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.

He was not of an age, but for all time!
And all the Muses still were in their prime,
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He was not of an age, but for all time!
And all the Muses still were in their prime,
When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm
Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm!

Laugh, and be fat, sir, your penance is known.
They that love mirth, let them heartily drink,
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Laugh, and be fat, sir, your penance is known.
They that love mirth, let them heartily drink,
'Tis the only receipt to make sorrow sink.

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.

Sweet meat must have sour sauce.

Sweet meat must have sour sauce.