Ben Jonson

Still to be neat, still to be drest,
As you were going to a feast,
Still to read more

Still to be neat, still to be drest,
As you were going to a feast,
Still to be powder'd, all perfum'd.
Lady, it is to be presumed,
Though art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.

I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely as a tree.
. . . read more

I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely as a tree.
. . . .
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

But I do hate him as I hate the devil.

But I do hate him as I hate the devil.

Where it concerns himself,
Who's angry at a slander, makes it true.

Where it concerns himself,
Who's angry at a slander, makes it true.

For he that once is good, is ever great.

For he that once is good, is ever great.