neithers vice, nor sport:
That at great times, art no ambitious guest Of…

Weep with me, all you that read
This little story;
And know for whom a tear you shed,
Death's self is sorry. 'Twas a child that so did thrive

Tonight, grave sir, both my poor house and I
Do equally desire your company:
Not that we think us worthy such a guest,
But that your worth will dignify our feast With those that come; whose grace may make that seem

IF all you boast of your great Art be true;
Sure, willing Poverty lives most in you.

Let me be what I am : as Virgil cold,
As Horace fat, or as Anacreon old ;
No poet's verses yet did ever move,
Whose readers did not think he was in love.…

UNDERNEATH this sable herse
Lies the subject of all verse.
Sidney’s sister, Pembroke’s mother;
Death! ere thou hast slain another,…

HIGH-SPIRITED friend,
I send nor balms nor cor'sives to your wound:
Your fate hath found
A gentler and more agile hand to tend…

Farewell, thou child of my right hand, and joy;
My sin was too much hope of thee, lov'd boy.
Seven years tho' wert lent to me, and I thee pay,
Exacted by thy fate, on the just day.

Ты горы златые владыкам сулишь,
Но беден ты сам, как церковная мышь!© Перевод Евг. Фельдмана
28.12.2010
31.12.2010 (ред.)…

Here lies, to each her parents' ruth,
Mary, the daughter of their youth;
Yet all heaven's gifts being heaven's due,
It makes the father less to rue.

So breaks the sun earth's rugged chains,
Wherein rude winter bound her veins;
So grows both stream and source of price,
That lately fettered were with ice.…

Thou art not,
Penshurst, built to envious show, Of touch, or marble; nor canst boast a
Of polish'd pillars, or a roofe of gold: Thou hast no lantherne, whereof tales are told;
Or stayre, or courts; but stand'st an ancient pile, And…

ROOM! room! make room for the bouncing Belly,
First father of sauce and deviser of jelly;
Prime master of arts and the giver of wit,
That found out the excellent engine, the spit,…

Why do we lie’Why do we lie,’ she questioned, her warm eyeson the grey Autumn wind and its coursing,’all afternoon wasted in bed like this?’’Because we cannot lie all night together.’’Yes,’ she said, satisfied at my reasoning,
but going on to…

Camden, most reverend head, to whom I owe All that I am in arts, all that I know(How nothing's that!), to whom my country owes The great renown and name wherewith she goes;
Than thee the age sees not that thing more grave, More high, more…