Introduction
It is perhaps to be expected that the category of dubia, or dubious things, should itself be doubtful. Jonson had a massive literary reputation during his life, and after his death enjoyed a vigorous sub-literary afterlife in jest books, printed anthologies, and in manuscript miscellanies. This reputation generated a large number of dubious ascriptions, with the result that his poetic dubia are even more difficult to circumscribe within reasonable bounds than dubia usually are. A rigorist might claim that only poems with a clear and strong claim to be by Jonson should be included among his dubia, and would reproduce a small gathering of perhaps six or eight poems. An editor who believed that reception history was important, and who was king of infinite space and time, might seek to include all poems which anyone had seriously, or even unseriously, believed to be by Jonson. The rigorist’s collection might well disappoint readers who had a serious interest in the blurred outer fringes of the canon; the reception historian’s approach would rapidly exhaust his readers’ patience, and perhaps his own (the gathering of pieces under the heading ‘Farrago’ in Newdigate (1936) is perhaps the closest any editor has come to this extreme). The path between Scylla and Charybdis is never a straight one, and it is with a circuitous route that this collection steers between these two extremes. The poems gathered here are miscellaneous in their origins and variable in quality, and the criteria for inclusion and exclusion are necessarily flexible and pragmatic. I have followed one rule and one exception to that rule: no poem which can confidently be ascribed to another author is gathered here, with the exception of poems which figured in The Underwood or in Benson’s volumes of 1640. The headnotes to each poem assess the likelihood of Jonson’s authorship in each case, and in many cases this is slim.
The poems are divided into three sections in order to give some initial guidance as to their status. The first section consists of poems which were printed as Jonson’s in The Underwood and in Benson’s collections of 1640, but which are likely to be by other hands. These poems are of interest to any student of Jonson’s poems: they were thought to be his by a large number of readers shortly after his death, and so are part of his early record as a printed poet. They therefore form a much more significant element in the reception history of his works than poems which were erroneously ascribed to him in manuscript, which might have been seen by only relatively small networks of readers. It is likely that the works by other poets which appeared in The Underwood (by Donne, Wotton, and Godolphin) were among Jonson’s papers after his death, and possibly in his autograph: so Henry Wotton’s ‘Character of a Happy Life’ is found in Dulwich College, Alleyn Papers, Vol. I, No. 135. fol. 259, transcribed in Jonson’s hand along with Jonson’s autograph of his translation of Martial 10.47. These are probably poems which meant something to Jonson, although he was not in any traditional sense their author. The royal panegyrics and genethliaca which are attributed to Jonson in Benson’s volumes were probably printed from a manuscript which contained poems by Jonson, Thomas Freeman, and others, and which failed to preserve the distinction between the different authors. The distinction between Jonson and Freeman’s authorship of ‘A Parallel to the King of the Prince, Born May 29, 1630’ is carefully made in BL Add. MS 15227, and there is no reason to doubt the ascription to Freeman in that manuscript. ‘Another Epigram on the Birth of the Prince’ does not appear together with poems on the same subject in The Underwood, and Benson’s ascription of that poem to Jonson is likely to have resulted from a misinterpretation of his copy.
The second section, ‘Poems of Doubtful Attribution’, consists of poems from a variety of sources. The first two poems in this group (nos. 6 and 7 in the continuous sequence) are found unascribed in two manuscripts which are known to contain material by Jonson which has not otherwise survived. They seem on stylistic grounds likely to be his work. The first, the Ode ‘Scorn’, is found in two MS (Bodleian Rawl. Poet. 31 and BL Harley MS 4064) which contain early versions of several of the poems in The Forest. It has to be placed among the doubtful poems because there is no manuscript ascription of it to Jonson, and the parallels between it and Jonson’s known works do not extend to echoes of phrases and whole lines, as they do in the case of the ‘Letter to a Friend’ and ‘Lucan’ (which in this edition are fully incorporated into the canon). Nonetheless (as the headnote outlines) ‘Scorn’ has strong claims on grounds of style and provenance to be his. The second poem, a literal translation of the latter part of Horace, Epistles, 1.18, is found in the same two manuscripts. Its provenance and style make an ascription to Jonson plausible, though not certain. It has not previously been printed. Editors have generally followed the views of Briggs (1915b) about which poems from these manuscripts should be regarded as Jonson’s, and, since Briggs ignored this poem, it has up to this point been overlooked. It is very similar to Jonson’s metaphrase of Horace’s Ars Poetica in its approach to its source text, and the Ars has traditionally been disparaged by Jonson’s editors. Briggs probably overlooked the translation of Epistles, 1.18 as a result of the low esteem in which he and his generation held Jonson’s work as a painstakingly literal translator.
This section also includes dedicatory and other poems printed with ambiguous or uncertain ascriptions which might possibly be by Jonson. Given the uncertainty of ascriptions to ‘B. J.’ or ‘J. B.’ or ‘S. Jonson’ it is impossible to be certain of the authorship of these poems. Also gathered under this heading are some poems which are ascribed to Jonson in manuscript, and which are not known to be ascribed to anyone else. These are unlikely to be his work. Chief among these is the lengthy panegyric consolation to Francis Bacon (no. 11). Its flat piety and sheer repetitiousness make it extremely unlikely to be Jonson’s, and it has none of his stylistic mannerisms. The ascription has some interest, as it may indicate that someone (the ascription appears to be in a later hand than the body of the poem) thought of Jonson as the kind of poet who wrote verses of consolation to public figures who have fallen from grace (as indeed he did in his poems to Coke (Und. 46) and Bishop Williams (Und. 61)). Alternatively it may have been ascribed to Jonson simply because a scribe recalled that Jonson had written a poem to Bacon in Und. 51. The piece has some value as an index of how seventeenth-century readers perceived Jonson. A more interesting poem is ‘The Prince’s Verses for One of His Rockers’ (no. 14), which if it were proven to be Jonson’s (as it is said to be in BL Harley MS 6057, fol. 21v) would indicate that he was more intimately involved in court life of the 1630s than has generally been thought. Stylistic tests on a poem so short are unlikely to return definitive results, and so the poem is likely to remain among the dubious ascriptions.
The third section, ‘Epigrams from Manuscripts and Jest Books’, contains materials which might be described as dubissima (or poems of which the authorship is so dubious that Jonson is extremely unlikely to have had anything to do with them). They cast some light on the kind of poet Jonson was believed to be in the later seventeenth century, but belong on the outer fringe of the divide between dubia on the one hand and life records and reception history on the other. A plausible case could be put that such pieces belong in collections such as The Jonson Allusion Book rather than in an edition of Jonson. Nevertheless, some readers of Jonson’s poems may want to read these otherwise generally inaccessible pieces, and it is just conceivable too that some of them may distantly reflect oral testimony to his wit. The Newcastle MS does include an example of Jonson’s extempore verses in his ‘Answer to Mr Craven’ (which on the authority of that manuscript is accepted as his in this edition), and no doubt he did compose poems to suit occasions of no great weight, even if the provenance and style of the occasional epigrams reproduced in this section strongly indicate that they are not close to anything which Jonson is likely to have composed, even off the cuff. No attempt has been made systematically to collate all copies and variant versions of these highly dubious dubia, although the collation and notes do record indicative examples of similar materials where these are known. In the main these indicate that the compilers of jest books were prone to ascribe well-known material to famous names in order to add piquancy to stale jokes. It is quite likely that other one-off ascriptions to Jonson of scurrilous and anonymous epigrams will come to light in future. It should be noted that anecdotes about Jonson in which he does not utter verse are not recorded here (for which, see Graves, 1923). This section also includes several more or less occasional poems which are ascribed to Jonson in manuscript and in print, and for which other ascriptions have not been found. These poems are, like the anecdotes with which they are gathered, best regarded as indicators of the kind of poet which Jonson was thought to be in the seventeenth century rather than as poems which he could have written. Previous editors have condemned these manuscript ascriptions as ‘absurd’ (H&S, 8.425), as some of them are; but tastes (which are variable) and prudishness (which rarely dies completely) can play a part in determining which attributions do or do not appear to be absurd, and which poems are reproduced by any given editor. The case for not printing ‘Scotch Verses Highly Commended’ (no. 19) in a collection of verse ascribed to Jonson has depended hitherto chiefly on a judgement of taste: H&S describe it as ‘fatuous doggerel’ and decline to print it; but this judgement does nothing to exclude the possibility that Jonson was capable of writing fatuous doggerel when he was parodying fatuous doggerel. A more serious argument against Jonson’s authorship is that the manuscript that contains it is very free with its ascriptions. Nonetheless this poem illustrates the paradoxes to which collections of ascribed poems give rise: H&S are happy to print ‘Underneath this sable hearse’ among their appendix of ‘Poems Ascribed to Jonson’ although they know it to be by William Browne; they do not print poems of less certain authorship, which are ascribed to Jonson and are not known to be ascribed to anyone else, simply because they are indecent. I have sought to reverse their priorities here.
These categories, and particularly the last, cover a wide range of dubious material. However, they stop short of providing a full gathering of poems ascribed to Jonson since they specifically exclude all poems attributed to him in manuscript but which are known to be by other hands. These categories also exclude poems by other writers which have since 1640 otherwise acquired sufficient gravitational attraction to orbit on the outer fringes of the Jonsonian canon. To produce an exhaustive list of such misattributions would be potentially an endless, and perhaps finally a pointless, task. So, the poem ‘Between two Brethren’ (which is also found in a Latin version) about differences of religious opinions between two brothers, which begins ‘Between two brethren civil wars and worse’, is sometimes ascribed to Jonson’s friend Hugh Holland, but more usually and more probably to William Alabaster. The English translation alone is ascribed to Jonson in British Library, Add. MS 15225, fol. 7. There seems no reason to accept this attribution, although the association of his name with a poem which records a dispute between a Catholic and a Protestant, and which is linked with the names of two Catholic poets, is a piquant fact given the chequered history of his religious views. Even in the case of poets very close to Jonson, and perhaps especially with these, misascriptions could arise. John Hoskins’s poem to his son Benjamin, warning him to control his tongue, is found attributed to Jonson (who of course also had a son called Benjamin) in Corpus Christi College, Oxford MS 327, fol. 23v. Drayton’s ‘Good folks for love’ is ascribed to Jonson in Bodleian MS Eng. poet. e. 97, p. 163. Epigrams by Sir John Harington (‘In other time an ancient custom was’) and poems by Strode (‘Be silent you still music of the spheres’) and Quarles (if he is indeed the author of the epitaph on Michael Drayton in Westminster Abbey; see H&S, 8.435) were presumably thought by some of their scribes to resemble similar works by Jonson, and so were copied down as his. Later miscellanies in manuscript and print freely assume that if a poem describes a drinking bout, Ben must have been its author: Wit and Mirth (1682) ascribes ‘Bacchus Iacchus fill our brains’ to Jonson, although it is now generally accepted as being by Townshend (see Townshend, 1912, 104-5). ‘The Good Wife’s Ale’ is sometimes ascribed to Randolph, and occasionally to Jonson, but attributions to the otherwise little known Thomas Jay in Folger MS V. a. 322, p. 184, and in Bodleian MS Ashmole 38, p. 13, are likely to be correct: the former manuscript (which contains a significant number of good copies of poems by Jonson, which are correctly ascribed to him) in general contains reliable attributions, and an ascription to a little-known author is on balance more probable than an ascription to a notable poet. The initials ‘T. J.’ could easily be transformed to either ‘T. R.’ or ‘B. J.’ by a scribe who had not heard of Jay, but who had heard of Jonson or Randolph. H&S, who print the poem (8.449), opined that it was ‘Not likely to have been written by Jonson, drunk or sober’; the manuscript ascriptions to Jay confirm this judgement.
William Browne’s ‘Underneath this sable hearse’ was said by Whalley to be ‘universally assigned’ (6.277) to Jonson. This ascription has not been found in any manuscript, although the poem was extremely popular among miscellanists. Its presence in Browne’s autograph (BL Lansdowne MS 777, fol. 43v) as well as in manuscripts which ascribe it to him (e.g. Bodleian MS Rawl. poet. 160, fol. 27, and Trinity College Dublin MS G.2.21, p. 487) ensure that only an edition which sought (as this does not) comprehensively to reproduce everything that has ever been thought to be Jonson’s could be criticised for omitting it. ‘On Black Hair’ is ascribed to Walton Poole in several manuscripts, and there is no reason to doubt this attribution. This is one of the most popular poems in seventeenth-century manuscript miscellanies (a very partial account of the surviving manuscripts is in Wolf, 1948) and is implausibly ascribed to Jonson in BL Add. MS 21433, fol. 109v, and BL Harley MS 6057, fol. 9v. The robust line of ascriptions to Poole confirms the suspicion that its lexis, metre, and laddishly explicit heterosexuality mark it as quite unlike anything else in the Jonsonian canon. H&S do not print it, despite the fact that, like ‘The Good Wife’s Ale’, it is sometimes ascribed to Jonson. Presumably they do not do so because it is obscene. The poem is not reproduced here because there are strong grounds for believing that someone other than Jonson wrote it.
Excluded from this gathering is the poem ‘To his Confined Friend Mr Felton’. Here Jonson was accused of authorship and hotly denied it (see Life Record 76, where the poem is reproduced). The style does not mark it as his, as doubtless Jonson pointed out when he ‘condemned’ the verses to the Attorney General, who examined him over the authorship of the poem on 26 October 1628. The question of whether or not Jonson wrote any given poem, which can seem academic in the worst sense today, was anything but that in the 1620s: Star Chamber could investigate who wrote a given set of verses, and unless one could provide convincing evidence that one was not the author one could be imprisoned or have one’s ears cropped. Although some of the weaker pieces gathered here might make Jonson’s ears tingle, they should not make them bleed: in most cases he is extremely unlikely to have written them.
Poems Ascribed to Jonson in The Underwood and Benson
1
Underwood 39
An Elegy
To make the doubt clear that no woman’s true,
Was it my fate to prove it full in you?
Thought I but one had breathed the purer air,
And must she needs be false because she’s fair?
Is it your beauty’s mark, or of your youth, 5
Or your perfection not to study truth?
Or think you heaven is deaf, or hath no eyes,
Or those it has wink at your perjuries?
Are vows so cheap with women, or the matter
Whereof they are made, that they are writ in water 10
And blown away with wind? Or doth their breath,
Both hot and cold at once, threat life and death?
Who could have thought so many accents sweet,
Tuned to our words, so many sighs should meet,
Blown from our hearts, so many oaths and tears 15
Sprinkled among? All sweeter by our fears,
And the divine impression of stol’n kisses,
That sealed the rest, could now prove empty blisses?
Did you draw bonds to forfeit? Sign, to break?
Or must we read you quite from what you speak, 20
And find the truth out the wrong way? Or must
He first desire you false, would wish you just?
Oh I profane! Though most of women be
The common monster, love shall except thee,
My dearest love, however jealousy 25
With circumstance might urge the contrary.
Sooner I’ll think the sun would cease to cheer
The teeming earth, and that forget to bear;
Sooner that rivers would run back, or Thames
With ribs of ice in June would bind his streams: 30
Or nature, by whose strength the world endures,
Would change her course before you alter yours.
But oh, that treacherous breast, to whom weak you
Did trust our counsels, and we both may rue,
Having his falsehood found too late! ’Twas he 35
That made me cast you guilty, and you me.
Whilst he, black wretch, betrayed each simple word
We spake unto the cunning of a third!
Cursed may he be that so our love hath slain,
And wander wretchèd on the earth as Cain; 40
Wretchèd as he, and not deserve least pity;
In plaguing him let misery be witty.
Let all eyes shun him, and he shun each eye
Till he be noisome as his infamy;
May he without remorse deny God thrice, 45
And not be trusted more on his soul’s price,
And after all self-torment, when he dies,
May wolves tear out his heart, vultures his eyes,
Swine eat his bowels, and his falser tongue,
That uttered all, be to some raven flung, 50
And let his carrion corse be a longer feast
To the king’s dogs, than any other beast.
Now I have cursed, let us our love revive;
In me the flame was never more alive.
I could begin again to court and praise 55
And in that pleasure lengthen the short days
Of my life’s lease; like painters that do take
Delight not in made works, but whilst they make,
I could renew those times when first I saw
Love in your eyes, that gave my tongue the law 60
To like what you liked, and at masques or plays
Commend the self-same actors the same ways,
Ask how you did, and often with intent
Of being officious, grow impertinent;
All which were such soft pastimes, as in these 65
Love was as subtly catched as a disease;
But being got it is a treasure, sweet,
Which to defend is harder than to get;
And ought not be profaned on either part:
For though ’tis got by chance, ’tis kept by art. 70
2
Underwood 80
Fair friend, ’tis true, your beauties move
My heart to a respect,
Too little to be paid with love,
Too great for your neglect.
I neither love, nor yet am free, 5
For though the flame I find
Be not intense in the degree,
’Tis of the purest kind.
It little wants of love but pain;
Your beauty takes my sense, 10
And, lest you should that price disdain,
My thoughts, too, feel the influence.
’Tis not a passion’s first access,
Ready to multiply;
But like love’s calmest state it is 15
Possessed with victory.
It is like love to truth reduced;
All the false values gone,
Which were created and induced
By fond imagination. 20
’Tis either fancy, or ’tis fate,
To love you more than I;
I love you at your beauty’s rate,
Less were an injury.
Like unstamped gold I weigh each grace, 25
So that you may collect
Th’ intrinsic value of your face,
Safely from my respect.
And this respect would merit love,
Were not so fair a sight 30
Payment enough; for who dare move
Reward for his delight?
3
Underwood 81
On the King’s Birthday
Rouse up thyself, my gentle muse,
Though now our green conceits be grey,
And yet once more do not refuse
To take thy Phrygian harp, and play
In honour of this cheerful day: 5
Long may they both contend to prove
That best of crowns is such a love.
Make first a song of joy and love,
Which chastely flames in royal eyes,
Then tune it to the spheres above, 10
When the benignest stars do rise,
And sweet conjunctions grace the skies.
Long may they both contend to prove
That best of crowns is such a love.
To this let all good hearts resound, 15
Whilst diadems invest his head;
Long may he live, whose life doth bound
More than his laws, and better lead
By high example, than by dread.
Long may they both contend to prove 20
That best of crowns is such a love.
Long may he round about him see
His roses and his lilies blown:
Long may his only dear and he
Joy in ideas of their own, 25
And kingdoms’ hopes so timely sown.
Long may they both contend to prove
That best of crowns is such a love.
4
Another Epigram on the Birth of the Prince
Another phoenix, though the first is dead,
A second’s flown from his immortal bed,
To make this our Arabia to be,
The nest of an eternal progeny.
Choice nature framed the former, but to find 5
What error might be mended in mankind,
Like some industrious workmen, which affect
Their first endeavours only to correct.
So this the building, that the model was,
The type of all that now is come to pass; 10
That but the shadow, this the substance is;
All that was but the prophecy of this.
And when it did this after-birth fore-run
’Twas but the morning star unto this sun,
The dawning of this day, when Sol did think, 15
We having such a light, that he might wink,
And we ne’er miss his lustre. Nay, so soon
As Charles was born, he and the pale-faced moon
With envy then did copulate, to try
If such a birth might be produced i’ th’sky. 20
What heavenly favour made a star appear
To bid wise kings to do their homage here,
And prove him truly Christian? Long remain
On earth, sweet prince, that when great Charles shall reign
In heaven above, our little Charles may be 25
As great on earth, because as good as he.
5
A Parallel to the King of the Prince, Born May 29, 1630
So Peleus, when he fair Thetis got,
As thou thy sea queen; so to him she brought
A blessèd babe, as thine hath done to thee.
His worthiest proved of those times, ours may be
Of these; his had a Pallas for his guide, 5
Thy wisdom will as well for ours provide;
His conquered countries, cities, castles, towers,
A worthy foe; hereafter so may ours.
His all his time but one Patroclus finds,
But this of ours a world of faithful friends; 10
His vulnerable in no place but one,
And this of ours (we hope) be hurt in none.
His had his Phoenix, ours no teacher needs
But the example of thy life and deeds.
His Nestor knew, in arms his fellow was, 15
But not in years: too soon ran out his glass;
Ours, though not Nestor knew, we trust, shall be
As wise in arms, as old in years as he.
His after death, had Homer his reviver,
And ours may better merit to live ever, 20
By deeds far passing; but, oh, sad despair,
No hope of Homer: his wit left no heir.
Poems of Doubtful Attribution
6
Ode
Scorn, or some humbler fate
Light thick, and long endure
On the ridiculous state
Of our pied courtlings, and secure
Race of self-loving lords, 5
That wallow in the flood
Of their great birth and blood,
Whilst their whole life affords
No other graces
But pride, lust, oaths, and faces; 10
And yet would have me deem
Of them at that high rate
As they themselves esteem.
Perish such surquedry,
O’er-whelmed with dust: 15
’Tis only virtue must
Blazon nobility.
7
Part of Horace ‘Epistles’ 1.18 Translated
But that I forth advise (if any need
Of my advice thou hast); take often heed
What, and of whom, and unto whom thou speak:
Shun an enquirer, for his tongue will break
The seal of silence and an open ear 5
Never retains; what trust reposeth there?
Besides, words once let forth fly unrecalled.
Look that thy amorous liver be not galled
With sight of boy or wench, that shall attend
In the fair house of thy adorèd friend, 10
For fear the master of that beauteous boy
Or the dear maid, in suffering thee t’enjoy
So small a gift, should there his bounty expire,
Or rack thee with denying thy desire.
Be throughly skilled in him thou wouldst commend, 15
Lest afterwards another’s crime doth tend
Unto thy shame. It is our fate to err
Sometimes, and worthless men to grace prefer;
Therefore, whose noted guilt doth him deject
And hath deceived thee once, cease to protect 20
As thou would do a friend entirely known;
But if these crimes chance not to be his own
But fastened on him falsely, then ’tis just,
Thou keep him safe, that in thy guard doth trust;
For, when thou seest a Chester’s tooth to draw 25
Blood of thy friend, dost thou not feel that jaw
Within a little space approaching thee?
When the next wall’s on fire, thine is not free;
What now thy neighbour frights may thee at length,
And flames neglected swiftly gather strength. 30
Now, for great friendships: they are sweet and dear,
To men untraded; such as know them fear.
Then, Lollius, whilst thy bark is under sail
Mind this: the wind may either change or fail,
And thou be forcèd back to thine own port. 35
Men’s moods are strange: sad humours hate consort
With light; light, like with sad; stirring with slow;
And tardy shun such as with action flow.
Your deep Canary-knights, your midnight men,
Your everlasting drinkers, hate you when 40
You but deny a health, albeit you swear
’Tis for your health, and that indeed you fear
The curdy vapours that by night ascend
Up from the stomach to the brain. Then, friend,
Strive to be sociable; clear thy brow 45
From sign of cloud. The modest person now
Is thought a close observer, dark, austere;
And he that little speaks, sourer and severe.
But amongst all I wish that thou should’st read
The learnèd, and of them ask how to lead, 50
An easy age, that thou be not disturbed
With ever-wanting avarice, or curbed
With fear, or hope of things but meanly good;
To inquire if virtue take her better blood
From learning’s purchase, or from nature’s gift? 55
What will extenuate care, and what true shrift
Will render thee unto thyself a friend?
What makes the poor calm life? Whether the end
Been honours, style, and offices of state,
Or in a gain that’s sweet and moderate, 60
Or close retirement, that beguiling path
Which scarce the print of any living hath?
When I am down at Hackney brook, and taste
Of the cold rivulet, of whose free waste
All the poor clownage of Low Leyton drink, 65
That curled and frozen village? What then think,
My friend, I meditate, or most do crave?
That I may but possess what now I have,
Or if the gods will less, that I may live
Unto myself the remnant doth survive 70
Of my short age, if aught surviving be
Through their benevolence, that I may see
Plenty of books about me, and fit store
For my provision yearly, and no more,
Lest else with doubtful hopes I wavering sway. 75
But it sufficient is, I only pray
To Jove, who gives and takes for life and wealth:
My constant mind I will prepare myself.
8
Apollo’s Answer to Calasiris
From Heliodorus’s Ethiopian History
Inevitable fate to shun thou tak’st a world of toil:
For this you left your native home and Nile’s unrivalled soil.
Take courage, friend, for I will give th’Egyptian fields again
To thy despairing eyes; till then our guest thou shalt remain.
9
Master Johnson’s Answer to Master Wither
Wither
Shall I, wasting in despair,
Die because a woman’s fair,
Or my cheeks make pale with care,
’Cause another’s rosy are?
Be she fairer than the day, 5
Or the flow’ry meads in May:
If she be not so to me,
What care I how fair she be?
Jonson
Shall I mine affection slack,
’Cause I see a woman’s black, 10
Or myself with care cast down,
’Cause I see a woman brown?
Be she blacker than the night,
Or the blackest jet in sight:
If she seem not so to me, 15
What care I how black she be?
Wither
Shall my foolish heart be pined,
’Cause I see a woman’s kind,
Or a well disposèd nature
Joinèd in a comely feature? 20
Be she kind or meeker than
Turtle dove, or pelican;
If she be not so to me,
What care I how kind she be?
Jonson
Shall my foolish heart be burst, 25
’Cause I see a woman’s cursed,
Or a thwarting hoggish nature
Joinèd in as bad a feature;
Be she cursed or fiercer than
Brutish beast, or savage men: 30
If she be not so to me,
What care I how cursed she be?
Wither
Shall a woman’s virtues make
Me to perish for her sake,
Or her merits’ value known 35
Make me quite forget my own?
Be she with that goodness blest,
That may merit name of best:
If she seem not so to me,
What care I how good she be? 40
Jonson
Shall a woman’s vices make
Me her virtues quite forsake,
Or her faults to me made known,
Make me think that I have none?
Be she of the most accursed, 45
And deserve the name of worst:
If she be not so to me,
What care I how bad she be?
Wither
’Cause her fortunes seems too high,
Should I play the fool and die? 50
He that bears a noble mind,
If not outward help he find,
Think what with them he would do,
That without them dares to woo.
And unless that mind I see, 55
What care I how great she be?
Jonson
’Cause her fortunes seems too low,
Shall I therefore let her go?
He that bears an humble mind,
And with riches can be kind, 60
Think how kind a heart he’d have,
If he were some servile slave:
And if that same mind I see,
What care I how poor she be?
Wither
Great, or good, or kind, or fair, 65
I will ne’er the more despair,
If she love me then believe,
I will die, ere she shall grieve,
If she slight me when I woo,
I can slight, and bid her go: 70
If she be not fit for me,
What care I for whom she be?
Jonson
Poor, or bad, or cursed, or black,
I will ne’er the more be slack,
If she hate me, then believe, 75
She shall die ere I will grieve,
If she like me when I woo,
I can like and love her too:
If that she be fit for me,
What care I what others be? 80
10
An Adaptation of Horace ‘Odes’, 2.3.17ff.
Remember, when blind Fortune knits her brow,
Thy mind be not dejected over-low,
Nor let thy thoughts too insolently swell,
Though all thy hopes do prosper ne’er so well.
For drink thy tears, with sorrow still oppressed, 5
Or taste pure wine, secure and ever blessed,
In those remote and pleasant shady fields
Where stately pine and poplar shadow yields,
Or circling streams that warble, passing by;
All will not help, sweet friend: for thou must die. 10
The house, thou hast, thou once must leave behind thee,
And those sweet babes thou often kissest kindly:
And when th’hast gotten all the wealth thou can,
Thy pains is taken for another man.
Alas! what poor advantage doth it bring, 15
To boast thyself descended of a king !
When those, that have no house to hide their heads,
Find in their grave as warm and easy beds.
11
To My Lord Chancellor, the Day of his Sentence, the 3rd of May 1621
Sir; now all troops have left you, none attend,
And when your fortunes ceased, those took end,
Like to our swallows which come here in May,
And at the first cold blast hence fly away.
Though you unhappy seem, and some may think 5
You had been happier if the court had winked
On your confessèd crimes, and that the scale
Of their just censures had not struck the sail
Of your main top, but still have let the flood
Borne you in all your trim, as when your good 10
It did without impeachment; I think they’ve hurled
You from this bad into a better world.
And, good sir, think not that I take delight
To make your miseries my theme to write,
Or that in this I would make any breach 15
Of charity; I come but as a leech,
To bring some medicine, and for to apply
Some salves unto your wounds before you die,
Which you must help unto, or else I lose
My labour; you your health, if you refuse. 20
Sir, you have reason great now to discern
That mean things are most safe, and for to learn
That all the vading honours that accrue
The world dispenses for herself, not you,
For her own profit; for she doth by these 25
Hoodwink the inward sense, the outward please,
Covering all bracks like varnish upon wood
To hide her wormholes, lest, being understood,
All men would fly her, and she should appear
Ugly and sordid as if her end grew near. 30
How glad is he that hath escaped the bite
Of any venomed worm; with what delight
Tells he his danger past, relates the fear,
Suspicion, hazard, and the anxious care
He had in his avoidment? Oh how true 35
And just this glory may be sung by you.
You now discover all, and are passed o’er
Half of this dangerous sea, and to the shore
Of peace direct your course; you now descry
The shelf ambition, quicksand vanity, 40
How many tall ships as high-built as yours
Oft piteous wracks upon these two endures;
God only let you touch them, spring a leak,
When many on them do in shivers break.
Since you have ’scaped the wrack, be’t done by you 45
As by the merchant which doth straight renew
His weather-beaten boat, lest want of care
Hazard the loss eternal of his fare.
Here in this vale of life none doth posses
True happiness but them whom God doth bless 50
With some affliction. Therefore now, my lord,
Upon you God more favours doth afford
Than when the king (his image) did confer
The title and office of his Chancellor.
Fame doth report that even upon that hill 55
Where Diocles did holy Alban kill,
He by whose hand the holy martyr dies
As he struck off his head lost his own eyes.
But you, whose honour from that place doth grow,
You do recover sight by your last blow, 60
For now you clearly see; before, your sight
Was either mainly dimmed or extinct quite;
Or else your wisdom surely could not err
So much as to permit you to prefer
The world so much, which (if I do speak true) 65
Was most apparently beheld in you.
Since that your high-built house doth stand no more,
Rebuild it on the rock, not on the shore,
Which is in danger each hour of each day,
Either for to be blown or washed away. 70
From the low place that now you do rest in
Look up unto the height where you have been,
And think yourself most happy, that you see
That place of danger, and yourself so free.
The glorious sun with equal heat doth shine 75
As well on the ground ivy as the pine;
Shrubs always live and keep themselves unwasted,
When by the winds the stateliest trees are blasted.
Return, my Lord, to God; he not away
Will pull his head from you, though you might stray 80
Something from him. Knock, knock with all your force,
Cry vehemently, cry though your throat be hoarse;
Pray him to order by his high decree
That when you shall of this frail flesh be free
That he would pardon all those faulty acts 85
Which frailty married to our flesh contracts,
And that your spirit refined may be as good
As when it was first watered by his blood.
12
Epitaph on Robert Jermyn of Rushbrooke
Quid diurnare magnos invides Parca?
Heu
Robertus
Ierminorum a Rushbrooke Nobile germen,
Hic situs est, 5
Flos iuvenum, sub aevi flore raptus,
Qui virtutum utriusque aetatis
Apicibus potitus,
Ingenio et indole iuventutis,
Nec non senili pietate ac prudentia 10
Infra se turbam coaetaneam reliquit,
Impubes senex:
Et quod negavit saeculo, coelo dedit.
Sic sapere ante annos nocuit, nam maxima virtus,
Persuasit Morti, ut crederet esse senem 15
P.P.P.P.
13
From The Touchstone of Truth
Truth is the trial of itself,
And needs no other touch,
And purer than the purest gold,
Refine it ne’er so much.
It is the life and light of love, 5
The sun that ever shineth,
And spirit of that special grace,
That faith and love defineth.
It is the warrant of the Word,
That yields a scent so sweet, 10
As gives a power to faith to tread
All falsehood under feet.
It is the sword that doth divide,
The marrow from the bone,
And in effect of heavenly love 15
Doth show the Holy One.
This, blessèd Warre, thy blessèd book
Unto the world doth prove:
A worthy work, and worthy well,
Of the most worthy love. 20
14
On the Birthday of Prince Charles. 29 May 1630
The gods’ dear issue, our great Jove’s increase,
An infant emblem of his grandsire’s peace,
A prince th’happy mother’s pretty smiler,
The father’s and the uncle’s reconciler,
In whom the high blood to sovereignty designed 5
Of Britain, France, and Florence are combined,
Of Burbons, Medicis, blest Stewart’s stem,
Destined to wear a triple diadem,
And where the rose and lily rarely mixed
Have made both union and succession fixed. 10
He whom the earth shall honour, heaven shall bless,
The improvèd hope of future happiness,
The joy of other states, the fruit of ours,
Is born this day, this noon, this month of flowers.
15
A Petition of the Infant Prince Charles:
The
Prince’s Verses for One of His Rockers
Read, royal father, mighty king,
What my little hands do bring,
I, whose happy birth imparts
Joy to all good subjects’ hearts,
Though an infant, do not break 5
Nature’s laws, whilst thus I speak
By this interpreter, for one
Whose face doth blush, whose heart doth groan,
For her acknowledgèd offence,
And only hath my innocence 10
To gain her mercy. Though thus bold,
Yet some proportion it may hold,
That to the father she may run,
Through mediation of the son.
If therefore now, O royal sir, 15
My first request may purchase her
Restoring unto grace, to me
(Though prince) it will an honour be,
That in my cradle ’twill be said
I Master of Requests was made. 20
16
From The Female Glory
The Garland of the Blessed Virgin Mary
Here are five letters in this blessèd name,
Which, changed, a five-fold mystery design:
The M the myrtle, A the almonds claim,
R, rose, I, ivy, E, sweet eglantine.
These form thy garland, whereof Myrtle green, 5
The gladdest ground to all the numbered five,
Is so implexèd and laid in between
As love here studied to keep grace alive.
The second string is the sweet Almond bloom
Ymounted high upon Selinus’ crest, 10
As it alone (and only it) had room
To knit thy crown, and glorify the rest.
The third is from the garden culled, the Rose,
The eye of flowers, worthy, for his scent,
To top the fairest lily now that grows, 15
With wonder on the thorny regiment.
The fourth is humble Ivy, intersert,
But lowly laid, as on the earth asleep,
Preservèd in her antique bed of vert;
No faith’s more firm or flat than where’t doth creep. 20
But that which sums all is the Eglantine,
Which of the field is cleped the sweetest briar,
Inflamed with ardour to that mystic shine
In Moses’ bush, unwasted in the fire.
Thus love, and hope, and burning charity 25
(Divinest graces) are so intermixed
With odorous sweets and soft humility
As if they adored the head whereon they’re fixed.
The Reverse: On the Back Side
These mysteries do point to three more great
On the reverse of this your circling crown, 30
All pouring their full shower of graces down
The glorious Trinity in union met.
Daughter and mother and the spouse of God,
Alike of kin to that most blessèd trine
Of persons, yet in union one, divine. 35
How are thy gifts and graces blazed abroad!
Most holy and pure virgin, blessèd maid,
Sweet tree of life, King David’s strength and tower,
The house of gold, the gate of heaven’s power,
The morning-star, whose light our fall hath stayed; 40
Great queen of queens, most mild, most meek, most wise,
Most venerable, cause of all our joy,
Whose cheerful look our sadness doth destroy,
And art the spotless mirror to man’s eyes,
The seat of sapience, the most lovely mother, 45
And most to be admirèd of thy sex,
Who mad’st us happy all in thy reflex,
By bringing forth God’s only son, no other.
Thou throne of glory, beauteous as the moon,
The rosy morning, or the rising sun, 50
Who like a giant hastes his course to run,
Till he hath reached his two-fold point of noon.
How are thy gifts and graces blazed abroad,
Through all the lines of this circumference,
To imprint in all purged hearts this virgin sense 55
Of being daughter, mother, spouse of God!
17
From Thomas May’s Supplementum
Lucani
Dignissimo Viro Thomae Mayo,
Amico suo summe honorando.
Terge parentales oculos post funera mundi
Roma tui. Nondum tota sepulta jaces.
Gloria vivit adhuc radiis evincta coruscis,
Quam tibi perpetuat nobile vatis opus.
Cuius in historia moreris, pariterque triumphas; 5
Exornantque tuas vulnera saeva genas.
Ingenio, Lucane, tuo tua Roma ruinis
Auctior, et damnis stat veneranda magis
Quam tot terrarum dum sceptra superba teneret
Atque triumphati spargeret orbis opes. 10
Sed Romae quodcunque tuae Lucane dedisti,
Hoc dedit et Maii subsidialis amor,
Qui tibi succurrit vindex, et divite vena
Supplevit latices, te moriente, tuos.
18
From Poetical Varieties
On my Friend and Adopted Son Master Thomas Jordan, the Infant Poet of our
Age
From smallest springs arise the greatest streams;
Thou hast begun well; who dares hinder thee
Still to go forward and dilate thy beams
To acquaint the world with thy sweet poetry?
Speak still in tune; hide not thy worth, but show it, 5
That men may say thou’rt born, not made, a poet.
And he that fails thy growing muse to cherish
May his fixed hopes in expectation perish,
Thine (sans complement) J. B.
Epigrams from Manuscripts and Jest-Books
19
Epigram on Richard Burbage
Tell me who can, when a player dies,
In which of his shapes again he shall rise?
What need he stand at the judgement throne,
Who hath a heaven and a hell of his own?
Then fear not, Burbage, heaven’s angry rod, 5
When thy fellows are angels, and old Hemmings is God.
20
Scotch Verses Highly Commended by King James
With that a friend of his cried ‘Foy!’,
And forth an arrow drew:
He fitted it so featously the bow in shivers flew.
It was the will of God trow I;
For, had the tree been true, 5
Men said that kenned his archery
That he had slain enew
Belive that day.
Answered by Ben Jonson
With that a friend of his cried ‘Foh!’
A sudden fart out flew 10
He foisted it so furiously
The turd in fitters flew.
The de’il was in his arse trow I,
For had the touch been true
Men said that kenned his arsery 15
That had he shit enew
Belive that day.
21
Ben Jonson upon His Brother William
Instead of distichs and tetrastichs,
And long breathed encomiastics,
Epigrams, and anagrams,
Chronograms, and all such hard names,
Because I will be short and somewhat hasten, 5
In thy tombstone this I’ll fasten
N’other truer, nothing righter:
‘William Johnson: hic mentitur’.
22
Jonson on Marble
If of the dead some good nought should be said,
He’ll get no epitaph who here is laid.
23
On the Steeple of St Nicholas’ Church, Newcastle
My altitude high, my body four square,
My foot in the grave, my head in the air,
My eyes in my sides, five tongues in my womb,
Thirteen heads upon my body, four images alone;
I can direct you where the wind doth stay, 5
And I tune God’s precepts thrice a day.
I am seen where I am not, I am heard where eye is not,
Tell me now what I am, and see that you miss not.
24
On the Birth of the Lady Mary
The 3rd of November Vandeljn crossed the water
The 4th of November the queen had a daughter
The 5th of November we ’scaped great slaughter
And the 6th of November was the next day after.
25
Benjamin Jonson upon His Friend Master Calvin
If heaven be pleased when man doth cease to sin,
If hell be pleased when it a soul doth win,
If the earth be pleased when ’tis rid of a knave,
Then all be pleased, for Calvin is in his grave.
26
On Dumbelow Who Died of the Wind Colic
Here lies Dumbelow;
For he was so.
If his arse could have spoke
His heart had not broke.
27
On the Family Vault of Lord Zouche at Harringworth
At the bottom of the north wall is a small hole communicating with the cellar of the
house, which, according to tradition, gave occasion to the following verses of Ben
Jonson, who is said to have been well acquainted with Lord Zouche:
Whenever I die, let this be my fate,
To lie by my good Lord Zouche; 5
That when I’m a-dry to the tap I may hie,
And so back again to my couch.
28
Epitaph on an Honest Lawyer
This refreshes my memory with a story of Ben Jonson, who as he was walking through a
Church in Surrey saw a company of poor people weeping over a grave. Ben asked one of
the women what the occasion should be. She answered ‘Ah, alas sir. We have lost our
precious good lawyer Justice Randall. He kept us all in peace, and from going to law;
certainly he was the best man that ever lived.’ ‘Well’, said Ben, ‘I’ll send you an epitaph 5
for his tombstone’; which was:
God works wonders now and than:
Here lies a lawyer and an honest man.
29
Ben Jonson’s Answer to a Thief Bidding him Stand
Ben Jonson had been down in Buckinghamshire to transact some business, but in
returning to London happened to meet with Tracey, who, knowing the poet, bade him
stand and deliver his money. But Ben, putting on a courageous look, spoke to him
thus:
Fly, villain, hence, or by thy coat of steel 5
I’ll make thy heart my leaden bullet feel,
And send that thrice as thievish soul of thine,
To hell, to wear the devil’s Valentine.
Upon which Tracey made this answer:
Art thou great Ben, or the revivèd ghost 10
Of famous Shakespeare? Or some drunken host,
Who being tipsy with thy muddy beer,
Dost think thy rhymes will daunt my soul with fear?
Nay, know, base slave, that I am one of those,
Can take a purse as well in verse as prose, 15
And when th’art dead, write this upon thy hearse:
‘Here lies a poet that was robbed in verse.’
These words alarmed Jonson, who found he had met with a resolute fellow. He
endeavoured to save his money, but to no purpose, and was obliged to give our
adventurer ten Jacobuses. But the loss of these was not the only misfortune he met 20
with in this journey, for coming within two or three miles of London it was his ill
chance to fall into the hands of worse rogues, who knocked him off his horse,
stripped him, and tied him neck and heels in a field, wherein some other passengers
were enduring the same hard fate, having been also robbed. One of them crying out
that he, his wife and children were all undone, while another, who was bound, over- 25
hearing, said ‘Pray, if you are all of you undone, come and undo me!’ This made Ben,
though under his misfortunes, burst out into a loud laugh, who being delivered in the
morning from his bands by some reapers, made the following verses:
Both robbed and bound, as I one night did ride, 30
With two men more their arms behind them tied,
The one lamenting what did them befall,
Cried ‘I’m undone, my wife and children all!’
The other hearing it aloud did cry,
‘Undo me then, let me no longer lie!’ 35
But to be plain those men laid on the ground
Were both ‘undone’, indeed, but both fast bound.
30
The Half-Moon Tavern in Aldersgate Street
He used very much to frequent the Half-Moon Tavern in Aldersgate Street, through which
was a common thoroughfare. He coming late that way one night was denied passage,
whereupon going through the Sun Tavern a little after, he said:
Since that the Moon was so unkind to make me go about
The Sun henceforth shall take my coin; the Moon shall go without. 5
31
An Impromptu to Sir William Noye
When the world was drowned
No venison was found
For then there was never a park
And now here we sit
And have never a bit 5
For Noy hath all in his ark!
32
The Crown Inn at Basingstoke
From the Crown at Basingstoke, which was in Ben Jonson’s time the sign of the Angel, and
then inhabited by Mrs Hope, and her daughter Prudence. As tradition informs us, Ben
Jonson was acquainted with the house, and in some time, when he found strange people
there and the sign changed, he wrote the following lines:
When Hope and Prudence kept this house, 5
The Angel kept the door;
Now Hope is dead,
And the Angel fled,
And Prudence turned a whore.
33
A Fish on a Dish
Another time the Archbishop sent him an excellent dish of fish from his table, without any
drink, so he made these verses:
In a dish came a fish
From the Arch Bish—
Hop was not there, 5
Because there was no beer.
34
Ale and Wenches
Another time Ben comes into an inn in Southwark in a country habit, and gets into the
chimney corner. Some gentlemen sitting at a table thought to have put a trick upon him.
Says one, ‘Come, countryman, here’s to you!’ ‘Thank you, Master’, says Ben. Says
another, ‘Come, we are going to make some rhymes, and he that can’t rhyme must pay
the reckoning.’ ‘I don’t know what you mean’, says Ben, ‘But let’s taste of your ale and 5
your tobacco, and then I am for you. So begin:
Good Ale, Tobacco, and a pretty wench,
Will bring a man to the King’s Bench,
And after he has spent all.
Then take him Sir John Lent’all.’ 10
35
Wine not Water
It is certain Ben lived several years on the Surrey side of the Thames, and, often
crossing the water, he got acquainted with Taylor the Water Poet, so called from his
employment (a water-man). The first time, it is said, Taylor got him into his boat, he
addressed him thus, extempore:
Taylor:
‘I am told, by my boy, thou art Jonson the poet; 5
If true, an epigram, quickly, to show it:
I tell thee I’m Taylor that plies near the Strand,
A poet by water, as thou art by land.’
Ben’s Answer without hesitation:
‘A poet by water can never be fired;
By the juice of the grape the muse is inspired: 10
Yet thy aiming at wit deserveth some praise;
But water ne’er nourished the laurel or bays.’
36
The Scots Piper
’Tis certain James was a great admirer of music; and ’tis supposed our Author was much
disgusted at his taste; for he seemed more to be pleased with the singing, show, habits, and
machinery, than the poetry; and ’tis supposed Ben was author of a short poem called ‘The
Scots Piper’, a dialogue between Tom and Dick, wherein are these lines:
Dick Doth the loon then love music? 5
Tom Ay, so people say.
Dick It is not a wonder; his father could play:
His dam was bestraught with his stick and his fiddle,
And would always be playing at Lantra down diddle.
37
Epitaph on One Who Did Nothing
Ben Jonson, having an application made to him by a young heir to write an epitaph on
one that had left him a great estate; and the poet asking him what he had done that was
praiseworthy, the heir would give account of nothing memorable that he had done,
either on the score of charity, or anything else; but that he had lived quietly, and
privately, and passed with great silence to his grave; but still he pressed to have an 5
epitaph to set on his benefactor’s tomb. Ben, at this, asked him how old his friend was?
To which he answered, ‘Two and forty years’. ‘Then’, said the poet, ‘I would have you
write this upon him:
Here lies a man was born, and cried,
Told two-and-forty years, and died.’ 10
38
The Worst Verse
Ben Jonson, the famed poet, being in very ordinary company, and poor too, as it
seems, or they could not pay the reckoning (which was but small) though they
mustered all their forces; so Ben made a proposal to them, that he who should make
the worst verse or rhymes amongst them, should pay the whole, thinking by this he
had made a pretty good bargain, at least for himself, because he was in his profession, 5
and they all plain honest country fellows. So they began, Ben first, whose poetry
pleased them all, says the next
We eat, we drink, we fart, we stink, and all to ease us
Then sits Ben Jonson, and swears ’tis good by Jesus.
Which being Ben’s oath, and the rhyme good, so pleased the old blade, that he swore 10
by Jesus he would pay all the reckoning, and so he did.
39
No Rhyme
Ben Jonson and Sylvester being at a Tavern, began to rhyme upon each other: Sylvester he
began:
‘I Sylvester,
Lay with your sister.’
Ben Johnson replies: 5
‘I Ben Johnson
Lay with your wife.’
‘That’s no rhyme’, says Sylvester. ‘But,’ says Ben Jonson, ‘There’s a deal of truth in it.’
40
All the World’s a Stage
Verses by Ben Jonson and
Shakespeare occasioned by the motto to the Globe theatre
Totus Mundus agit
histrionem
Jonson
If but stage actors all the world displays,
Where shall we find spectators of their plays?
Shakespeare
Little, or much, of what we see we do;
We are both actors and spectators too.
41
Epitaph on himself
Here lies Jonson,
Who was one’s son,
He had a little hair on his chin;
His name was Benjamin.