Ben Jonson

Her treading would not bend a blade of grass,
Or shake the downy blow-ball from his stalk!

Her treading would not bend a blade of grass,
Or shake the downy blow-ball from his stalk!

For a good poet's made, as well as born,
And such wast thou! Look how the father's face
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For a good poet's made, as well as born,
And such wast thou! Look how the father's face
Lives in his issue; even so the race
Of Shakespeare's mind and manner brightly shine
In his well-turned and true-filed lines;
In each of which he seems to shake a lance,
As brandished at the eyes of ignorance.

The Devil is an ass, I do acknowledge it.

The Devil is an ass, I do acknowledge it.

I am grieved that it should be said he is my brother, and take these courses. Well, as he brews, read more

I am grieved that it should be said he is my brother, and take these courses. Well, as he brews, so shall he drink, for George again. Yet he shall hear on't, and tightly, too, an' I live, i'faith.

The master of art or giver of wit,
Their belly.

The master of art or giver of wit,
Their belly.