Ben Jonson

O what is it proud slime will not believe
Of his own worth, to hear it equal praised
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O what is it proud slime will not believe
Of his own worth, to hear it equal praised
Thus with the gods?

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.

The burnt child dreads the fire.

The burnt child dreads the fire.

I remember, the players have often mentioned it as an honour to
Shakespeare, that in his writing (whatsoever he read more

I remember, the players have often mentioned it as an honour to
Shakespeare, that in his writing (whatsoever he penned) he never
plotted out a line. My answer hath been, would he had blotted a
thousand.

To the old, long life and treasure;
To the young, all health and pleasure.

To the old, long life and treasure;
To the young, all health and pleasure.